PART 3 — BILL CLINTON ENTERS THE WHITE HOUSE: THE PROMISES, THE PRESSURE, AND THE FIRST MAJOR BATTLES
On January 20, 1993, Bill Clinton had achieved something that would have seemed almost unimaginable when his story began in Hope, Arkansas.
He was president of the United States.
But by the morning of January 21, the campaign was over.
There were no more debates to win.
No more electoral votes to count.
No more speeches about what he would do if Americans gave him the opportunity.
Now he had the opportunity.
And that changed everything.
Because campaigning allows a politician to describe the future.
Governing forces that politician to confront reality.
The new president entered office facing questions about the economy, federal deficits, health care, crime, trade, America’s role in the world and the direction of a country emerging from the Cold War.
He also entered Washington with something that should have made governing easier.
Democrats controlled both chambers of Congress as Clinton began his presidency.
For the first two years, the same party controlled the White House, House and Senate.
On paper, it looked like an opportunity.
In reality, party control did not mean party agreement.
And within weeks, Clinton would discover how difficult turning campaign promises into federal law could be.
THE FIRST TEST CAME ALMOST IMMEDIATELY
One of Clinton’s earliest legislative victories involved an issue that sounded simple:
What happens when a worker needs time away from a job because a baby has been born, a family member becomes seriously ill, or the worker faces a serious medical condition?
The Family and Medical Leave Act had been debated before Clinton entered office.
On February 5, 1993—only sixteen days after his inauguration—Clinton signed it into law.
For eligible workers, the law provided up to twelve weeks of unpaid, job-protected leave for qualifying family and medical circumstances.
It was an early demonstration of what a presidency could do when campaign themes, congressional action and presidential approval aligned.
For Clinton, it was a victory.
But much harder fights were coming.
Because the president had made the economy one of the central arguments of his campaign.
Now he needed an economic plan.
And that plan would require choices that were much more politically dangerous.
THE ECONOMY WAS NO LONGER A CAMPAIGN SLOGAN
During the election, Clinton had focused heavily on economic concerns.
But once inside the White House, the administration had to deal with the federal budget in detail.
Numbers replaced slogans.
Taxes.
Spending.
Deficits.
Interest rates.
Economic growth.
Federal programs.
Every decision affected someone.
And nearly every decision created political opposition.
In February 1993, roughly a month after taking office, Clinton proposed an economic program that combined tax increases and spending reductions as part of an effort to reduce the federal deficit.
Months of negotiations followed.
The resulting Omnibus Budget Reconciliation Act passed Congress by extremely narrow margins.
Not a single Republican voted for the legislation, and some Democrats opposed it as well.
Clinton signed the measure on August 10, 1993.
The legislation included tax increases, including higher rates at the top of the income scale, along with spending reductions planned over several years.
Supporters argued that deficit reduction would strengthen the country’s fiscal position and contribute to a healthier economic environment.
Opponents argued that tax increases could damage economic growth and objected to the broader direction of Clinton’s program.
That disagreement mattered.
Because the economic debate of 1993 wasn’t simply about one law.
It revealed the ideological fight that would define much of the Clinton presidency.
What should government do?
How much should it tax?
How much should it spend?
How aggressively should Washington intervene in the economy?
And who should pay?
There was no national consensus.
Clinton had won the presidency.
He had not won universal agreement.
WASHINGTON WAS ALREADY TEACHING HIM SOMETHING
A president can be the most recognizable political figure in the country.
But Congress still votes.
Senators still have their own interests.
Representatives still answer to their districts.
Members of the president’s own party can say no.
Lobbying organizations can mobilize.
Businesses can object.
Activists can organize.
Television can transform complicated legislation into simple political arguments.
And public opinion can change.
This reality would become painfully clear when Clinton attempted something much larger.
Something presidents before him had struggled with.
Health care.
THE HEALTH CARE GAMBLE
Health care reform was one of Clinton’s major campaign commitments.
Millions of Americans had insurance through employers or public programs.
Others faced gaps in coverage, rising costs or difficulty obtaining affordable care.
Clinton wanted a major restructuring of the system.
Five days after his inauguration, on January 25, 1993, he created the Task Force on National Health Care Reform.
And he gave its leadership to someone who was already becoming one of the most consequential—and controversial—figures in his administration:
Hillary Rodham Clinton.
