But so many others were dying. Early on, I had set a goal that no one would die simply due to the fact that they did not receive our best medical attention. COVID would kill people. I knew that, and it was hard to come to terms with. But no life should be lost because of our lack of organization, resources, or talent. I kept going back to images of people dying in Italian hospital corridors. There, infected individuals, including young people, were dying not from coronavirus alone but from lack of access to health-care services—lack of a ventilator, lack of medical attention. I refused to let that happen here.
Meanwhile, I had received some more hope from a surprising source. In early March, Bill Clinton called me to touch base and see how I was doing. It meant a great deal to me that he took the time. He had been in the hot seat many times, as attorney general and governor of Arkansas and, obviously, as president. He knew what it was like to make hard decisions and live with the consequences. We had spent eight years working together, during which he had been enormously kind to me. I was one of the youngest cabinet secretaries in history, and he had taken a big chance on me and he had also taken the time to counsel and advise me. I still appreciate it to this day. Bill Clinton is an extraordinary politician, and his ability to connect with people—to put his own self aside and actually appreciate where another person is coming from and respond on that level—is a true skill. He has a personal touch unlike anyone I have met.
When we worked together, one of his objectives was to “reduce the New York in me.” New Yorkers are high-strung and can come off as intense. President Clinton took me on many presidential trips with him and would spend time talking to me on Air Force One about the event we had just attended, the people there, my observations and his. I remember one conversation early on when he suggested that I reach out to the House and Senate members on the HUD authorizing and appropriations committees to develop a relationship with them. He made the point it would be much more effective to visit them in their home districts than in their Washington offices. Visiting them in the district was a sign of respect and also showed constituents that their representation made a difference on the local level.
HUD had a broad portfolio and was active in every district in the nation, so I could certainly find something that HUD was doing to justify the trip. The president simply said I should “go visit” them. I am a very literal person, so I wanted to make sure that I understood what he meant by “go visit.”
“What do you think I should be talking with them about?” I asked him.
The president repeated, “Just go visit.”
As a New Yorker, I didn’t understand the concept of just visiting. I was goal oriented. Everything had to have a purpose.
“Andrew, there is no purpose; the only purpose is to visit,” the president said.
But I couldn’t take a hint. “But what do I want to accomplish?”
“Nothing,” answered the president. “Just visit.”
Eventually I understood. There did not always have to be an agenda. The personal connection was simply for the sake of the personal connection. This lesson has served me very well in later life. I would recall it when I was working through my briefings.
President Clinton and I had another encounter that sticks with me. As HUD secretary, I was going to receive the Man of the Year Award from the Detroit NAACP. I often received these awards, which were really based on an organization’s desire to have a featured speaker. But HUD had been very aggressive on antidiscrimination work: We sued the Ku Klux Klan, and we dramatically advanced fair housing and home ownership opportunities for Black Americans.
President Clinton called me a few days before the event to congratulate me. I didn’t think it was a big deal, and I was taken aback that he would have the time to call.
“It’s the largest indoor sit-down dinner in the country with several thousand attendees,” he said. “I’m proud of you. I’d like to come along. You should bring Kerry. We’ll go on Air Force One.”
“Mr. President, I’m really flattered, but that’s not necessary.”
He insisted, and a few days later we were on Air Force One going to Detroit, and sure enough it was the largest dinner I had ever attended. The president spoke, and the crowd loved him. I spoke, but obviously no one was really that interested after hearing from the president.
I had heard the advance people telling the president there was a shortcut to exit behind the stage so that he would not get caught by the crowd. I thought that was the plan. However, when it came time to leave, rather than exiting the stage through the back, the president walked right toward the crowd. Several thousand people surged the rope line to shake his hand. He must have stood there for two and a half hours shaking hands and taking pictures. I think he shook hands with everybody in the room. We got back on Air Force One at about one o’clock in the morning.
I knew President Clinton could’ve just walked out the back of the hotel and saved hours, so I asked him why he stayed back. He made two points. First, he said this was a big thing for the people at the dinner and they deserved it. They would have a picture with the president, and it would be treasured. He also said, “Andrew, that’s
