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The young and the relentless.

During last year's presidential campaign, New York times investigative reporter Jeff Gerth was looking into possible conflicts of interest in Bill and Hillary Rodham Clinton's ties to James McDougal, the operator of a bankrupt Arkansas savings and loan. It appeared that the governor and his wife had been made equal partners with McDougal in a real estate venture while putting up only a fraction of the necessary capital.

After gathering evidence of the transaction, Gerth asked the campaign several questions. Clinton's team delayed, then referred him to two lawyers for the campaign who answered some, but not all, of his questions. Gerth's story, questioning the ethics of the partnership, was published a few days later.

Within hours after the paper hit the newsstands, the campaign called a news conference in San Antonio to rebut Gerth's findings. In an attempt to undercut the times and defuse a potential scandal, the campaign also released stacks of documents that answered more of Gerth's questions.

Howell Raines, then the Times' Washington editor, says, "The mode of operation of the Clinton campaign was to be as resistant as possible to giving out information. Then after the story was published, they would come forward with additional detail we had specifically asked for."

Two weeks later, Gerth was working on another story related to Arkansas' ethics laws and Hillary Clinton's law firm. He submitted in writing a detailed list of questions to the campaign. Again the campaign delayed and answered only some of his questions. But this time the campaign went one step further. After Gerth's article was published the Los Angeles Times national correspondent William Rempel says Clinton's media team took the highly unusual step of sending Gerth's questions to the L.A. Times' Arkansas office. "We weren't amused," he recalls of the campaign's breach of media protocol. "Instead, the effect was chilling."

In recent weeks, White House reporters who didn't cover the campaign have had their first taste of press relations Clinton-style, and many don't like it. Reporters who did cover Clinton during the campaign could have told their White House colleagues that Clinton's promises of "openness" and communication with the American people don't necessarily apply to the fourth estate. So far, the president seems determined to control his populist message, and a la Ronald Reagan, he intends to speak to the public on his own terms, without interference from the media.

Like all press operations, Clinton's staff wants to minimize attention to mistakes and maximize attention to good deeds. According to reporters covering the campaign, Clinton's advance guard-george - Stephanopoulos, Dee Dee Myers, Paul Begala, Jeff Eller and others - practiced relentless spin control, evaded tough questions (with charm and aplomb, to be sure) and limited the press corps' access to the candidate. Behind the scenes, longtime Clinton associates such as Bruce Lindsey, Mickey Kantor, Susan Thomases and Betsey Wright conveniently misplaced documents, warned those who knew Clinton when he was governor not to speak to the press and pressured reporters and editors to reconsider unfavorable stories.

Since the transition, the media team has shown signs of trying to manipulate coverage at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue the same way it did during the campaign. The team continues to try end-runs around the Washington press corps, aiming its message at enthusiastic local media or alternative outlets. Clinton held his first televised town hall meeting in mid-February and had given two radio addresses. More may follow. Meanwhile, Stephanopoulos has revealed a penchant for control. By closing the upstairs foyer that abuts the press secretary's office, he has cut off access to press officials. He used the first administration summit at Camp David to warn cabinet officers and top White House aides to stay away from reporters. Aides have also re-created the "war room," the campaign's vaunted image control center, in the Old Executive Office Building

But the aggressive tactics that worked well in the campaign do not necessarily translate neatly to the White House. In fact, the post-election period has provided a rude shock for Clinton's new Office of Communications. With only a brief respite for inauguration week, the president has been battered for reneging on campaign promises such as the middle-class tax cut and providing asylum to Haitian refugees. During the Zoe Baird confirmation hearings and the attempt to overturn the ban on gays in the military, call-in radio shows (the "unfiltered" media Clinton is so fond of) turned against him and became a forum for popular indignation.

Despite this unsteady start, Clinton has a bright, aggressive team that is more like Reagan's communications staff in its determination to shape news than President Bush's. Under Bush, the White House press became accustomed to a president who was eager to take questions and invited reporters into his private quarters. In contrast, Clinton's team has already indicated he will hold fewer press conferences and has showed itself to be adept at the staged press events that were Reagan's hallmark.

In person, members of Clinton's new Office of Communications are likeable, laid back and seemingly frank. Their lack of formality does not mean they are forthcoming, however, say White House reporters and political observers. Instead, they use their considerable charm to shield the president from pointed questions and frustrated journalists. They don't lie, but they certainly speak half-truths, reporters say.