This was unusual.
The First Lady was not simply hosting ceremonies or representing the administration symbolically.
She was helping lead one of its most ambitious domestic-policy projects.
The task was enormous.
How could the country expand access?
How could costs be controlled?
What role should employers play?
What role should insurers play?
What role should the federal government play?
How could a system involving patients, doctors, hospitals, insurance companies, businesses, state governments and federal programs be substantially changed without creating major disruption?
Every answer created another question.
And every proposal created opponents.
HILLARY CLINTON STEPPED INTO THE CENTER OF THE FIGHT
For months, the administration worked on the proposal.
Meetings were held.
Experts were consulted.
Policy details were developed.
Political strategies were discussed.
The process itself became controversial, with critics objecting to aspects of how the task force and working groups conducted their deliberations.
Then, on September 22, 1993, President Clinton addressed a joint session of Congress and presented his vision for restructuring American health care.
Days later, Hillary Clinton testified before congressional committees.
The administration’s plan sought universal coverage and relied on a complicated system involving employers, insurers, government regulation and health alliances.
The proposal eventually introduced in Congress ran more than 1,300 pages.
That complexity became one of its political vulnerabilities.
Supporters saw an ambitious attempt to address a system they believed was leaving too many Americans exposed.
Opponents saw excessive government involvement and warned about costs, bureaucracy and disruption.
The battle moved beyond congressional hearing rooms.
It entered American living rooms.
“HARRY AND LOUISE”
Political arguments are rarely won only with policy documents.
They’re also fought with stories.
Images.
Advertisements.
Simple phrases that people remember.
Opponents of the Clinton health plan understood this.
The Health Insurance Association of America funded a famous advertising campaign featuring a fictional married couple known as “Harry and Louise.”
Instead of presenting viewers with hundreds of pages of legislative language, the ads presented health reform through the anxieties of an ordinary couple worried about how changes might affect them.
The advertisements became part of the broader campaign against the proposal.
It was an important lesson about modern politics.
A complicated plan can take hours to explain.
A powerful advertisement can create doubt in thirty seconds.
Meanwhile, disagreements emerged among lawmakers—including Democrats.
Some thought the plan went too far.
Others believed it didn’t go far enough.
Others objected to specific mechanisms.
The coalition required to pass comprehensive reform began breaking apart.
But before that battle was decided, Clinton was fighting on several other fronts.
ANOTHER PROMISE, ANOTHER CONTROVERSY
During the 1992 campaign, Clinton had promised to address restrictions on gay Americans serving in the military.
Once president, he encountered strong resistance from military leaders and lawmakers.
The result was a compromise announced in 1993 that became known as “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.”
Under the policy, gay people could serve in the military, but openly acknowledging their sexual orientation could still expose them to investigation and discharge.
The compromise satisfied neither side completely.
Some supporters of LGBTQ rights believed Clinton had retreated from his promise.
Opponents of allowing gay people to serve openly believed the policy went too far.
The controversy demonstrated another reality of presidential power:
Sometimes presidents don’t choose between the outcome they want and the outcome they oppose.
They choose among imperfect options in a political system where other institutions also have power.
Decades later, “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” would be repealed under President Barack Obama.
But in 1993, it became one of Clinton’s first major compromises.
THEN CAME A HISTORIC SUPREME COURT APPOINTMENT
Presidents influence the country not only through legislation.
They also nominate federal judges.
In 1993, Justice Byron White retired from the Supreme Court.
Clinton nominated Ruth Bader Ginsburg.
The Senate confirmed her on August 3.
She became only the second woman to serve on the Supreme Court.
At the time, no one could know exactly how prominent Ginsburg would eventually become in American legal and popular culture.
But Supreme Court appointments can outlast presidencies by decades.
A president may serve four or eight years.
A justice can shape constitutional law long after that president leaves office.
And Clinton would eventually receive another Supreme Court appointment opportunity.
But first, another domestic political fight was reaching its conclusion.
THE BRADY BILL
The Brady Handgun Violence Prevention Act had a history extending back before Clinton’s presidency.
It was named for James Brady, the White House press secretary who had been seriously wounded during the 1981 attempt to assassinate President Ronald Reagan.
Clinton had supported the legislation during the 1992 campaign.
After becoming president, he continued pushing Congress to act.
