HERE'S WHAT I TOLD THE GRAND JURY ABOUT MY PAL - THE PRESIDENT
By DICK MORRIS
I TESTIFIED before Kenneth Starr's grand jury for about four
hours yesterday.
I did so only under the coercion of a subpoena. I had a legal
obligation to do so. Now that I've told them about my
conversations with the president, I should tell you.
The questions centered around five phone conversations I had
with the president on Jan. 21, 22 and 23 - in the days after the
Monica Lewinsky scandal broke.
One chat of about 15 minutes was at noon on the 21st, just
hours after the scandal had become public knowledge.
"You poor bastard," I remembered saying to the president
when he got on the line. "I know what you are going through and
my heart is with you."
The president was in a bad way. He was depressed,
disoriented and almost on the verge of tears. Clearly, shame
and remorse had overtaken denial.
Although he repeatedly denied that the charges against him
were true, he kept slipping in comments that made me
understand that there was more to this than just a simple denial
would cover.
"I just slipped up with that girl," he said. "Ever since I was
elected, I've tried to avoid things like this, but I just slipped."
He turned defensive. "I didn't do what they said I did. The
charges are untrue," he said. "But I did do something, and I'm
not sure I can prove my innocence."
The president warned that "there may be gifts and messages
on her telephone answering machine."
I didn't ask him what the "something" was, but I took his cue
that it was big. I told him Americans have a broad capacity for
forgiveness and that he should consider "playing outside the
foul lines of the judicial system by going over Starr's head and
speaking directly to the American people."
"You think it'll work?" Clinton asked.
"Let's poll it," I suggested.
"How can you do that?" he asked.
"Same way we always do," I answered. "I'll read the voters
several different scenarios and I'll call you back with the
numbers."
"When can you do it?"
"Tonight."
"Do it," he said and then he hung up.
It was some questionnaire. I asked voters if they felt Clinton had
ever committed adultery. (Fifty percent said yes.)
Did he commit adultery more or less frequently than JFK?
(Less, by 2 to 1.)
But the key question was one in which I read the voters the
public accusations about Lewinsky.
Taking my lead from the president's hint about "something," I
then asked voters how they would respond if the president
admitted he had had some kind of sex with Lewinsky. No
problem.
But when it came to admitting that he had not been truthful in
the deposition, they jumped ship. More than 50 percent wanted
him impeached if he either lied or obstructed justice.
I read voters a speech similar to the one the president gave on
Monday night (minus the Starr-bashing). A majority still opted
for his head. Thirty-five percent felt he should go to jail.
"I didn't ask about capital punishment," I noted cynically.
"It won't fly," I told him. "They just won't buy it."
"I've told you the charges are false," the president interjected
defensively.
"Yes, you have," I replied avoiding the "something" he had
confessed to doing in our conversation that morning.
"But if you get anywhere near lying under oath, you're cooked." I
noted that I had "dearly hoped that forgiveness was out there"
but that "it's just not there. You can't go out on that road. Not
yet."
When the president finally explained (sort of) what the
"something" he did was on Monday night, I recalled the Jan. 21
poll.
It has taken the public eight months, but the forgiveness
quotient has increased steadily each month. When I wrote two
weeks ago suggesting a mea-culpa speech, I faxed my column
to the president as a signal that I believed that the published
polls showed that a speech he couldn't have given in January
he could give now.
Of course, he didn't really give it. The speech Monday was
more arrogant than abject. More contentious than contrite.
The realization of his own human flaws that made my heart go
out to him on Jan. 21 - the implied recognition that he had to
change - was gone.
In its place, we saw a president angry, stiff and self-righteous.
Where he needed our sympathy, he appealed to our
partisanship. He would have done better to have asked for our
mercy. ------------
Dick Morris is a former top adviser to President Clinton. His
column appears every Tuesday in The Post.
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