LAST APRIL, ROGER CLINTON, WHO IS PARtial to motley Caribbean drawstring pants, squirmed into a tuxedo and showed up at the Regent Beverly Wilshire hotel for a fancy fund raiser honoring his brother Bill. It was, in a way, a coming-out party for Roger. He was seated at the head table, and he led his band, called Politics, before some of Hollywood's established entertainers. But then it came time for Bill to speak. He told the story of a man he had met in Northern California who had supported him because he was out of a job, living in his car, and desperately needed to believe. "You know," said Bill Clinton, "while we are all in here, he is still out there, and he's cold in his car, and he'd like to come home. I want to bring him home. It's time to bring him home." Roger had tears streaming down his face. When a friend asked why, he said, "I know what it's like to be on the outside looking in."
If career-conscious baby boomers are cringing in the glare of Bill Clinton's achievements, imagine how tough it is for the next President's half brother. After all, Americans reserve a special cruelty for the relatives of the prominent. In a country that despises losers, the biggest loser of all is perhaps the weak brother who is made even weaker by his brother's success. At the same time, Americans want their leaders to be godlike but still connected to the soil from which they sprang; so it is psychologically useful if the President is a colossus but his brother has feet of clay.
Roger Clinton, 36, knows that by a twist of fate he has been cast as the suburban version of Billy Carter, the other honky-tonking younger brother with a history of substance abuse. When the comparison is thrown at him, Roger offers this artful riposte: Did you know, he says, that a cancer-stricken Billy spent the last years of his life counseling other terminally ill patients?
At a time when exploiting presidential connections has meant everything from Billy Beer to serving on the board of a savings and loan, Roger has to figure out more than ever how to avoid becoming the family's buffoonish freeloader. It seemed benign for him to be employed by his brother's friends, television producers Harry Thomason and Linda Bloodworth-Thomason, working on the set of Designing Women and warming up the studio audience with his band. But now Coke and Pepsi are talking about the possibility of endorsements; on a Los Angeles radio show last month, he was asked to answer questions about everything from his brother's plans for the aerospace industry to his attitude toward the FCC. Chat hosts from Howard Stern to Larry King want him on their shows, and the calls are coming so fast he now has a private line on the set.