If anecdotes from the campaign and their first weeks in office are any indication, reporters can expect to call Stephanopoulos (who is more knowledgeable), but speak with Dee Dee Myers (who is more colorful); to receive only strategically placed leaks; and to have regular skirmishes over access to the president and policy-makers.

The members of Clinton's White House press team - stephanopoulos, director of communications; Myers, press secretary; Ricki Seidman, deputy director of communications; David Dreyer, director for planning; and Jeff Eller, director for media affairs - are not completely unfamiliar to the Washington press. In fact, there are many personal connections that pre-date the campaign. Stephanopoulos dined regularly with columnist Mary McGrory. CBS Washington correspondent Linda Douglass is an old pal of Myers' from California. And special assistant Michael Waldman, a former lobbyist for Ralph Nader's Public Citizen, is the brother of Newsweek Washington correspondent Steve Waldman.

Much has been made of the fact that this is a relatively young group. Stephanopoulos is 32, Myers is 31 and no one in the office is over 40. Begala, who is now a consultant to Clinton and the Democratic National Committee, thinks his former campaign colleagues should be judged like a used car. "It is not the age of the vehicle," he says, "but the mileage it has traveled."

It is true that this group has experience, and some were colleagues even before the campaign. Many worked for Michael Dukakis' campaign in 1988. Stephanopoulos and Dreyer both worked for Rep. Richard Gephardt (D-Mo.); Stephanopoulos left in 1991, Dreyer last year. Dreyer was on Capitol Hill about the same time that Seidman was working for Sen. Edward Kennedy (D-Mass.) on the Labor and Human Resources Committee. Eller was then communications director for the Democratic Senatorial Campaign Committee.

Stephanopoulos' youthful appearance - Gwen Ifill of the New York Times says "he looks about twelve - isn't working to his advantage. During the daily briefings, reporters' voices often convey a snickering impudence that was rarely directed at Marlin Fitzwater. More significantly, many reporters worry that Stephanopoulos will not be able to handle his expansive duties. With the title of assistant to the president, Stephanopoulos reports to White House Chief of Staff Thomas McLarty. Everyone else in the office, including Myers, reports to Stephanopoulos. As director of communications, he will be responsible for hammering home the message of the day, handling crises as they arise and designing strategies for promoting Clinton's programs. In addition, he will conduct the daily press briefings.

Stephanopoulos' biography is well known; he has been profiled by almost every major news magazine and newspaper in the country. He has a special knack for promotion, which he has also used to his own benefit.

His political career began when, as a staffer at the Arms Control Association, he was assigned to mollify an itinerant who made it his practice to drop by the association and quiz staffers on the sanity of MAD (mutually assured destruction), the military's nuclear deterrence strategy. The man turned up in front of the Washington Monument one day in 1982 and threatened to blow it up with a van full of explosives. Sharpshooters killed the man, and Stephanopoulos was interviewed on "Nightline" about the would-be terrorist. According to Capitol Hill lore, newly elected Rep. Edward Feighan (D-Ohio) and his wife saw him and admired his poise; an interview and his first job on the Hill soon followed.

Stephanopoulos' virtues have been widely extolled, but one longtime Hill colleague, who asked not to be identified, offers this warning: "I'd hate to be stuck on a desert island with him. Say, all you had for food was two coconuts and you went to sleep. You'd wake up and there would only be one coconut. You'd ask George what happened to the other one. He'd smile very charmingly and explain that there had always been only one coconut and eventually you might even believe him."

When reporters can't get ahold of Stephanopoulos - and this will be inevitable - Dee Dee Myers will most likely be the next call. The White House press corps was buzzing when Myers got the title of press secretary but received only the perks and responsibilities of a senior deputy. Playing backup to a director of communications may not be in the standard press secretary's job description, but Myers is making a point of not complaining. Interviewed on CNN & Company" in January, Myers insisted she didn't feel slighted by the new pecking order at the White House. (Stephanopoulos and Myers declined to be interviewed for this article.)

Before the Clinton campaign, Myers had worked in California for so many losing candidates (Dukakis, as well as Mayors Tom Bradley and Diane Feinstein in gubernatorial campaigns, among them) that the local press teased her. Linda Douglass, who was a political correspondent for CBS' and NBC's Los Angeles stations before moving to Washington in January to work for CBS, dealt with Myers on numerous political campaigns and likes her poise and self-deprecating wit.

"During the Dukakis campaign, we were continually being promised interviews and the candidate wouldn't show up," Douglass remembers. "Dee Dee was always taking the blame by saying she was so incompetent and it was just her karma. She pretty much bore the brunt of our frustration and didn't take it personally."

