Living History by Unknown (best non fiction books of all time .txt) 📕

Bill had met McDougal in 1968 when Jim was working on Senator J. William Fulbright’s reelection campaign and Bill was a twenty-one-yearold summer volunteer. Jim McDougal was a character: charming, witty and eccentric as the day is long. With his white suits and baby blue Bentley, McDougal looked as if he’d just stepped out of a Tennessee Williams play. Despite his colorful habits, he had a solid reputation. He seemed to do business with everybody in the state, including the impeccable Bill Fulbright, for whom he helped make a lot of money in real estate. His credentials were reassuring to both of us. Bill had also made a small real estate investment with McDougal the year before that had turned a reasonable profit, so when Jim suggested Whitewater, it seemed like a good idea.

The North Arkansas Ozarks were booming with second homes for people flocking down south from Chicago and Detroit. The attraction was obvious: forested land with low property taxes in gently rolling countryside bordered by mountains and laced with lakes and rivers that offered some of the best fishing and rafting in the country. If all had gone according to plan, we would have turned over the investment after a few years and that would have been the end of it. We took out bank loans to buy the property, eventually transferring ownership to the Whitewater Development Company, Inc., a separate entity in which we and the McDougals had equal shares. Bill and I considered ourselves passive investors; Jim and Susan managed the project, which was expected to finance itself once the lots started to sell. But by the time the development was surveyed and lots were ready for sale, interest rates had gone through the roof, climbing close to 20 percent by the end of the decade. People could no longer afford to finance second homes. Rather than take a huge loss, we held on to Whitewater, making some improvements and building a model home while hoping for an economic turnaround. From time to time, over the next several years, Jim asked us to write checks to help make interest payments or other contributions, and we never questioned his judgment. We didn’t realize that Jim McDougal’s behavior was turning the corner from “eccentric” to “mentally unstable” and that he was becoming involved in a raft of dubious business schemes. It would be years before we learned anything about his double life.

Nineteen eighty was a big year for us. We were new parents, and Bill was running for reelection. His opponent in the primary election was a seventy-eight-yearold retired turkey farmer, Monroe Schwarzlose, who spoke for a lot of rural Democrats when he criticized the increase in the cost of car tags and capitalized on the impression of some that Bill was “out of touch” with Arkansas. Schwarzlose ended up getting one-third of the vote. It didn’t help that Jimmy Carter’s Presidency was beset by problems. The economy was slowly sinking as interest rates continued to climb. The administration was sidetracked by a series of international crises, culminating in the taking of American hostages in Iran. Some of those troubles spilled over into Arkansas in the spring and summer of 1980, when hundreds of detained Cuban refugees―mostly inmates from prisons and mental hospitals whom Castro released to the United States in the infamous Mariel boat lift―were sent to a “resettlement camp” at Fort Chaffee, Arkansas. In late May, the refugees rioted and hundreds broke out of the fort, heading toward the nearby community of Fort Smith. County deputies and local citizens loaded their shotguns and waited for the expected onslaught. The situation was made worse because the Army, under a doctrine known as posse comitatus, had no police authority off the base and were not even empowered to forcefully keep the detainees―who were not technically prisoners―on the grounds. Bill sent state troopers and National Guardsmen to round up the Cubans and control the situation. Then he flew up to oversee the operation.

Bill’s actions saved lives and prevented widespread violence. When Bill went back a few days later to follow up, I joined him. There were still signs on gas stations: “All out of ammo, come back tomorrow,” and in front of homes: “We shoot to kill.” I also attended some tense meetings Bill held with James “Bulldog” Drummond, the frustrated general in command of Fort Chaffee, and representatives from the White House. Bill wanted federal assistance to contain the detainees, but General Drummond said his hands were tied because of orders from above. The White House message seemed to be: “Don’t complain, just handle the mess we gave you.” Bill had done just that, but there was a big political price to pay for supporting his President.

After the June riots, President Carter had promised Bill that no more Cubans would be sent to Arkansas. In August, the White House broke that promise, closing sites in Wisconsin and Pennsylvania and sending more refugees to Fort Chaffee. That reversal further undermined support for Bill Clinton and Jimmy Carter in Arkansas. Southerners have an expression to describe something or someone whose luck turns all bad. By now it was clear that Jimmy Carter’s Presidency was snake-bit. It was harder to admit that Bill Clinton’s Governorship was suffering the same fate.

Bill’s Republican opponent, Frank White; began running negative ads. Against footage of dark-skinned Cuban rioters, a voice-over announced that “Bill Clinton cares more about Jimmy Carter than he does about Arkansas.” I initially dismissed the ads, thinking that everyone in Arkansas knew what a good job Bill had done containing the violence.

Then I started fielding questions at school assemblies and civic clubs: “Why did the Governor let the Cubans riot?” “Why didn’t the Governor care about us more than about President Carter?” Ads like this one, which demonstrated the power of a negative message, became all too common in 1980, largely because of a strategy employed by the