The Campaign. You’ll raise all the money you need, and you have name recognition money can’t buy. But the campaign is still going to be a meat grinder. As Carville used to say, if you don’t feed the press political ““cheeseburgers’’ every day, they’ll feed on you. You have to prepare for the worst. Whitewater billing records, cattle futures, the travel office and Castle Grande will all be back. Sure, you’ve answered all the allegations. But that’s not going to stop the Republicans–and the New York Post–from weighing in again, ad nauseam. Do you really want to spend your last year in the White House reliving the most painful episodes of your tenure? If you have your husband’s luck, your opponents will overplay the scandal card, but you can also expect tough scrutiny on legitimate issues.Giuliani has already attacked you about your elliptical support for a Palestinian state. If you stick with that, you gain points for principle but lose votes with your base. And every time the president makes a decision, you’ll be asked for your opinion. Every time you issue a position paper, the press will clamor for a White House response. What if the president undercuts your most effective campaign issue by making a deal with Republicans on partial privatization of Social Security and tax cuts? Will you take a stand or stand by your man?
Then there’s Al Gore to think about. A full-time campaign by you in New York will draw you away from helping his race in big states like California, Illinois and Florida. Which would be a better way to preserve your legacy? Electing Gore or capturing your own Senate seat? Victory would be a personal vindication, but what if you lose? Do you really want your eight years of hard work in the White House to appear to be wiped out by a failed electoral bid?
The Job. But assume you win. Is the Senate the best place for you to advance the causes you care about? Obviously it was for some of those who came before you. Robert Kennedy used a New York Senate seat to shine a light on poverty. But you’re one of the handful of people in the country who can serve as effectively from outside the Senate.
The Life. Look at some practical questions. Where are you going to live? You’ll need a place in New York, a place in Washington and I assume at least an apartment in Little Rock. These are expensive propositions, and as a senator you won’t be able to earn outside income. The bottom line may not be your primary concern, but it’s still something you have to think about.
Being junior senator from New York is more of a grind and less glamorous than being First Lady. You won’t fly on Air Force One or ride in escorted motorcades. Even senators have to ride the shuttle and wait in traffic. And as a freshman senator from a state you’ve never lived in, you’ll have to return often to New York to do the job. People are saying now that working Poughkeepsie won’t matter, but I think they’re wrong: New Yorkers will still expect you to be their senator first and Eleanor Roosevelt second.
The enthusiasm about your potential candidacy must be both gratifying and flattering. Enjoy it; you deserve it. But you don’t need to prove anything. You’ve served your country well, and you will again. You should take a few years. Write a book. Speak out on issues you care about. And who knows? After the Gore years, you might find that the time is right for your first campaign–one that would open in Manchester, not Manhattan.
