Charlie meets Bill

I've been watching a lot of old Dick Van Dyke shows, as you might have guessed, and thinking, Darnit, I wish I was living Rob Petrie's life.

That, by the way, includes wishing that it was 1961, I'm 32 years old, commuting into New York City every day to write for a television show, and wearing a white shirt with a skinny black tie everywhere, even when I'm home at night watching television with my beautiful well-coiffed ex-dancer wife or playing bridge with the kooky but loveable neighbors from next door.

It also means I wish that we had parties like the Petries, with lots of our attractive friends, all of whom can sing or dance or tell jokes or hypnotize the host's wife at the drop of a hat and make her deliver the Gettysburg Address.

Up until the other day I thought I was fantasizing about living a fantasy.  You know it's a fantasy of suburban life circa 1960, because none of those attractive guests at the Petries' parties is holding a highball glass.

But maybe it's not.  It dawned on me recently that it's not Rob Petrie's fantasy life I'm envying.  It's Carl Reiner's real life.  Reiner, the creator, producer, and chief writer of the Dick Van Dyke Show, based the premise and many of the stories on his own experience as a second banana for Sid Caesar.  He didn't write for Your Show of Shows and its successors---whenever he tried to contribute a joke or an idea for a sketch, the show's head writer, who was nothing like Rob Petrie, would remind him, kindly, "What the fuck do you know?  You're just a fucking actor."  But Reiner wrote in his spare time at home and his best friend on the show's staff was a young writer named Mel somebody or other.  Mel Streams.  Mel Rivers.  Mel something to do with running water.  Did an act with Reiner at parties, like the parties at Rob and Laura's, in which he pretended to be a man 2000 years old and Reiner interviewed him about famous events from history like the time Murray discovered "ladies."

Mel Creeks?

What ever became of that guy?

At any rate, I'm reading one of Reiner's books of memoirs, My Anecdotal Life, and it turns out that he's led something of a charmed life.  A very talented guy who's been very lucky, who also worked very hard and earned his luck, and through it all managed to remain a decent guy.

You got to hate him.

One of Reiner's writer heroes is Mark Twain, so one of the proudest moments in his life was when President Clinton presented him with the Mark Twain Prize.

There was a big awards ceremony for television, but Clinton asked Reiner to come to the White House the next day so he could pin the medal on him personally.

The whole Reiner family was invited and showed up.  Reiner's wife, children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, grandnieces and grandnephews, and Reiner's brother Charlie, who was losing a long battle with cancer but was going down swinging.  Charlie insisted on showing up even though he had to come in a wheelchair.

Some friends of Reiner's were there too.  Dick Van Dyke, Mary Tyler Moore, Jerry Seinfeld, Steve Martin, all of them gathered around a table in a meeting room off the Oval Office.

Clinton comes in, presents Reiner with his medal, and then shakes hands with everybody there.

Clinton never just shakes hands.  Shaking hands with Bill Clinton means you talk with Bill Clinton.  Secret Service hates this, of course.  So do his advance people.  He's late for everything because of it.  Clinton once came to Syracuse.  Took him two hours to get out of the airport.  So Clinton has little chats with all of Reiner's family and friends.  Last person he comes to is Reiner's brother Charlie.

Reiner makes the introductions, and then, because Clinton had recently been to Normandy for the 50th Anniversary of D-Day, Reiner tells the President that Charlie had been in 11 major battles in World War II, including the invasion of Normandy.

"D-Day, Omaha Beach?" Clinton asks.

"No," says Charlie, "Utah Beach, D-Day plus four."  And tells the President he was with the 27th Infantry, Ninth Division, First Army.

Clinton says, "Your outfit took Ste Marie l'Eglise and St Malo?"

Charlie's amazed.  "How did you know that?"

Clinton grins.  "I read a lot."

For the next 15 minutes the two of them talk.  Charlie's in his wheelchair, of course, so Clinton sits down on the edge of the table to get closer to his level.  They talk about the war and about the ceremony at Normandy and some of the things Clinton heard from the veterans that day.  Fifteen minutes.  At one point an aide comes in to tell the President his helicopter's waiting to take him somewhere.  Clinton waves him off.  "Tell 'em I'll be there in a minute."  And he and Charlie talk some more.

Keep in mind who else is in that room.  Besides Carl Reiner, there's Rob Reiner, Jerry Seinfeld, Steve Martin, Dick Van Dyke, and Mary Tyler Moore.  Mary Tyler Moore's right there.  Sure, she's older, but you've seen her, she looks great, and, come on, it's Bill Clinton.  But he's not talking to her.  He's not talking to the celebrities.

