Misanthrope's Corner - public opinion about Pres Clinton and what should happen to him once his presidency is up - Brief Article - Column

National Review, July 3, 2000 by Florence King

A great debate is currently sweeping the land: "What've you got? Clinton fatigue or Clinton nostalgia?"

We like to think that we line up squarely on one side or the other according to our politics, but, as with everything involving Clinton, it's not that simple, especially since he fashioned triangulation into the new Gordian Knot. We have all turned into hard little bumps of tangled threads, unable to tell our strands apart.

Liberals, who should be nostalgic, are secretly fatigued. Civil-rights mavens saw our first black president cut off welfare; the working classes saw our first Marco Polo Democrat put their jobs on the take- out menu; and feminists saw themselves blame victims right and left to keep our first feminist president in office.

Conservatives, who should be fa tigued, are secretly nostalgic. Economic conservatives have got it into their heads that the departure of Mr. Wall Street will somehow hex the market; libertarians are leery about "restoring decency"; and social conservatives are showing signs of Slouching With drawal Syndrome, like the champion of family values who recently mesmerized a call-in show with a classic Freudian slip: "Bill Clinton has turned America into Sodom and Good Morning."

A measure of our unresolved conflicts is the attention being paid to his leaving office. Not speculations about future jobs or books, but the actual moment when he will no longer be president. Pundits frequently spell it out, as in "at 12:01 p.m. on January 20, 2001"-what will happen to Bill Clinton?

It's not a bird, it's not a plane, it's Cinderella Man hovering like an animated sword of Damocles, making sure we realize how much he loves being president. Since his final-year countdown began this past January 20, he's been spelling it out every chance he gets, marshalling batteries of wistful smiles and plangent tones to express how much he dreads the day when this best of all possible jobs comes to an end and he is forced to leave his beloved White House.

These performances have given rise to an inordinate amount of what- iffing about a third term. Even though the Constitution forbids it, pollsters have been asking-just for fun-if people would vote for him again, and pundits have been analyzing-just for funresponses. But underneath all the fun there courses a murky underground stream. So far, no one has identified it for what it is, but Cinderella Man threw out a hint when reporters asked him -just for fun-if he would like a third term. His reply: "I'd do it forever if I could."

Did anybody but me hear the off-key zither music that horror movies use to cue the maniac? I can't be the only one, because back when Y2K loomed, several commentators speculated-just for fun-that he might use the crisis as an excuse to declare a national emergency and cancel the election. There have also been some jokes and cartoons lately about carrying him, kicking and screaming, from the White House, so I am not alone in thinking what I'm thinking, only in giving it a name:

Presiphrenia.

Given his known emotional fragility, the nostalgia-vs.-fatigue chatter comes across as a parlor game we have devised to distract ourselves from a subconscious but widespread uncertainty about what he might do if he's not president. The situation is rife with possibilities. Even if he vacates the White House peaceably at the appointed time, he still could form a government in exile and become a rallying point for partisan malcontents for years to come. If you think it can't happen, repeat after me: Bonnie Prince Charlie. At least Charlie was called a "pretender to the throne." Our practice of calling ex-presidents "Mr. President" is a can of worms ready for parsing, the ultimate hair begging to be split.

Since he may well be more dangerous out of the White House than in it, I have devised a plan to neutralize him: Make him President Without Portfolio for life. He would not have any duties, but he could do all the things he enjoys: live in the White House, fly on Air Force One, go to Camp David, and be serenaded with "Hail to the Chief." To keep busy, he could make himself useful in small ways, such as raising and lowering the flag. The sight of him up on the roof, tugging ropes at precise hours each day, would solidify his legacy for all time: the American Quasimodo.

My plan is based on the "hair of the dog" principle of hangover cures; we've had too much Clinton, so what we need now is more Clinton, not a new president. Let's face it: We're afraid to elect another president because neither candidate is even bearable, much less ad mir able. We used to be philosophical about our medioc rities, telling ourselves that someday a great leader would emerge and we would have another Adams or Roosevelt, but now we know it's never going to get any better. We don't even have a choice between the lesser of two evils anymore; it's boiled down to which one is less nerve-racking.

To give ourselves a much-needed vacation from presidential politics, we should cancel Election 2000 and every presidential election thereafter until Clinton leaves the White House feetfirst in, say, a quarter of a century or so. As for who will do what is laughably called "running the country," we could try a rotating office of National Manager to be filled by the nation's governors. If we restricted the terms to six months, we wouldn't have time to get sick of anybody.