HANDICAPPING THE OVAL OFFICE STAKES

Mark Steyn searches

the rubble in Washington for the next American president

`Presidential', like 'federal', is one of those words grievously misused in Britain. Tony Blair, for example, is often said to be 'presiden- tial'. But, of course, he wields far more Power over the United Kingdom as the Queen's first minister than he ever could over the United States as president: Bill Clinton cannot single-handedly appoint an entire upper house of the legislature more to his taste, or even a humble cabinet sec- retary. The presidency is institutionally weak: character counts, because in the end character is all there is. That's why, at some point in his second and final term, every president becomes a lame duck: as the man himself matters less, so does the office.

Aware of this, Bill Clinton planned to devote his energies to securing Al Gore's succession and to carving out a role for himself as President Emeritus — the young elder statesman whose gifts the less charis- matic Mr Gore would need to inspire the people through what history would come to regard as an unbroken 16-year 'Clinton era'.

That won't happen now. Every friend of Bill eventually discovers that, although he professes to feel your pain, you mostly wind up feeling his: carrying the can for him, paying the price for him. The question the Vice-President will surely have been pondering on the beaches of Hawaii is a simple one: is he going to go down as Bill Clinton's last fall-guy?

Not much has been heard from Al Gore since his claim a few months back to have been the inspiration for the Ryan O'Neal character in Erich Segal's Love Story. It's a measure of the Vice-President's tin ear for the nuances of pop culture that he thought this would make him seem cool, but nonetheless he persisted with the story, even after Mr Segal had publicly denied it. Whatever the truth, it's certainly possible to put a Gore-ist interpretation on Love Story. If you recall, the Al Gore/Ryan O'Neal figure is a rich, pampered preppie who falls for a colourful dirt-poor character from the wrong side of the tracks (Bill Clinton, played by Ali McGraw). They move in together, but the preppie soon notices that his working-class pal is tragi- cally succumbing to a chronic sickness that requires him to spend all day in bed — or, at any rate, the anteroom to the Oval Office. Loyally, the rich boy decides to stick with his chum to the end.

But will Al Gore? His father, Senator Albert Gore Senior, raised him from birth to be president: as with most pre-pro- grammed robots, AI Junior has no other purpose. Until recently, the conventional wisdom was that he'd be a shoo-in: it might even be an advantage to have a nominee who's completely stiff from head to toe after eight years of a president whose stiff- ness is more, er, centred. The press reported approvingly his mastery of the self-deprecating jest. Visiting, say, Loser-ville, Illinois, he'll get the mayor to introduce him as 'the greatest vice-president in history' and then say, `I-Imm. When I hear a phrase like "greatest vice-presi- dent", I think . . . jumbo shrimp.' Admittedly, the crowd doesn't always recognise this as a joke and goes away wondering why Al Gore is talking about seafood.

But it seems to have rattled Congress. The reason why the crustacean quipster isn't presi- dent already is that neither the Republi- cans nor his rivals for the Democratic nomination want to remove Mr Clinton merely to let Mr Gore run as the incum- bent in 2000. I think they're worrying unnecessarily. The best way to ensure Mr Gore loses in 2000 is to make him presi- dent now. This is a guy who, giving a speech to the burghers of Orlando, Florida, says very, very slowly:

The number of people on welfare in this country is now below four per cent for the first time since way back in 1969. The Presi- dent has negotiated and signed what are called 'wai-vers' for 43 states . . . .

Wai-vers, huh? Maybe you'd like to get a blackboard and pointer and spell it for us in big letters, Mr Vice-President? Two years of Al Gore talking to 'em like kinder- garteners and Americans will be begging for Pat Buchanan, or Louis Farrakhan, or anyone.

The Gore guys insist that, post-Clinton, their man's boy scout image will be an asset. But the problem with boy scouts is that they tend to volunteer unnecessarily. Before Monica, in that now distant era when Clinton scandals didn't involve DNA dresses and Morse code with neckties, the Vice-President made a `few' fundraising calls from his office which he insisted were for so-called 'soft money' for the Demo- cratic party. In fact, there were 45 calls and they turned out to be for donations to the Clinton/Gore re-election campaign — in other words, 'hard money', which federal officials are prohibited from soliciting on government property. The Attorney-Gen- eral, Janet Reno, shut down an investiga- tion into the Vice-President's role in the affair, saying there was no evidence he knew where the money was going. Unfortu- nately, a 1995 memo recently materialised in which a Gore aide uses the phrase '65 per cent soft, 35 per cent hard' and boy scout Al says eagerly, 'Is it possible to do a reallocation for me to take more of the events and the calls?'