All of his attention is focused on a dying old man in a wheelchair.

Where it ought to be.

I don't want anybody putting in the comments any comparisons between Bill and George Bush, because it just wouldn't be fair.  It would be like putting Abraham Lincoln next to John Adams and complimenting Lincoln on being a foot taller.  In fact, it would be like standing all the Presidents in a line and deciding Lincoln's the greatest because he's the tallest.  (Or does Lyndon Johnson have him by a fraction of an inch?)  We're talking about a gift here.  This is Clinton's gift, the way he was favored by the gods.  No President was as good at this as he is.

Lincoln could come close.  LBJ, but there was always an element of bullying in Johnson's good old boy friendliness.

Other Presidents who are supposed to have had a special rapport with people, Reagan, FDR, JFK, George Washington---really, everybody who met him fell in love with Washington---were really more the beneficiaries of people's projected emotions.  They accepted adulation with a special grace that looked like understanding.

But Bill's out there all alone, far ahead of them.  His special grace is that he does understand.  He's an empath, which makes him practically a Martian.  Like I said, it's a gift.  But gifts aren't admirable unless they are put to use in the right ways.

I hate the book Primary Colors and I only don't hate the movie version because of John Travolta's remarkable Clinton impersonation.  Both the book and the movie are cartoons.  But there's one scene that strikes me as true, so true that I think it must have been taken from life.  In fact, I know that there have been plenty of moments like it in Clinton's life.

It's the scene in which the aide who is the protagonist of the story comes looking for his candidate, Governor Jack Stanton, in his hotel room late at night and discovers Stanton's snuck out.  The aide's baffled and a bit anxious, worried Stanton's out tomcatting around, but he happens to look out the hotel room window and he sees across the parking lot a diner.  The diner's lit up but there are only two nighthawks in it.  The counterman and the candidate.

The counterman is talking, yakking away, a long, long story that probably has no point, no punchline, and no importance to anybody but him.  But Stanton's attention is riveted on him.  He's hanging on every word.  And he's smiling.  A great big smile of pure joy.  He's where he wants to be, doing what he wants to do, putting his gift to work.

I know that if that didn't happen exactly like that it happened in a hundred variations.

It happened that day in the White House, when Charlie met Bill and they talked.

Comments

[Shecky Blue]

Bush couldn't even find Normandy on a map. Of Normandy.

[Mudge]

Very nice post. A friend and I were reminising the other day, he's from Newark, and we talked about Ballantine beer. They had the 2000 year old man (Mel Rivulet) and his deadpan interviewer (Reiner) selling beer. Mid 60s. Some excellent comedy. A lousy beer. Used to drink it in college, though. $0.99 a six pack.

[Tricia]

You had to know that you'd get this - I met Bill once, on the night before the gubernatorial election in 2002. He was stumping for my candidate, Bill Curry (who actually worked for Bill in the White House in an advisory position during his first term). Anyway, I was just a volunteer who liked to shoot film, so I was the amateur backup photographer at events, including this one. I got to go "backstage" where Bill met the big donors, shook hands, and yes, chatted with each one. We were all kind of floating around, pinching ourselves that we were in the same small room with HIM, the Big Guy, easily the most charismatic person I've ever met. The real photographer had a momentary glitch with his equipment, so Bill turned to me and said, "Go ahead, you're the backup, right?" or something like that, with a reassuring smile. For the next few minutes, he shook hands and chatted with each person in line, then turned to me with those compelling eyes and a big smile. It's a wonder those photos didn't come out all blurry from my hands shaking.
Later, after the event, our candidate lined up all of us volunteers and campaign staff for a photo with Bill, and he actually stood next to me and put his arm around me, the way you do when you're all crowding in to get your picture taken. Needless to say, I will remember that day till I die.

[Claire]

Fantastic post, Lance.

[Kevin Wolf]

Great post, Lance.

I know that comparing Dubya to Clinton is unfair - hell, comparing Bush to anybody is an insult to the other party. But I can't help but remark on the contrast. Guess which one is good at what he does and appears to enjoy it - live for it, even?

[Erik Loomis]

Damn it Lance, if you keep writing posts like this you are going to make me stop resenting Clinton for moving the Democratic Party so far to the right.

[tom bulger]

In 1988, I think, Clinton, wandering in the wilderness, came to a small democratic function in Missoula, Montana. He spoke with my wife and I for two minutes, tops. Somehow, in that time, he discerned that my wife had attended a competitive music camp, Interlachen, that he had wanted to attend but failed. I had never heard her speak of this to anyone else in 15 years. Watching him arrive at this information was like watching a magician perform sleight-of-hand, and wondering where the hell the rabbit came from.

