The night I met Bill Clinton

So we were out on the Strip last night, swingin' with the big dogs, when ...

OK, not really. This photo is about a year old now, but I thought with the debate in town tonight, this might be a good time to dust if off and tell a story.

That's not a Bill Clinton impersonator. That's actually the former POTUS. Last January, I believe, we were invited to a book-signing event for Terry McAuliffe, the former chair of the Democratic National Committee and a close friend of one Mr. Brian Greenspun, head honcho of my wife's employer, Greenspun Media Group.

Mr. McAuliffe was signing copies of his memoir, "What A Party! My Life Among Democrats: Presidents, Candidates, Donors, Activists, Alligators and Other Wild Animals." The author also serves as the national chair of the Hillary Clinton presidential campaign, and there was some speculation that perhaps Senator Clinton's unemployed husband might carve out some time from his busy schedule of playing golf and watching the History Channel to join the festivities.

The former President, you see, is a longtime friend of Brian Greenspun. Brian and Bill apparently were roommates (either in college or law school, I'm not clear which and didn't get a chance to clarify it with Bill), and the Clintons and Greenspuns often vacation together, apparently with the McAuliffes crashing the party at times as well.

(Possibly irrelevant aside: Greenspun continues to claim that he is a Republican, despite his relationship with Bill Clinton and his documented support for Hillary Clinton in the 2008 campaign. In his weekly column in the Las Vegas Sun, publisher Greenspun frequently laments the current dismal state of the Republican Party, which he attributes in large part to the actions of the Bush Administration, but he maintains -- last I heard, anyway -- that he is a card-carrying member of the GOP. Meanwhile, over at the arch-right-wing Las Vegas Review-Journal, publisher Sherm Fredrick claims to be a Democrat, although he never misses a chance to rip Harry Reid, Nanci Pelosi or the Clintons, or take childish potshots at "ultraliberal" Brian Greenspun. Again, only in Vegas I guess ...)

Anyway, back to the book-signing. After some introductory comments from Brian Greenspun and a short speech by McAuliffe, a buzz grew from the back of the room, the crowd parted and in walked the man who once was the Most Powerful Man In The World. Wearing blue jeans, sneakers and a navy blue polo shirt, he was the most comfortably dressed person in the room. And he graciously posed for photos with everybody in the room (about 75 of us). Nobody flung panties or room keys at him that I could tell, but the famed Clinton Magnetism was clearly on display. In the 20 seconds or so that we stood with him, the guy made us feel like we were the only people in the room. So inspirational it was almost unsettling. Clearly, he was made to be a politician.

After the photo, we noticed that a few other notable political wonks had joined the party as well -- namely, former RNC chair Ed Gillespie and those wacky kids James Carville and Mary Matalin, the Lockhorns of the Beltway. They sat together in the back of the room near the bar, yukking it up and back-slapping like the political animals they are. At one point, Gillespie ran past me waving his arms like a giddy tourist on the Strip and saying, "Hey, let's get a photo of the President with James and Mary!"

At that point, it dawned on me that this whole political game is just that to them -- a game. I've seen Gillespie on various talk shows saying terrible, horrible things about Democrats -- accusing them of treason and immorality and various acts of puppy-kicking -- and yet he and McAuliffe apparently make the rounds together, signing books and mugging for photos like a couple of retired professional wrestlers whose longtime rivalry was all an act for the cameras.

And I'll admit, it pissed me off a little, getting a peek behind the curtain like that, because I now know what I always suspected -- for most of these political operatives, it's all an act. Every partisan attack, every mudpie slung and insult fired off the cuff is calculated to reach a certain audience and sway gullible voters into voting for their candidates, not based on the issues but based on personal attacks, most of which they quickly put aside when the cameras are gone and the scotch starts flowing.

So it was a memorable night for a few reasons, but at least I got that photo with Bill. My wife's grandma showed it to all of her friends at her assisted-living residence back in southern Minnesota, and that was enough to make even my disillusionment with the political system worthwhile.