Janet Reno is now facing a contempt-of- Congress citation for refusing to appoint an independent counsel to investigate the campaign finance violations. (We really need an independent counsel to investigate the Attorney-General, but that's another story.) In a Byzantine twist, the President himself is rumoured to be pressing Miss Reno to appoint an independent counsel. Why would he do this? Well, it's harder to make Bill the Nixon of the Nineties if there's no Gerald Ford waiting in the wings. You can't argue in favour of getting rid of one president if you're only going to replace him with another who's under investigation. And, if Congress decided both men had to go, the next in line to suc- ceed would be the Speaker of the House: Mr Clinton knows that, even if the entire Radio City Rockettes were found hanging off the end of his zipper, the nation would still prefer him to President Newt.

Taking this latest complication in their stride, the Gore pals say it's no big deal even a mark of stature. 'It's like, without an independent counsel you're not a serious candidate,' says Greg Simon, his former domestic policy adviser. That's a cute line now, but it won't play in 2000, when the Republican candidates will be running commercials juxtaposing Mr Clinton claim- ing his denial of sexual relations was 'legal- ly accurate' with Mr Gore's cringe-making press conference from March this year, when he used (seven times) the weaselly phrase `no controlling legal authority' to describe why an arcane law preventing fundraising on federal property should not apply to him. The tag: 'Four More Years of Flim-Flam?' or 'Isn't It Time for Some Straight Talk?' or IBlank] For President. American Spoken Here.'

The important poll statistic is the one that says most Americans just want this whole yucky business to go away. It's becoming increasingly clear that the Vice- President can't make that happen: the boy scout, like the intern, has been compro- mised by Mr Clinton. He will be president before the year 2000, or not at all. Even then, he's looking less like Gerry Ford and more like Spiro Agnew. And, once the scandal moves from sex to cheques, other figures from the Democratic establishment are likely to be dragged in. Last week, Mr Clinton emerged from his grand jury testi- mony and went to take a shower: that's what the country will want to do in 2000. Running against Al Gore, or even Dick Gephardt, the Republicans will be the boy scouts.

If, due to some freak constitutional con- vulsion, Newt Gingrich wound up as the incumbent president, he could conceivably get elected. Otherwise, forget it. Forget Colin Powell, too: he can't get away with another 'She Didn't Say Yes, She Didn't Say No' routine; nobody likes a profession- al virgin. If he is, as he insists, a Republi- can, he should do the party a favour and go ice-fishing in Queen Maud Gulf for a cou- ple of years.

With General Powell out of the picture, polls show the front-runner is the Gover- nor of Texas: among Republican voters, he has the highest name recognition, mainly because his name's George Bush; indeed, many poll respondents assume he's his father, George Senior, the former presi- dent. Presumably, if the party could find a guy called Ronald Reagan or, better yet, Abe Lincoln, they'd be home and dry. Nev- ertheless, on the basis of being mistaken for a fellow who lost to Bill Clinton in 1992, Governor Bush is now raking in all the big Republican campaign donations that might have gone to the likes of Cali- fornia Governor Peter Wilson (who'd be better off changing his first name to Woodrow). Holding his own — at least in the latest poll of likely Iowa caucus voters — is billionaire Steve Forbes.

There are others in the field — including my own Senator, Bob Smith — but Messrs Bush and Forbes are the ones most likely to survive through the primary season. Mr Forbes doesn't need any campaign dona- tions, because he's got all the dough any- one could want: next to Al Gore, that makes him squeaky clean. Mr Bush would be a more formidable campaigner, but Mr Forbes has his points: like the Vice-Presi- dent, he's wooden; unlike the Vice-Presi- dent, he's straightforward. There could be worse slogans in 2000 than 'Vote for the Real Stiff. Governor Bush, meanwhile, in his Texas re-election campaign, is already running what are effectively anti- Clinton/Gore commercials: I believe in accountability and responsibility. For too long we've encouraged a culture that says, `If it feels good, do it, and blame some- body else if you've got a problem.'

As things stand now, Governor George is the boy to beat; otherwise, the Clinton presidency will wind up a mere interreg- num between Bush pere et fill.

There is, though, one more scenario. At a celebrity fundraiser in the Hamptons the other week, Mr Clinton said: If it weren't for the 22nd Amendment, I'd give the American people another chance to elect or defeat me because I believe in what we're doing.

The reference to the 22nd Amendment, restricting a president to two terms, raises the alarming possibility that Mr Clinton has looked into getting it repealed. As one White House staffer put it, 'It ain't ever over.' Bush and Dole and Newt and Gen- nifer and Paula have tried to make Bill Clinton go away and failed. Who's to say the Constitution will fare any better?