The real question for reporters is whether Myers will know what's going on. Many reporters privately insist that she is not privy to inside information and does not have the confidence of the president. In Myers' defense, Karen Ball, a reporter with the Associated Press says, When Clinton wants to keep a decision to himself the only people who know are him and Bruce Lindsey. George has more of a poker face so that if he doesn't know the answer to a question it doesn't show. Dee Dee is much easier to read, which is why she sometimes gives the perception of being more out of the loop."

Ball, like other women reporters interviewed for this article, is somewhat protective of Myers. Do I think Dee Dee sometimes feels big-footed by the men on the campaign? Yeah, that's the way of the world when you're female and 31," says Ball, who is both. Ball hopes that after Myers gets more practice conducting briefings on the weekends she will fill in at the daily briefings when Stephanopoulos is busy. Myers already holds daily morning briefing sessions for wire service reporters, who complained about having to wait until the afternoon to get a reaction to events that took place overnight.

As for the others, Eller will continue as technology guru, hooking up the White House occupants and local press operations with satellite and radio feeds. He'll also handle the logistics of town hall meetings. Seidman, who was director of the war room during the campaign, will retain a behind-the-scenes managerial role of crafting messages to support policy. Dreyer is responsible for Clinton's overall media strategy.

When Clinton was governor of Arkansas he had little insulation from the press. Consequently, state reporters say, he dealt with the press very frankly.

Randy Lilleston is the Washington bureau chief and White House reporter for the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette and has covered Clinton on and off for seven years. He says that Clinton's media operation in Arkansas "wasn't as sophisticated and was much more personal, due to the size of the state. You saw Clinton all the time and you could always ambush him at the State House. And, in Arkansas, if he wouldn't talk to you, you could certainly find someone who would."

Lilleston, who followed Clinton's campaign from its beginning in 1991, says there were two main differences in the way the campaign handled the media after it attracted a larger press corps. First, there was considerably less access to the candidate. Second, the campaign stopped handling issues directly and would try to divert attention to other topics. "Instead of saying, |Yes, we'll give you what you need for that story,'" Lilleston says, "they'd say, |Hey, you're spending too much time on that. What about health care?'"

The White House tried this tack the day Judge Kimba Wood withdrew her name for consideration as attorney general. Reporters say when she pulled out, Stephanopoulos was calling members of the press at home to tell them that the real story of the day was that Clinton signed the Family Leave Act.

Laurence Barrett, Time's veteran campaign reporter, was struck by the "relentless nature of the [spin] operation" when he traveled with Clinton. "You could not spend an hour with that entourage without being spun," he recalls. And he emphasizes that this was a game everyone in the campaign engaged in. "You'd be on the bus ready to take a break and do the crossword puzzle and all of sudden there was Bruce Reed (now deputy assistant for domestic policy) with the story du jour."

Although Clinton's team pushed the message of the day hard, it is best known for innovative reactions to crises - even the worst stories of the campaign were contained within 72 hours.

Dan Balz of the Washington Post was with the candidate in February 1992, the day after the Wall Street Journal broke the first major story on Clinton's dealings with his draft board. Balz was impressed by the way the young and mostly untested team handled what could have been a deadly blow. After the story broke, reporters circled for the kill at a hotel where Clinton was making a speech and angrily demanded a response to their questions. The media team sent Clinton into the middle of the crowd.

"They deliberately walked him into the maw," says Balz, "knowing that the image of one man surrounded by all those cameras would create sympathy for the candidate and antipathy for the press."

The face-your-assailants tactic Clinton used in round one of the draft debacle was far from the norm, however. Adam Nagourney, a reporter with USA Today, says that usually "during tough times the Clinton people would just cut off access. For days we'd only see him at staged events and he would just ignore questions that he didn't want to answer." Clinton gave a demonstration of this technique the day after his inauguration when he greeted visitors at the White House open house. Reporters, who were roped off in an area several feet from the president, shouted questions about Iraq and other breaking stories, but the new president just stared at his feet in silence.

Many press veterans found this scene eerily reminiscent of Reagan, but Mark Hertsgaard, who wrote "On Bended Knee: The Press and the Reagan Presidency," warns against drawing too many parallels to the Teflon president. Reagan didn't answer questions because he couldn't," says Hertsgaard. "Clinton is clearly intelligent enough to grasp problems and can go toe to toe with reporters on the issues."