On November 30, 1993, he signed the Brady Bill into law.
The measure became one of the administration’s early domestic-policy victories.
But gun policy was—and remains—one of America’s most contested political subjects.
Supporters presented the law as a public-safety measure.
Critics raised constitutional and federalism objections, and parts of the law’s implementation would later be challenged in court.
Again, the pattern was becoming familiar.
Clinton would act.
Opposition would organize.
Courts, Congress or future administrations might reshape what followed.
The presidency was powerful.
But nothing happened in isolation.
AND THEN THERE WAS TRADE
Perhaps no issue better demonstrates the complicated political identity of Bill Clinton’s presidency than trade.
The North American Free Trade Agreement—NAFTA—had been negotiated under President George H. W. Bush.
It aimed to reduce trade barriers among the United States, Canada and Mexico.
But by the time the agreement required congressional approval, Clinton was president.
The debate cut across traditional party lines.
Some Republicans supported it.
Some Democrats supported it.
Labor unions and many other Democrats opposed it.
Supporters argued that freer trade could expand economic opportunity and strengthen North American economic integration.
Critics warned that American workers and industries could face greater pressure as companies gained additional incentives to shift production.
Clinton supported the agreement.
That decision placed him in conflict with important parts of his own party’s coalition.
NAFTA ultimately passed Congress and took effect on January 1, 1994.
The debate did not end there.
For decades afterward, American politicians from both parties would argue over NAFTA’s effects on jobs, manufacturing, consumers, agriculture, investment and cross-border commerce.
And eventually, during Donald Trump’s first presidency, NAFTA would be replaced by the United States-Mexico-Canada Agreement.
But in 1993, Clinton’s support for NAFTA demonstrated something important about the kind of Democrat he intended to be.
He was willing to break with parts of his own party.
That could create opportunities.
It could also create resentment.
And resentment was accumulating.
1994 BEGAN WITH BIG AMBITIONS
When Clinton addressed Congress in early 1994, his agenda remained broad.
Jobs.
Health care.
Welfare.
Crime.
International democracy.
Community renewal.
The White House still hoped comprehensive health reform could be achieved.
But 1994 would become one of the most politically consequential years of Clinton’s presidency.
Several forces were converging.
The health plan was struggling.
Republicans were increasingly energized.
Conservative media and political organizing were growing.
Some Democratic voters were disappointed.
Some independents were dissatisfied.
Congressional Republicans believed the administration had moved too far.
And a Georgia congressman named Newt Gingrich was helping develop an aggressive Republican strategy for the approaching midterm elections.
Clinton had been president for barely a year.
Already the political ground beneath him was moving.
THE HEALTH CARE PLAN BEGAN TO COLLAPSE
Comprehensive health reform was supposed to become one of the defining accomplishments of Clinton’s first term.
Instead, it became one of his most painful early defeats.
As 1994 continued, support eroded.
The proposal faced criticism from the insurance industry and other health-sector organizations, conservative groups, Republicans and some Democrats.
Its complexity made it difficult to communicate.
The administration had also spent valuable political time developing the proposal before legislation reached Congress.
Alternative plans appeared.
Negotiations continued.
Compromises were discussed.
But the central coalition necessary to pass comprehensive reform never solidified.
By September 1994, Senate Majority Leader George Mitchell acknowledged that the legislation would not pass that year.
The Clinton health care initiative was effectively dead.
Think about what that meant politically.
The administration had invested enormous attention in the issue.
The First Lady had become publicly identified with it.
The president had addressed Congress about it.
Thousands of pages of policy work had been produced.
Hearings had been held.
Arguments had consumed Washington.
And there would be no comprehensive health reform law.
The defeat changed the political atmosphere.
Clinton had discovered that even unified party control of Washington could not guarantee passage of a president’s signature proposal.
And voters were about to deliver an even larger shock.
But before Election Day, another major piece of legislation reached Clinton’s desk.
THE 1994 CRIME BILL
Crime was a major political concern in early-1990s America.
Violent crime rates had risen substantially over the preceding decades, and public anxiety about safety was intense.
The Clinton administration made crime policy an important part of its domestic agenda.
On September 13, 1994, Clinton signed the Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act.
The legislation was enormous.
It included funding intended to expand community policing, provisions related to prisons and prosecution, new federal criminal penalties, programs addressing violence against women, and a federal assault-weapons ban.
