B Y J A M E S C A R V I L L E
WHIRLING, STERLING SPERLING
He never sleeps, he eats down his tie
and he's one of the most powerful men
in the White House
now that the God-awful inaugural spectacle is behind us, I thought I might introduce y'all to my favorite unsung hero of the President's rejiggered Administration, a guy you're going to be hearing a lot about in the coming years. His name is Gene Sperling, and he is without a doubt the hardest working son of a bitch I've ever met. He's also not entirely normal. Back in October, when the presidential election was pretty well locked up, Washington started buzzing about all the possible personnel moves in a second Clinton term. The cabinet posts, especially State and Defense, were the biggest areas of speculation on the talk shows. But to true insiders, there was at least as much interest in another plum job: chief economic advisor to the President — or, as it is called in Wonkbonics, director of the National Economic Council. The current director, Laura D'Andrea Tyson, was returning to Berkeley no matter what happened on Nov. 5. Her job was up for grabs. In the President's first term, Gene was the chief deputy to Tyson, and to Tyson's predecessor, Robert Rubin. Gene was the NEC's workhorse, putting in the most brutal hours of anyone in the White House. He churned out numbers faster than Rainman. He was indispensable; no one came out with policy proposals without running them past Gene first. No one did more to get the President the credit he deserved for turning the economy around than Gene. Still, there were any number of reasons why Gene was wrong for the job. At 38, he was too young. Short and schlumpy, he wouldn't look good on "Meet the Press." He was a white and male. He was too political. His resume looked too lefty (he had worked for the NAACP, Mike Dukakis and Mario Cuomo). He had never worked on Wall Street. He didn't have an economics degree. In Washington, there are so many cases where the good guy loses, so I was sure Gene would get passed over. But, lo and behold, he got the appointment. The President sent a needed signal to the troops that he was willing to take risks to reward those who had worked their asses off to get him back on top. I've known Gene since '92, when he worked for me in the War Room in Little Rock. He was our main economic policy guy and he looked the part — you know, sorta like a young absent-minded professor. One time, right before a big meeting with Governor and Mrs. Clinton, I looked over at Gene and I asked him what he'd been eating — he had a big splotch of blue stuff on his face. It turns out his pen had burst all over him and he hadn't even noticed. That's the kind of guy he is. Every tie he owns has food stains on it. Every pair of pants is frayed at the heels. My buddy Paul Begala summed it up pretty well: "Unlike most people in the city of Washington, Gene does not have delusions of grandeur. He doesn't even have delusions of normalcy." Needless to say, Gene doesn't keep up the most active social schedule. One time, he asked a friend if he knew any available women. His friend was blunt: "I'm sure a lot of my friends are looking for a boyfriend who is only available between 2 a.m. and 6 a.m." Back in '92, I would leave the War Room at about 7 p.m. When I arrived the next morning, at 6 a.m. or so, Gene was always there, often wearing the same clothes he had on the day before. He was like one of those meditating swamis you hear about: he survived on no sleep. Yet he managed to keep the coffee intake in check, making it a point to never have more than 18 cups a day. Gene likes to tell people his motto: "I may not be particularly good, but I'm always there." The fact is, he's not the kind who busts ass only to get a B. He busts ass to get an A plus. He's one hell of a smart guy. Gene also found good help. In the first term, he set up a sweatshop with three brilliant young number-crunchers — Jon Orszag, Jason Goldberg and Pauline Abernathy — who somehow managed to put up with Gene's hours, quirks, and temper. Jon, a good buddy of mine, hadn't yet graduated from college when he came on board. (Keep an eye on this kid — if he doesn't die young from eating too much red meat, he's a shoo-in for greatness.) Inside the White House, Gene's team answered to such names as "pasty-faced nocturnal budget wonks" and "the whirling Sperlings." What they were best known for was their rapid-response efforts during the campaign. White House staffers are not allowed to do campaign work on government time, of course. But when you're working 100-hour weeks, you can put in your regulation 40 and you've still got 60 hours left over to tee off on Bob Dole. And that's exactly what they did. With all the leaks coming out of Dole's campaign, team Sperling would hand reporters solid "prebuttals" of any plan or policy Dole was about to offer up. They made a lot of big-time reporters look smarter than they really are. And they made Dole look like crap. George Stephanopoulos used to have a whole crew of staffers — Stephanopoli, they were called — who wanted to grow up to be just like him. With Gene, it's different. No one whose seem him up close wants to grow up to be like him. Gene's just not the role model type. But if you're a right-winger, watch out. He's got your number. Does Sperling sound like a stand-up man — or does Carville owe him some favor? Speak your mind in Table Talk. |