[Red Tory]

You know it's a fantasy of suburban life circa 1960, because none of those attractive guests at the Petries' parties is holding a highball glass.

If you ever watch old episodes of “Betwitched” these days (lord knows why) take note of how prevalent alcohol is. It’s really quite astonishing. Darren and Sam are constantly drinking and of course Larry Tate and his wife are both hopeless boozehounds. The cocktails and highballs are ubiquitous in every social situation portrayed on the show. Come to think of it on many TV shows in the 60’s and 70’s it was almost de rigueur to have a “liquor cabinet” in the home (or office!) topped with several crystal decanters full to the brim with a variety of fortified wines and spirits. Seems rather odd now.

[KathyF]

Everyone I know who's met Clinton has said the same thing. Supernatural intellect. Amazing political abilities.

But he still couldn't get us some health care.

Red Tory, it's not odd over here. Drinking is the national past time. Drinks are served at grammar school functions.

[Christopher Tassava]

*Great* post. And what a great counterpoint to that phony man-of-the-people, Bush, who can't and doesn't talk to anyone who hasn't been vetted and scripted.

[F.Baube]

It's so weird and depressing that red-staters don't vote for empaths, they vote for authoritarians. I ask you now, which contemporary politicians would fail Detective Deckard's tests, and which would pass?

[Domoni]

Some red-staters. F.Baube, some.

Deckard passed. All of them are good enough to fool the test.

Even more than the alcohol it was smoking. I was watching a game show from the early 60s and one of the celeb regulars was smoking and just tosses the cig away when it was his turn.

Lance? In your fantasy can you connect your freckles to make the outline of the Liberty Bell?

[The Viscount LaCarte]

Very_nice_post.

Things will get good again one day. They just have to.

[Exiled in NJ]

One the great things about this place is that Lance can post pieces like this without having this spot fill up with troll manure.

Go back and check out how many unfinished Champagne cocktails there were those two nights we saw Rick's.

Even when people smoke in films today, when was the last time anyone saw anubody actually inhale and blow it out their nose, or from deep in their throat.

[blue girl]

Really interesting post, Lance.

I had a client whose wife had the same sort of experience with Clinton as Tom B. explains. He told me Clinton talked to her for about 3 minutes and you would have thought they had known each other for years. It kind of made my client mad -- him being a Republican and a Clinton-hater and all. (This was probably in 1998-ish.)

Funny thing though -- I just met with him again last week -- and we talked a little politics -- and if I weren't so ladylike, I would tell you what he said about Bush & Co.

Let's put it this way -- he never spoke that harshly about Clinton. (I considered it somewhat of a victory...)

[miz_geek]

Nice post.

Re smoking - we were watching Jaws (1975) on TCM the other night. The town's mayor was smoking IN A HOSPITAL. Times have changed.

[Jack]

Terrific post ~ you caught the essence. Barb and I met him twice. Both times we came away amazed at how quickly he connected with us in a remarkably genuine way. I am not surprised that he spoke with Charlie at length. I would expect nothing less.

[union]

Since I grew up in the 60s and 70s, its easy to romanticize about the good old, free wheeling days. I remember when smoking was allowed by patients in hospitals through the 1980s, and most hospitals became completely smoke-free in the 90s. But back to the liberal times; what's missing today is the same as what Clinton, Van Dyke and Reiner symbolize: dreams, hopes and ideals, and the objective to pursue same. Since the 80s, it seems, the objective of life is to "just say no" and suffering a penalty whenever one does otherwise. More like, a penal system of checks and balances. Now, its a system of destruction in order to save ourselves. So, where have all the flowers gone, or do we now reject any connection to the advantage of child-like innocence?

[cali dem]

Super post, Lance. A week or so ago, Nora Ephron had an op ed piece published in th NY Times. It was a sappy snark about her feelings of betrayal over Bill Clinton. About as crappy as her usual made-for-the-Lifetime-Channel films. In thinking about this, I imagined a new version of hell: being seated between Nora Ephron and Bill "loofa guy" O'Reilly at never-ending dinner party.

I enjoyed remembering that section from of "Primary Colors." You're right, that is the only aspect of that book that has any value.

[majella77]

It's not an act with Clinton, the guy really does enjoy all aspects of the political life. Especially the part most politicians hate: meeting real people.

He's lucky in one resepct, most people never figure out what they want to do. Bill did and make it all the way to the top.

The other stuff, off course is a tragedy

[daveminnj]

i just read this again. i wanted to tell you
how much it touched me. really something.