At the time, supporters presented the law as a major response to violent crime.
But the legislation’s legacy later became much more contested.
Critics argued that elements of the 1990s tough-on-crime approach contributed to excessive incarceration and disproportionately harmful effects on Black communities and other disadvantaged groups.
Supporters of parts of the law pointed to provisions involving community policing, violence prevention and protections for victims.
Years later, Clinton himself would acknowledge problems associated with aspects of the broader crime policies of the era.
This is one reason historical political stories become more complicated with time.
A law can be popular when passed.
Its consequences can later be debated differently.
Politicians can defend some portions and reconsider others.
Society changes.
Evidence accumulates.
And history rarely stays as simple as the signing ceremony.
But in September 1994, the administration had achieved a major legislative victory.
It would not be enough to stop what was coming in November.
REPUBLICANS HAD A PLAN
The Republican Party entered the 1994 midterm elections with extraordinary energy.
Newt Gingrich and other congressional Republicans promoted the “Contract with America,” a collection of proposals they promised to bring to the House floor if voters gave them control.
The strategy nationalized congressional races.
Instead of hundreds of House contests feeling completely separate, Republicans offered voters a broader argument about changing the direction of Washington.
Clinton wasn’t technically on the ballot.
But his presidency was.
Midterm elections often become referendums on the party controlling the White House.
Democrats had controlled the House for decades.
Many political habits had formed around the assumption that this might continue.
Then came November 8, 1994.
The assumption collapsed.
THE NIGHT WASHINGTON CHANGED
Republicans won control of the House of Representatives.
They also captured the Senate.
When the 104th Congress assembled in January 1995, Republicans held 230 House seats to 204 Democrats, with one independent.
It was the first time in forty years that Republicans controlled both chambers of Congress.
For Bill Clinton, the political meaning was enormous.
Less than two years earlier, he’d arrived in Washington with Democratic control of the White House, House and Senate.
Now both congressional chambers belonged to the opposition.
Health care reform had collapsed.
Democrats had suffered a historic electoral defeat.
Newt Gingrich was on his way to becoming Speaker of the House.
And questions began spreading through Washington about Clinton’s political future.
Was he in deep trouble?
Had his administration moved too aggressively?
Had he lost touch with voters?
Could he recover before 1996?
For anyone who knew Clinton’s political history, there was an interesting echo.
He had been here before.
Not in Washington.
In Arkansas.
Remember 1980.
The young governor lost reelection after only one term.
His political rise appeared to have been interrupted.
Then he returned.
Now, fourteen years later, a much larger version of the same challenge stood in front of him.
The country had not removed Clinton from office.
But voters had dramatically changed the political environment around him.
Once again, Bill Clinton would have to decide what to do after rejection.
THE WHITE HOUSE HAD TO CHANGE
After the 1994 midterms, the administration faced a basic choice.
Continue governing as though nothing had happened?
Or adapt?
Clinton chose adaptation.
This did not mean abandoning everything he’d supported.
But the balance of power had changed.
Any significant legislation now required dealing with a Republican Congress.
And those Republicans had their own agenda.
Tax cuts.
Spending reductions.
Welfare reform.
Changes in regulation.
A smaller federal government.
They had campaigned on confronting Clinton’s policies.
Now they possessed congressional power to do it.
The president who entered Washington promising a new Democratic agenda would soon find himself negotiating with a Republican speaker whose political rise had been built partly around defeating that agenda.
Bill Clinton and Newt Gingrich were about to become two of the central characters in one of the defining political confrontations of the 1990s.
And that confrontation would eventually become so severe that parts of the United States government would shut down.
Twice.
But before we get there, something important needs to be understood.
The first two years of Clinton’s presidency were not simply a story of success or failure.
They were both.
WHAT HAD ACTUALLY HAPPENED IN ONLY TWO YEARS?
By the end of 1994, Clinton had signed the Family and Medical Leave Act.
He had signed a major deficit-reduction package.
He had appointed Ruth Bader Ginsburg to the Supreme Court.
He had signed the Brady Bill.
He had supported NAFTA.
He had signed a sweeping crime bill.
And his administration had attempted one of the most ambitious health-care reforms in decades.
Yet that health-care effort had failed.
Some early policy compromises disappointed members of his own coalition.
Republicans had mobilized against him.
