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Even so, there's more than a little hypocrisy to the taunting of Dole. Until recently, Democrats were just as dependent on tobacco money as Republicans. The second-ranking Democrat in the Senate, Wendell Ford of Kentucky, has reaped $76,057 since 1986, while House minority leader Richard Gephardt of Missouri has received $67,258. The industry's contributions to both parties was fairly even until 1992 when, the Center for Responsive Politics reports, Republicans got twice as much soft money from tobacco interests as Democrats: $1.9 million to $900,000. That gap widened in 1994, when Republicans raked in five times as much as Democrats. In the current campaign cycle, the Republicans have taken in seven times as much-- $3.4 million, vs. $500,000 for the Democrats. But last week the G.O.P. gleefully cited a Wall Street Journal story that showed how the Democratic National Committee was in effect laundering money by directing tobacco lobbies to give to less scrutinized state-party organizations (the D.N.C. denies the charge). The amounts were relatively small, but the message is clear: cigarette money is tough for anyone to kick.
LESSON NO. 2: IF THERE'S BAD NEWS LURKING, LET IT OUT YOURSELF. Like Dole, the White House has had trouble containing its most damaging story. In the FBI-file scandal, by failing to explain who hired Livingstone and by failing to release the delicious fact that Livingstone was a Chicken George co-conspirator in 1992, the White House handed the Republicans an extra week of controversy. "I know, dump it all out fast and make it go away," says press secretary Mike McCurry. "But they're not letting this go away. If we had got the facts out quickly, the Republicans would have investigated our investigation. We had to sit it out." White House officials say they never pulled Livingstone's personnel file and so didn't see his boastful resume, which apparently went in for some title inflation: no one at Clinton-Gore '92 seems to recall a division of counterevent operations. The Chicken George operation, in fact, was cooked up in a Detroit tavern by two unemployed young men, "civilians" unaffiliated with the campaign. Strategist James Carville fell in love with the idea, and field workers like Livingstone began scouting for chicken suits. But when the White House didn't come clean on Feathergate, the Republicans saw an opening. But they tripped over another key rule of silly engagement.
LESSON NO. 3: SELECTIVE LEAKING CAN BACKFIRE. By holding back key information, Republicans tried to capitalize on the Administration's utterly confusing explanations about who hired Livingstone. (The White House pinned the deed on the late Vince Foster, for example, when Livingstone himself testified that he'd never met Foster.) Last week William Clinger sent an outraged letter to Clinton suggesting that George Stephanopoulos had been responsible for the hire. As evidence, he pointed to a 1994 letter from Livingstone to Stephanopoulos that requested that Livingstone be considered for a job as director of the White House Military Office, the outfit that looks after the President's nuclear "football." Clinger said this proved that Livingstone and Stephanopoulos had a "close personal relationship." Clinger, however, chose not to release a note passed between Stephanopoulos and his secretary. The secretary asked what she should do with Livingstone's request. Stephanopoulos' reply: "Nothing."