Clear-eyed chief was a good friend

Bill Clinton walked into the room.

It was October of 1991, and the room had a two-story ceiling supported by elaborate columns. Gilded acanthus leaves announced that this was not just another venue.

It was The Drake, a Chicago hotel with a history richer than the desserts on the menu.

Bill Clinton surveyed the room. At 6’2” he had a pretty clear view.

And he spotted Robert.

In an unfamiliar setting far from Little Rock, with dozens of newspaper editors and publishers trying to find their seats for the luncheon and grabbing appetizers from passing trays, the governor of Arkansas saw a face he knew.

Within a few minutes, he was headed in our direction.

As usual, I was pretty much clueless.

But Robert wasn’t.

Robert Shaw was Indianapolis Chief of Bureau for The Associated Press and had just come to Indiana in 1989 after holding a similar position for the AP in Little Rock, Arkansas. He was an Arkansas guy through and through.

As we did our best to balance our plates of appetizers and our drinks, Robert said something to the effect that governor was coming our way.

So, suddenly there were handshakes and pleasantries and questions back and forth. As I recall, Robert mentioned my experiences in Tiananmen Square in 1989, maybe trying to raise the profile of a small town editor. Or maybe just trying to make conversation with a guy who was obviously in the early stages of what would prove to be a successful campaign for the presidency.

And then the candidate was gone, swept away by aides or organizers who knew there were far more important folks to meet and greet.

I don’t remember Robert’s words after Bill Clinton moved on to greener pastures, but I suspect it was marked with the kind of cynicism and skepticism that good journalists tend to develop when they’re in long-term contact with specific politicians.

Robert, a darned good journalist, was clear-eyed about Bill Clinton. This was long before the presidency, Monica Lewinski, the meaning of “is,” and impeachment. He knew the image, he knew the persona, and he knew the man.

As for me, I was a fish ready to be reeled in.

The governor’s after-lunch speech was — to this small town guy from Indiana — dazzling. He’d managed to carve out a new political territory somewhere between the traditional boundaries of liberalism and conservatism. The English were calling it “the third way,” and Bill Clinton’s sales pitch was impressive.

And it was seductive.

My only involvement with a political campaign had been in 1968 when I got “clean for Gene” and worked briefly for Sen. Eugene McCarthy in his Quixotic battle against LBJ.

But Clinton’s siren song had me wondering — if only for a little while that afternoon — whether it was time to jettison journalism and hitch my wagon to something entirely different.

Thank goodness I was able to shake that off. The sales pitch and snake oil and grips and grins and dreams of West Wing glory fell away like the leaves on the trees that October day.

Partly, I think, that’s because I knew I had a secret weapon: Robert Shaw.

If I had even suggested such a thing, my AP friend would have quickly set me straight. Robert was well grounded and would have dragged me back down to earth immediately.

That’s what good friends do. And Robert Shaw was a damned good friend.

We lost him July 15 at the age of 79.