And voters had handed control of Congress to the opposition.
The same presidency could therefore look completely different depending on what someone chose to emphasize.
Supporters could point to legislation enacted.
Critics could point to promises compromised or policies they opposed.
Political opponents could point to the 1994 election.
Progressives could criticize decisions from trade to military policy.
Conservatives could argue that Clinton had tried to expand federal power.
That disagreement is part of understanding the Clinton presidency.
There isn’t one single political interpretation accepted by everyone.
There are documented events.
Then there are arguments about what those events meant.
And those arguments continue decades later.
THE PERSONAL PRESSURE WAS ALSO GROWING
The presidency does not isolate political leaders from controversy.
It magnifies controversy.
Questions connected to the Clintons’ past in Arkansas were beginning to attract greater attention in Washington.
One name would become particularly important:
Whitewater.
The term referred to a real-estate investment involving Bill and Hillary Clinton and business partners James and Susan McDougal dating back to the late 1970s.
Questions about financial transactions associated with the broader matter eventually generated investigations that expanded far beyond the original land investment.
At this point in the story, however, Whitewater had not yet become what many Americans would later associate with the Clinton presidency.
That transformation would happen gradually.
Investigators would become involved.
Congress would become involved.
The media would devote enormous attention to it.
And eventually, an independent counsel named Kenneth Starr would take over an investigation whose path would lead somewhere almost nobody could have predicted when questions about an Arkansas land deal first entered national politics.
But that story belongs later.
For now, Clinton had a more immediate problem.
He still had to govern.
And Congress was about to become much more hostile.
TWO VERY DIFFERENT VISIONS OF GOVERNMENT
When Republicans took control in 1995, the conflict wasn’t simply personal.
It was ideological.
Republicans argued that the federal government had become too large and expensive.
They sought major changes in taxes, spending and welfare programs.
Clinton resisted many parts of their agenda while accepting or adapting to others.
The arguments became especially intense over the federal budget.
How much should government spend?
How quickly should the budget be balanced?
What should happen to Medicare, Medicaid, education and environmental programs?
What taxes should be reduced?
Neither side wanted to appear weak.
Both believed voters supported important parts of their position.
And both understood that another presidential election was approaching.
Washington was moving toward confrontation.
BUT SOMETHING ELSE WAS HAPPENING OUTSIDE WASHINGTON
While politicians fought over budgets, health care and elections, the United States itself was changing.
Computers were entering more homes and workplaces.
The internet was beginning its transition from a specialized network into something that would eventually reshape communication, commerce, news, entertainment and politics.
Globalization was accelerating.
The Cold War had ended, leaving the United States in an unusual position as the world’s dominant military and economic power.
Technology companies were beginning to create entirely new industries.
American culture was changing rapidly.
Cable television had already transformed political communication.
Talk radio had become increasingly influential.
The twenty-four-hour news environment was expanding.
The political world Clinton had entered as a young man was disappearing.
A new one was being built around him.
And that mattered.
Because Clinton would become the first American president to govern through the full decade in which the internet moved toward mainstream life.
The scandals and political battles of his second term would unfold in a media environment increasingly capable of spreading information at extraordinary speed.
Not social-media speed.
Not yet.
But faster than the political world had experienced before.
The presidency itself was becoming more exposed.
A PRESIDENT BETWEEN TWO ERAS
This is one reason Bill Clinton’s presidency remains historically interesting.
He governed between eras.
He was born shortly after World War II.
He came of age during the civil-rights movement and Vietnam.
He built his early career during the Cold War.
Then he became president after the Soviet Union had collapsed.
His administration operated before smartphones.
Before Facebook.
Before YouTube.
Before X.
Before TikTok.
Before most Americans carried the internet in their pockets.
Yet many of the forces that would define twenty-first-century politics were already emerging.
Global trade.
Partisan media.
Intense congressional polarization.
Cultural conflict.
Political investigations.
The growing importance of personal scandal.
Arguments about immigration.
Arguments about crime.
Arguments about the role of government.
Arguments about America’s responsibility overseas.
And increasingly aggressive battles between political parties.
Clinton wasn’t governing in our political world.
But pieces of our political world were beginning to appear.
AFTER THE 1994 ELECTION, THE STORY COULD HAVE ENDED VERY DIFFERENTLY
Imagine stopping the Clinton story at the end of 1994.