While evading questions as a defensive strategy, Clinton went on the offense as well. Los Angeles Times reporter Patrick McDonnell was part of a team doing a routine information check with Arkansas state troopers who had guarded Clinton when he was governor. Campaign aide Betsey Wright called one trooper while McDonnell was interviewing him and told him not to speak with the paper. The interview abruptly ended.

Don Johnson, an investigative reporter with the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, says that "there was a great deal of apprehension among state employees that if they spoke out against the favorite son candidate, they might face some sort of disciplinary action."

In another incident last March, the Los Angeles Times was investigating rumors that the Arkansas state police, which was under Clinton's control, had interfered with a local probe of the possible involvement of Roger Clinton, the govemor's brother, with alleged cocaine dealer Dan Lasater. Mter gathering what evidence it could, the newspaper submitted a list of questions to the Clinton campaign. As with Gerth, the campaign responded with a set of perfunctory answers. In an apparent, and rare, mix-up, Betsey Wright called Los Angeles Times reporter William Rempel that evening to announce that Bill Clinton had never used cocaine.

"It was especially odd that she called out of the blue to tell us that he had never taken drugs, when we didn't ask," Rempel says. He and his colleague, reporter Doug Frantz, thought that the unsolicited denial was interesting enough to warrant a story in itself, but the idea threw the paper's editors into turmoil.

"[Editor] Shelby Coffey had never heard of anything like this," Rempel recalls. The reporters were instructed to call back and ask why the campaign had volunteered this material. But this time the question - and Wright's apparent mistake - reached Clinton's media team. Within hours the Los Angeles Times found itself in the middle of a Clinton full court press.

Despite several requests, the campaign wouldn't make Clinton available for an interview about the Lasater story. But after the mix-up the campaign was ready to offer one and called Times campaign reporter Doug Jehl (now with the New, York Times). Frantz, who conducted the interview with Clinton, says Clinton essentially asked the paper to kill the story. Meanwhile, Eller called Deputy National Editor Roger Smith to complain about the tone of the questions being asked on a number of stories.

The gist of the calls," says Smith, "was |We [the Clinton campaign] think the story you are thinking of publishing is wrong, and we'll do whatever it takes to get you off the dime. Even have the candidate call Coffey." In the end, the story never ran. The pressure was enough to make the already queasy Times editors back off.

While playing tough with the big city news media, the campaign used the soft sell in local markets. The Clintons, Gores and their surrogates were available for interviews with local anchors in key states. And Jeff Eller, the technology expert of the campaign, made sure that free audio and video were available to the smaller media stations, which tend to be strapped for money. He established, for example, a radio bank with excerpts from Clinton and Gore speeches and allowed radio stations to call a toll-free number and download an audio clip at no cost. At the height of the campaign, Eller says the bank was receiving 400 calls a day.

In the days immediately following the election, Clinton's media spinners might have thought the presidency was going to be a cake walk compared to the campaign. After Clinton's first press conference as president-elect, R.W. "Johnny" Apple Jr., now the New York limes Washington bureau chief, wrote a front page, above-the-fold article praising Clinton's command of the English language. The headline read, "Clinton Style: Clear, Direct."

Post-campaign, the Clinton team has also shown a Michael Deaver-like mastery of staging made-for-television events. While the network cameras rolled, the Clintons sang Christmas carols with their neighbors in Little Rock. The president-elect walked the streets of a less affluent neighborhood in Washington, D.C., to show his concern for the little guy. During inauguration week, Clinton presided over a star-studded presidential gala, marched down the steps of the Lincoln Memorial to "Fanfare for the Common Man," and saluted assorted heroic common people at the "Faces of Hope" luncheon.

The economic summit served to preview Clinton's plans to create his own forums using alternative media outlets. From a public relations perspective, it was a great success. "Picture someone at home channel-surfing," Stephanopoulos told the Washington Post. "They go by this on C-SPAN, or CNN, or they're in their car and catch a little on NPR, and they say, |Oh, good, he's working on the economy.'"

Clinton also returned triumphantly to the town hall format in mid-February. The event, held in Detroit with questions taken from the audience, allowed Clinton to display his talent for empathizing with the middle class as well as to introduce an outline of his economic plan without being pressed for details. The president and his team ardi also planning a series of softball television exposures, including an ABC News Saturday morning children's special during which Clinton will tell kids how the federal government works.

