To Bill Clinton’s other transgressions, add this: He prevented me from seeing the house of the Virgin Mary.
Religious or not, when in Ephesus, do as the whatever-they-call-themselves do, along with the German and Swedish. That means visiting stunning ruins of an ancient city established in the 10th Century B.C., as well as a chapel atop a mountain and on what’s thought to be the last home of the Virgin Mary.
Last week, President Clinton and his media flock toured Europe in a 10-day jaunt that included stops in Turkey, Greece and–late on Saturday–Italy. But during a side trip Wednesday to Ephesus, problems of a logistical sort soon arose.
Three tour buses of media and officials, all in a motorcade separate from Clinton’s, believed they had a half-hour to kill before Bill, Hillary and Chelsea finished visiting the ruins, at which point us second-stringers would tour the ruins.
Pulling an unscripted move rare in the maniacally choreographed theater of a presidential overseas trip, the officials decided that the reporters would first go to Meryemana, the chapel atop Mt. Bulbul.
Upon arriving we confronted Turkish military, with sharpshooters not far away, and were quarantined between the gift shop and cafe at the entrance. The White House press corps, not unaccustomed to being treated like kindergarteners told to sit quietly in the corner, found itself literally penned in as the Turks hauled out white and red crime scene tape to do the deed.
“We have somewhat of a conflict,” a young White House advance man declared into his cell phone. “POTUS decided to come here after Ephesus and they won’t allow anybody in.”
Translated: The president of the United States had decided that he, too, wanted to see the chapel, meaning all life on the planet had to stop, at least according to the Turks.
“We’re stuck outside a tschotchke shop,” a CNN producer informed her superiors a continent away by cell phone.
Secret Service agents found themselves atypically stymied, too, and got nowhere even with the help of a translator. “It will ruin the logistics of the trip if we don’t move the press” and let them see the chapel, one told a Turkish soldier wearing a snappy blue beret. It was to no avail. The arguing continued, only 30 feet from a sign declaring, “Meryemana is a place of worship. Silence and appropriate dress will be appreciated.”
The Secret Service lost, so we got back on the buses and headed to the ruins.
There, a truly modern-ancient disjoint was soon spied as a gabby British archeologist, who resembled a wider-bodied Sting (the British rocker), was leading us to the magnificent Library of Celsus. It was built in A.D. 117 and features four marble statues of females symbolizing the wisdom, knowledge, destiny and intelligence of Celsus, the father of the province’s governor.
Wending its way to the Virgin Mary’s place were the one, two, three, four, (count ’em!) 42 cars and limos comprising the motorcade of the president of the United States. Forty-two!
Even the chiefs of the Ottoman Empire would be impressed by the excess.
Meanwhile, I still don’t know if the Clintons picked up any Virgin Mary tschotchkes.
Belly up, boys
“Incredible. Never seen anything like it,” said a wizened network television correspondent.
“Unbelievable,” agreed a reporter for a famous paper based in New York City.
The superlatives were not for any ruins, but a modern-day wonder: a belly dancer entertaining delegates to, and the press covering, the summit in Istanbul the next night.
The Conrad International Hotel hosted a “1,001 Nights” party, replete with loan to all guests of pseudo-bejeweled vests of the type worn by sultans during the Ottoman Empire. Photos of media revelers justified a two-page spread in a local paper two days later. Those shots caught several hundred partygoers, male and female, transfixed by a mix of physical coordination and dramatic flair that suggested Michael Jordan crossed with Meryl Streep, except that attention was riveted on certain parts of a dazzling physique.
For sure, American tackiness, like American power, is omnipresent. A broadcast technician felt compelled to stick a large denomination of Turkish currency inside the graceful lady’s tight-fitting dress–as if this were some downtown strip joint.
The setback in momentum was thankfully brief.
“Ah, if only Clinton had been here,” a female journalist from Boston said shortly after midnight, thus conjuring any number of vivid images.
No passport to adventure
If truth be told, members of the media have every reason to thank their lucky stars they’re along for the ride.
Don’t worry about your luggage, meals, communications, other transport or inevitable frustrations such as immigration and customs lines. Virtually everything is taken care of by a huge, solicitous army of White House staff (even a cadre of stenographers providing transcripts of nearly everything).
And you hand over your passport until trip’s end, which seems like a blessing, at first, but might be worrisome.
On one hand, I didn’t have to worry about losing it. On the other, given the Turkish reputation for human-rights abuses, I had nightmares about being jailed and tortured for thinking impure thoughts about something.
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Anyway, this time one flew from Washington, and then around Europe, on a chartered L-1011 and with first-class luxury. For dinner, the entree choices were beef filet with red wine sauce, guinea fowl breast and something called Avolontini pasta. It was all quite tasty.
Want a glass of Veuve Clicquot champagne? It’s here. Come to think of it, take the entire bottle if you so desire. Want to watch a movie? On the trip over to Ankara, they included “The Sixth Sense” with Bruce Willis and “Bowfinger” with Steve Martin and Eddie Murphy.
Upon arriving, we exited the aircraft and went into buses. No immigration, no customs. Our luggage would be inside our rooms a short time later.
Admittedly, there are frustrations. You rarely actually see the president and are forced often to sit inside a large press room, awaiting a statement or transcript from his latest action and chatting with hovering administration aides offering their inescapably self-serving take on all.
The only connection some reporters may actually have to the nations visited is the stamps in their passports because they rarely leave the press room, especially when the schedule is as whirlwind as this one and so much time is spent leaving or arriving.
But there are benefits to being closeted at times with his top aides, who may be easier to sit down or dine with a million miles away from Washington than back home.
So if you’re lucky and a little industrious, you can make lemonade out of lemons.
He would have stayed for Arkansas
So, I’m on the treadmill one morning in our Istanbul hotel, staring at U.S. college basketball on an international version of ESPN. Secret Service agents scurry past and, bang, next thing I know, the president is being led toward a nearby exit, Styrofoam cup of coffee in hand.
“Hey, you interested in watching a 2-week-old college basketball game, Stanford against Iowa?” I ask.
“Hey, I brought the tape with me,” he responds without missing a beat.
The guy’s good.
Reprimanded by Hillary
With the help of a cadre of “advance” and security personnel, who have been on the scene weeks before, every hour is largely scripted. And, given the restrictions on coverage, the White House can largely control the thrust and images of stories you wind up reading and viewing.
Thus, when the president, Hillary Rodham Clinton and Chelsea visited Izmit, a city ravaged by an earthquake in August, the tents he would step into, and the victims he would chat with, were already chosen.
But I can assure you of at least one unplanned moment and, in the process, dramatically violate press protocol.
The White House operates a “pool” system under which a small group (which rotates, alphabetically by organization) goes to the many events not open to all, then tapes and writes a report to be used by the entire group.
As it turned out, I was the only reporter allowed in the tents with the Clintons on a day whose steady rain fit the bleak circumstances. Thus, quotes one read the next day in any report were from my notes.
But I now resign myself to professional ignominy by revealing a startling fact unmentioned in my pool report.
At the second tent, the way to hear best what the Clintons were saying to a family of five was to get up on, and cross my legs atop, a bed. A minute or two later, as the president was saying something, the first lady turned to me.
“Jim, could you take off your shoes?” she said, referring to my soaked sneakers.
It was a show of respect for a family whose tent we were visiting. The bleakness aside, this was their home.
And you thought gals from Park Ridge didn’t have class!
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James Warren and Michael Tackett of the Tribune’s Washington bureau are hosts of “Unconventional Wisdom” at 7:05 p.m. Sunday on WGN-AM 720.