To: RJC2006 who wrote (3295 ) 8/27/1998 6:27:00 AM From: Zoltan! Respond to of 13994
White House trash By Suzanne Fields THE WASHINGTON TIMES Bill Clinton is a provincial from Hot Springs. Nothing wrong with that. The glory of the United States lies in its provincial strength. Most of our great presidents sprang from the provinces. All politics is local, and presidents come of age locally, long before they move to Washington. . . . . Our Founding Fathers were rooted in the conservative traditions of a yeomen citizenry. The democratic spirit was pervasive even if from the distance the passage of the years lends them an aristocratic polish. Abraham Lincoln never forgot the simplicity of his origins in a Kentucky log cabin. Harry Truman, the haberdasher from Independence, understood what it meant to work on Main Street, and before that he wore the fume of the field on his shoes. Liberals made fun of Ronald Reagan for being a movie actor, but his roots in small-town America were authentic enough. He grew up when American conscience reflected the values of every small town and big city in America. . . . . The Clintons are much more the actors. It was a cheeky performance by Hillary (who's from a Chicago suburb) to suggest that her husband's enemies are enemies because Arkansans are rubes. It's the Clintons who see them that way; that's why Martha's Vineyard is one of their favorite spots. Its New England chic erases those memories of down home in Arkansas. . . . . Bill Clinton, unlike our other presidents, is actually rootless, if not homeless. The Clintons have nearly always lived in other people's houses or in the people's houses, albeit at the top of the line public housing, from a governor's mansion in Little Rock to the White House in Washington. . . . . The beautiful people, such as those who summer in the Hamptons, condescend to the Clintons. They can see that Bill isn't one of them. That's why they fed barbecue to the first couple. Barbecue is not the food of the beautiful people, and feeding Long island barbecue to an Arkansas man is as gauche as feeding an Iowa curry to the Indian ambassador. . . . . Writer Michael Thomas, writing in the New York Observer, hoots at the president and his friends and associations in the Hamptons: "Why, otherwise, in a place famous for its corn, its lobster and fish, its fresh green produce, its tomatoes and its pies, would the welcoming committee drag the First Feeler off to a barbecue place?" . . . . The Hamptonites and the first couple may be at opposite ends of the cultural and financial spectrum, but they nevertheless share a bond, not political correctness but emotional correctness, the craving to be seen as good people on the power-generated side of goodness. (No matter how hard they try, the millionaires who paid $1,000 a ticket for Long Island barbecue can't be politically correct.) . . . . Mrs. Clinton compared the beauty of the Hamptons to "what's going on in Washington," bringing crocodile tears to the eyes of her hosts as she described a poor woman who had been hit by a car and whose medical insurance wouldn't pay for her bills. In her unconscious state she couldn't get the proper authorization from the insurance company. (If there's one thing Hamptonites know about it's the high cost of medicine, what with all the tummy tucks, chicken necks, boob jobs and face lifts.) . . . . The first lady is right, of course. We should have a policy debate about the quality of insured medical care. But she had her chance. She delayed that debate by keeping her meetings secret, and lost the initiative when the public roundly rejected her radical "reforms." Because of her husband's recklessness, he can't get the public to talk about medical policy, asking instead about lies, sex, audiotapes, resignation and impeachment. . . . . If the president's high approval ratings are accurate, we may have the president we deserve, but I don't believe it. The polls are based on a lack of information -- an absence of the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. . . . . The truth will out when Ken Starr sends Congress his X-rated report, which promises to be so kinky in content that it couldn't be funded by the National Endowment for the Arts. Karen Finley will blush. When Americans read it I'll bet the polls will show massive disapproval and disgust. Politics in the nation's capital will become local, as the mourning becomes electric. washtimes.com