Clark's fast political learning curve
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Almost as damaging has been criticism from Army colleagues, such as former Defense Secretary William Cohen and former Chairman of the Joint Chiefs Hugh Shelton, who've attacked Clark in an unusually personal way, raising questions about his character. Clark makes no effort to hide the fact that he was essentially fired from his post as NATO commander, referring to an Army career that ended before he would have liked. It was a shock, he writes in his book "Waging Modern War," since he'd just led the successful air war in Kosovo. Supporters chalk up the attacks to professional jealousy and a clash over strategy when Clark pressed for the option to use ground troops. His campaign has released elaborate statements from other colleagues praising Clark's intellect and skill.
One aspect of Clark's campaign that's had both positive and negative effects is his late start. It allowed him to dominate media coverage for a time; it may also have given him a fundraising advantage, since he's now gathering "low-hanging fruit" from those most likely to give to him anyway, and he can funnel that into early primaries. And for a candidate campaigning on biography, the late start gives voters less time to focus on much beyond his military image.
But in many ways, Clark's style seems more suited to intimate settings - the events that tend to dominate a campaign's early stages, but are less and less efficient as the race hurtles into its final weeks.
More subtly, his late entrance as a candidate responding to an Internet draft movement raises questions about his political hunger. He'd flirted with a run throughout the past year - traveling to key states and delivering speeches on the challenges facing the nation - but he waited until the fall to jump in, saying no other candidate had "taken off," and that he was responding to the call of some 60,000 people who signed an online draft petition.
The decision, he says in an interview, was "agonizing." Not only was he not a politician; he'd just begun a business career, one he was loath to abandon. Clark's plan, coming out of the Army, was to "make $40 million," become a philanthropist, go into university teaching or administration, and "work on my golf game and become a teaching golf professional."
He also had financial concerns, knowing he'd have to live off savings during the campaign. In recent years, he notes, most of those who've run for president without having held elective office - such as Steve Forbes or Ross Perot - had the benefit of deep pockets. "I didn't have that," he says.
This lack of personal wealth is a recurrent theme. While his humble upbringing isn't central to his stump speech the way it is for Rep. Richard Gephardt and Sen. John Edwards, he still uses it as a contrast to his more privileged opponents. And many of his stories involve relatively recent struggles: He tells supporters he had to borrow money from his parents to send his son to private school. When he was 41, he spent a month "rebuilding" his car because he didn't have $2000 to get it repaired. The one time he really began making money, working in the private sector, he paid five times as much in taxes as he'd earned as a four-star general.
But while Gephardt stresses help he got from church groups and his community, Clark's world view is more meritocratic. As he leaves a Manchester forum, a voter asks him to compare himself to Bush. "I made it on my own," Clark says, adding that he worked to get ahead and didn't take anything for granted. He starts to walk away, then wheels back to add: "I would never have been a fraternity president at Yale!"