The headline might have been simple:
Young Democratic president suffers devastating midterm defeat.
Health reform failed.
Congress lost.
Opposition empowered.
Political investigations growing.
A reelection campaign only two years away.
Many presidents have struggled after midterm losses.
Some never fully recover.
But Bill Clinton’s career had already demonstrated an unusual pattern.
Defeat often changed him.
After losing the Arkansas governorship, he adjusted and returned.
After setbacks, he studied what had gone wrong.
Whether people admired that adaptability or saw it as political calculation depended largely on their perspective.
But the ability itself was difficult to deny.
Now the stakes were far higher than Arkansas.
He had to find a way to govern with Newt Gingrich’s Republican Congress.
He had to protect enough of his agenda to satisfy Democrats.
He had to appeal to voters outside his party.
He had to deal with foreign-policy crises.
He had to manage investigations.
And he had to prepare for reelection.
All at once.
THEN WASHINGTON HEADED TOWARD A SHOWDOWN
By 1995, the relationship between the White House and Republican Congress was becoming increasingly confrontational.
Budget negotiations became the battlefield.
Republicans wanted to use their new congressional majority to reshape federal spending.
Clinton refused to accept significant portions of their approach.
Neither side wanted to surrender.
The federal government’s authority to spend money depends on legislation.
If Congress and the president cannot agree on funding, parts of the government can run out of legal authority to continue normal operations.
For most Americans, “budget negotiations” sound technical.
Numbers.
Committees.
Appropriations.
Spreadsheets.
But when negotiations fail, the consequences can become very real.
Federal workers can be furloughed.
Government offices can close.
Services can be interrupted.
National parks can be affected.
Applications can be delayed.
And suddenly a political argument becomes something ordinary Americans can see.
That was where Washington was heading.
Toward a confrontation that would test Clinton and Gingrich directly.
Toward government shutdowns.
Toward a battle over which side voters would blame.
And toward one of the most important political comebacks of Bill Clinton’s career.
THE COMEBACK PRESIDENT WAS ABOUT TO BE TESTED AGAIN
Bill Clinton had entered the White House in January 1993 surrounded by possibility.
Less than two years later, the atmosphere was completely different.
He had discovered the limitations of presidential power.
He had experienced major legislative victories.
He had watched his signature health-care initiative collapse.
He had faced criticism from both left and right.
And voters had removed his party from control of Congress.
But Clinton was still president.
He still possessed the veto.
He still had the national platform of the White House.
He still had the ability to negotiate.
And he still had something his opponents may have underestimated:
experience surviving political defeat.
The boy from Arkansas had lost before.
The politician had lost before.
The governor had lost before.
And each time, the next chapter had surprised people.
Now America was about to find out whether he could do it again.
Because the Republican Revolution of 1994 wasn’t the ending of Bill Clinton’s presidency.
It was the beginning of a completely different presidency.
One in which Clinton would move toward the political center on some issues.
One in which he would battle Congress over the size and purpose of government.
One in which Washington would shut down.
One in which the economy would increasingly become part of the political conversation.
And one in which the president who looked badly weakened after the 1994 elections would soon be campaigning for another four years in the White House.
But there was a problem.
Even if Clinton survived the political battles…
another kind of danger was growing quietly in the background.
Investigations connected to his past were expanding.
And eventually, politics, law and Clinton’s personal conduct would collide in a way that almost ended his presidency.
That explosion was still several years away.
First came the comeback.
First came Newt Gingrich.
First came the shutdown.
And then came 1996.
PART 4 — THE COMEBACK: NEWT GINGRICH, THE GOVERNMENT SHUTDOWN, AND THE FIGHT FOR BILL CLINTON’S POLITICAL SURVIVAL
By the beginning of 1995, Bill Clinton was no longer the new president promising to change Washington.
Washington had changed around him.
Republicans controlled Congress.
Newt Gingrich controlled the House.
The health-care dream was gone.
And both sides believed the American public was on their side.
Then the budget deadline approached.
Neither side wanted to blink.
And for the first time during Clinton’s presidency, Americans were about to watch Washington’s political warfare become something much more tangible:
parts of their own government were about to close.
And what happened next would reshape Clinton’s presidency again.
Our thoughts and prayers go out to Bill Clinton
Part 3 of 7