The president has taken advantage of new technologies to circumvent the press. Clinton pinned an open microphone to his suit during some of his early White House gatherings, allowing news outlets to gather clips of his interactions in a relaxed and intimate setting while keeping reporters at a distance. Thanks to Eller, the White House has the ability to transfer text from White House briefings and press releases through electronic information services, eliminating the press' role as information filter. Any organization or individual with a personal computer can link up to the White House and get a daily dose of White House-controlled information. Another communications channel has been established: According to Eller, the White House receives 500 to 700 pieces of electronic mail a day from individuals wishing to tell the president their opinions and concerns. In theory, all are read and answered.

But since Clinton took office, his control over the press seems to have slipped. Paul Begala believes that the greatest media challenge for the administration will be to keep Clinton from "being the hunted instead of the hunter." Unfortunately for the president, just as his team needs to adjust to a tougher arena, the media gurus of the campaign-spectacle producer Linda Bloodworth-Thomson, advertising executive Mandy Grunwald, and the down-home campaign team of James Carville and Begala - have all returned to their private businesses.

Begala, Carville and Grunwald all maintain contact with the White House, and Begala and Grunwald supposedly attend daily 5 p.m. meetings with Rahm Emanuel, director of political affairs. But the media team's ability to take the political pulse of the nation seems to have been lost, at least temporarily. The Joe Six-pack radar of Carville and Begala didn't detect, for example, the political sensitivities regarding Zoe Baird's inegal hires or lifting the ban on gays in the military, or if it did, no one listened.

In fact, Clinton is worried enough about the gap between policy and public relations that Begala has been brought in on a voluntary basis to handle the possibly explosive repercussions of Clinton's economic plan. The move has raised ethical questions since Begala is a paid consultant to the Democratic National Committee, as is Carville.

There have been other small, but potentially damaging lapses of judgment by Clinton's media team. Alixe Glen, who was a deputy press secretary for President Bush, says the Clinton communications office's original decision to televise the entire daily briefing was a mistake. "The daily briefings are taken very, very seriously by the press and press secretary alike," she says, "but there is often a lot of joking around. Television will inhibit this playfulness. It is not necessary. It creates more tensions than it's worth. And what's the point? So Stephanopoulos can be on television every day?

The other problem with televising the daily briefing is that the press secretary will say |I don't know' maybe 40 times during a press conference," Glen adds. "That's okay because a good press secretary admits when they don't know something and just gets back to a reporter. But when you say |I don't know' repeatedly in front of 200 million viewers, it doesn't particularly inspire confidence in the president."

Stephanopoulos learned this lesson the hard way. After rancorous televised feuds with reporters over everything from policy questions to press access, he announced a change in procedures, and has since stopped televising the briefings in their entirety. Like previous administrations, Clinton's now allows broadcasts of only the first five minutes. Reporters say the television switch is just one sign of the chaotic atmosphere in the press office. Susan Milligan, a White House reporter for the New York Daily News, complained that the press office called a "news lid" at 6:30 p.m. When she went home, she saw that Sen. George Mitchell (D-Maine) was holding a press conference on the White House lawn on gays in the military. Reporters who should have been alerted weren't.

Stephanopoulos also appears to have underestimated the reaction to his decision to close access to the upstairs foyer next to the White House press offices of Stephanopoulos and Myers. Under previous administrations reporters who couldn't get their phone calls returned have been able to wander through this area and personally collar press secretaries for questions. With this area closed off, reporters will have to wait until press aides come to them. If in a time of crisis Stephanopoulos doesn't want any more contact with the press besides the daily briefing, reporters will be out of luck.

Karen Hosler, Washington correspondent for the Baltimore Sun and president of the Vihite House Correspondents Association, was among a group of reporters who met with Stephanopoulos in late January to object to the change in policy. "I don't think he had any idea of how important this was to us," she says. "He was very taken aback by the reaction."

For the rank and file White House press corps who often can't get their phone calls returned by anyone but press aides, the closing of the corridor of last resort verged on betrayal. "They believe they can answer all our questions in a lot more modern ways using beepers and faxes," says Hosler. "Thats fine, but we still need to have as a back-up system the old fashioned way of talking face to face wiih the one human being in the press office who has access to the man on top."

Even assurances by Stephanopoulos that he will keep two deputies, Lorraine Voles and Arthur Jones, in the lower press office at all times to act as conduits has failed to placate anyone. How upset are the reporters? "Put it this way," says Hosler, "we're not going to cut them any breaks."

