One of the journalism stories I always like to tell has to do with the biggest story I ever covered, which occurred 30 years ago this summer. You might remember Bill Clinton. He was born in the town where I started as a reporter. It was my job to cover the reaction in Hope, Arkansas, to his famous words, spoken at the 1992 Democratic National Convention: “I still believe in a place called Hope.”
Hope was Clinton’s birthplace (not to be confused with Hot Springs, his “boyhood home”). Sure, he’d been governor of Arkansas a few years, but running for president of the United States took things to a new level. He had his supporters and detractors — both in equal measure. (It still amazes me how many Arkansans despise Bill Clinton, who is nothing if not a hometown boy.) When it started looking like he had an actual shot at the nomination, the Hope Star became a beacon worldwide for news on Bill.
We received a ridiculous number of requests for interviews and information. They arrived daily, without cease. Suddenly, the Hope Star and its tiny news staff had the attention of media everywhere. I remember dealing with Dutch and German journalists, on the phone and in person. They came to see where this charismatic young politician had been born, unable to believe it was a place called Hope.
Time magazine came calling, putting out a story that contained a factual error, the nature of which now escapes me. I remember getting the editor of Time on the phone, one Strobe Talbott, to inform him of the error. He responded, “Haven’t you ever made a mistake?”
This from the editor of Time!
We also got a call from USA Today, which was, in 1992, an up-and-coming national publication that seemed more of an experiment than a serious product. (We called it Mc-Journalism because of its impersonal, corporate-dictated style.) They gave our editor a write-up on the front page. We had to drive to Texarkana, 40 miles away, to buy the issue. One thing about Hope: It was not very cosmopolitan. (Oh, and one other thing? There was no internet in 1992. It wasn’t as simple as calling it up online!)
Clinton eventually came to Hope to give an interview to the Hope Star. The Secret Service descended en masse to lock down our building and learn the names and faces of all employees. (I like to think I’m still part of some massive secret database.) I can only describe Clinton’s arrival as a circus. Hundreds of media outlets jammed our parking lot for a look, a photo, a word. Clinton was hustled inside to meet personally with our editor and publisher.
He generously provided autographs to the staff. I had met Clinton two years earlier during a natural disaster in our state. As I handed him a photo to sign for my wife and then-young daughter, he said, “Dan, how are you?”
His ability to recall faces and names is scary.
Later in the day, Clinton visited the local depot for a photo for Time magazine (yes, again). You couldn’t take a step without bumping into a reporter from another country. Yet the Hope Star was given complete access. Clinton posed on the railroad tracks going through Hope. If you squint, you can see a Hope city police car blocking traffic. I’m in that car, taking pictures.
Hope found itself on the map that summer and stayed there for years. Not all the news was good: Vince Foster, another local hero with ties to Clinton, committed suicide and was buried in Hope. Clinton returned for the funeral, and again I was there, taking pictures. Years later, Foster’s boyhood home, across the street from our office, was razed without fanfare.
Fate, the media, and politics can be fickle that way.
- Contact Dan Marsh at 662-581-7235 or dmarsh@gwcommonwealth.com.
