My Opinion
Verbosity, stickiness and the Clintonspeak presidency

Until very recently, I couldn't make any sense out of the nation's reaction to Bill Clinton. His dismal popularity ratings just didn't make much sense.

Nearly all of the important indexes point in his favor. The economy continues to grow; bipartisanship has led to passage of important legislation; major foreign policy blunders have been rare; and Bill has kept Jennifer and Paula at bay.

Granted, Bill has made some gaffes, but nothing like, say, arms for hostages, the Bay of Pigs or Supreme Court packing. Despite those serious blunders, Ronald Reagan, John Kennedy and Franklin Roosevelt continue to receive public adulation.

If Reagan was the teflon president because nothing stuck to him, then Clinton is the "burnt meatloaf on cheap tin foil" president because everything sticks to him. "Slick Willy" is now "Stuck Willy."

But why does everything cling to Bill Clinton? It's simple: He talks too much. Yup, if Bill could learn to close his trap more often, his ratings would soar.

As we've seen, Bill has great difficulty saying no -- to members of the opposite sex; to unscrupulous cronies with names like Web, Jeb and Mac; to shady real estate ventures; to quarter pounders and fries; and, most importantly, to speaking opportunities. Bill has yet to meet an unfriendly microphone.

His recent State of the Universe tome is just the latest in a long line of prolixities. If Clinton nears the 81-minute mark next year, Newt will add one more item to his "Contract on America:" a return to pre-Wilsonian days when the State of the Union address was written, not spoken.

Next year, TV executives might blackball Bill from their networks and advise him to try the local cable access channel. Let's face it, when members of your own party sneak out early, it's time to hit the teleprompter's fast-forward button.

But that wasn't the first time that Bill's verbosity caused a ripple. There were warning signs before Bill became commander in chief that he tended toward the long-winded.

His hour-long encomium nominating Michael Dukakis at the Democratic National Convention was the height of arrogance. With the prime-time cameras rolling, Bill turned a rowdy convention hall into a moribund mass.

Clinton's rhetorical wanderlust gained momentum following his Inaugural Address. During his first major trip abroad, Bill tried the patience of the Japanese prime minister. He was late for a major state dinner because he appeared to be swapping drinking stories with Boris and Helmut.

Next time you watch Bill getting out of his chopper with Hillary, notice who does the talking -- it's always Bill. Hillary usually has a glazed-over look. You can see her thinking, "Dammit, Bill, why don't you come up for air once in awhile? Go harass Socks or Chelsea."

Bill's public talkativeness makes you wonder what he's like in private. I wouldn't be surprised if the GOP called for an independent investigator to check out White House phone bills.

And what about Bill's old pal, Vince Foster? His mysterious suicide is perfectly understandable in light of his job. How would you like to be Bill's personal counsel? Trying to schedule a meeting with Bill, let alone offering advice to him, might send anyone over the edge.

Even sporting events aren't free from Clintonspeak. Bill snagged the spotlight at the NCAA basketball tournament as he became the first president to promote an event through the idiom of a Budweiser ad ("yes I am").

And, in vintage Clinton form, he invaded the 49ers locker room via telephone before Steve Young had left the playing field. ABC executives must have anticipated the invasion; they immediately broke for a commercial.

The amazing irony in Clinton's flatulence is his recent admission that his administration had not done "a very good job of communicating." Good grief -- what might the next two years hold?

Here's my free advice to Bill. You don't need to hire any more David Gergens, dispose of any more Dee Dee Myers, nor even consult a single Madison Avenue PR firm. More words will only add to the nation's rhetorical malaise.

All you need to do is emulate two of your predecessors: Jimmy Carter and Abraham Lincoln. When Iran held American hostages, Carter opted for the silent, or "Rose Garden," approach. You could learn from Jimmy's reticence.

But, when you need to speak, mimic the minimalist approach perfected by Lincoln at Gettysburg. He proved that eloquence and longevity aren't necessary companions.

It's no longer "the economy, stupid." It's about speaking loudly and persuasively in an understated manner. In brief, it's about how to be quiet.