Susan Feeney, a national political reporter for the Dallas Morning News, calls the decision "a very bad signal" and warns that it was "a bad foot to get off on with the national press." UPI'S veteran White House reporter Helen Thomas fumed to anyone who would listen. Stephanopoulos and Myers found themselves almost torn apart over the issue by reporters during press conferences. Many, like Hosler, think that the decision reflects the team's pereeption that it can do business with or without the goodwill of the Vihite House press corps. It is a confidence that some believe is misplaced.

Stephen Hess, a former White House official for Carter and three other presidents, analyzes the relationship between the White House and the media as a senior fellow at the Brookings Institution. "There was a lot made of how what worked on the campaign would work in the White House - the war room, going over the head of the White House press corps by making appearances on talk shows," Hess says. "Well, every president has tried to go over the head of the White House press corps. Clinton will soon learn, however, that most of what the American public will learn of the president will not be from the Larry Kings or the Oprahs but from the Helen Thomases and Thomas Friedmans," both White House press correspondents.

"Most Americans don't have enough time in their day to get a dose of unfiltered Bill Clinton downloaded from their computers," says Walter Shapiro, now White House columnist for Esquire, who covered the campaign for time. He doesn't believe that the Clinton team will be able to talk-show its way around the regular press corps. "There just aren't that many alternative formats out there," he says, "unless you are willing to beg to be on Geraldo."

Geargo Stephanapoulos

Director of Communications

For a man who's come such a long way in a short amount of time, Stephanopoulos has a remarkably controlled ego, say those who work for him. But unlike Marlin Fitzwater, he hasn't developed the ability to laugh at himself. During the campaign Stephanopoulos was in charge of all policy and press operations. He also worked for the Dukakis campaign as deputy communications director. Prior to the 1992 campaign, Stephanopoulos was an assistant to House Majority Leader Richard Gephardt (D-Mo.) and was administrative assistant to Rep. Edward Feighan (D-Ohio).

Dee Dee Myers

Press Secretary

Myers, probably best known for her self-deprecating wit, has always maintained a good rapport with the press. She even has been known to go bowling with the enemy - reporters. Myers has worked in Democratic politics since 1984 when she was an aide to California Sen. Art Torres and worked for Walter Mondale's presidential bid. After serving as press secretary in a number of California Democratic campaigns, Myers formed her own communications company in 1991. Clients included the League of Conservation Voters and the Los Angeles Educational Partnership.

Jeff Eller

Director for Media Affairs

A technology whiz, Eller, 36, has been busy upgrading the antiquated state of communications at the White House. Prior to the 1992 campaign, Eller was communications director at the Democratic Senatorial Campaign Committee. Eller's media career began in 1976, anchoring news-casts at radio and television stations in indiana and Tennessee. He joined Democratic politics in 1985, working as press secretary for Reps. Bill Boner (D-Tenn.) and Bob Carr (D-Mich.). He designed the press plan for the 1988 Democratic convention, then joined the Democratic Congressional Campaign Committee to assist candidates with press strategy and radio and television technology.

David Dreyor

Director for Planning

Dreyer, 36, cut off his ponytail when he joined the White House staff. He is a deliberate speaker who likes to toss off references to ancient Greeks in casual conversation. Dreyer's strength is thoughtful, long-term strategizing. A veteran of Capitol Hill, he was once cited by Roll Call as one of the Hill's 50 most influential staffers. Prior to the campaign, he was communications director for Majority Leader Richard Gephardt (D-Mo.). He also worked for former House Majority Whip Tony Coelho (D-calif.), Sen. Gary Hart (D-Colo.), and Reps. Steven Solarz (D-N.Y.), Toby Moffett (D-Conn.) and Andrew Maguire (D-N.J.).

Ricki Seidman

Deputy Director of Communications

Seidman, 37, is an unabashed liberal, so much so that the conservative Washington Times has devoted entire editorials to moaning about her White House appointment. Intense and passionate about issues, she was the leading force behind the drive to kill Robert Bork's U.S. Supreme Court nomination when she worked as legal director for People for the American Way. She has also been a staff attorney for the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights. Prior to joining the campaign, she was chief investigator for the Senate's Labor and Human Resources Commiftee.

Leslie Kaufman, assistant editor of Government Executive magazine, profiled New York 7Tmes reporter Maureen Dowd in our October 1992 issue.
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Title Annotation:includes related information; Bill Clinton's press relations staff
Author:Kaufman, Leslie
Publication:American Journalism Review
Article Type:Biography
Date:Mar 1, 1993
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