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BillClintonHillaryRodhamClinton[1]BillClintonwashardtomissintheautumnof1970.HearrivedatYaleLawSchoollookingmorelikeaVikingthanaRhodesScholarreturningfromtwoyearsatOxford.Hewastallandhandsomesomewherebeneaththatreddishbrownbeardandcurlymaneofhair.Healsohadavitalitythatseemedtoshootoutofhispores.WhenIfirstsawhiminthelawschool’sstudentlounge,hewasholdingforthbeforearaptaudienceoffellowstudents.AsIwalkedby,Iheardhimsay:“...andnotonlythat,wegrowthebiggestwatermelonsintheworld!”Iaskedafriend,“Whoisthat?”[2]“Oh,that’sBillClinton,”hesaid.“He’sfromArkansas,andthat’sallheevertalksabout.”[3]Wewouldrunintoeachotheraroundcampus,butweneveractuallymetuntilonenightattheYalelawlibrarythefollowingspring.Iwasstudyinginthelibrary,andBillwasstandingoutinthehalltalkingtoanotherstudent,JeffGleckel,whowastryingtopersuadeBilltowritefortheYaleLawJournal.Inoticedthathekeptlookingoveratme.Hehadbeendoingalotofthat.SoIstoodupfromthedesk,walkedovertohimandsaid,“Ifyou’regoingtokeeplookingatme,andI’mgoingtokeeplookingback,wemightaswellbeintroduced.I’mHillaryRodham.”Thatwasit.ThewayBilltellsthestory,hecouldn’trememberhisownname.[4]Wedidn’ttalktoeachotheragainuntilthelastdayofclassesinthespringof1971.WehappenedtowalkoutofProfessorThomasEmerson’sPoliticalandCivilRightscourseatthesametime.BillaskedmewhereIwasgoing.Iwasonthewaytotheregistrar’sofficetosignupforthenextsemester’sclasses.Hetoldmehewasheadingtheretoo.Aswewalked,hecomplimentedmylongflower-patternedskirt.WhenItoldhimthatmymotherhadmadeit,heaskedaboutmyfamilyandwhereIhadgrownup.Wewaitedinlineuntilwegottotheregistrar.Shelookedupandsaid,“Bill,whatareyoudoinghere?You’vealreadyregistered.”Ilaughedwhenheconfessedthathejustwantedtospendtimewithme,andwewentforalongwalkthatturnedintoourfirstdate.[5]WebothhadwantedtoseeaMarkRothkoexhibitattheYaleArtGallerybut,becauseofalabordispute,someoftheuniversity’sbuildings,includingthemuseum,wereclosed.AsBillandIwalkedby,hedecidedhecouldgetusinifweofferedtopickupthelitterthathadaccumulatedinthegallery’scourtyard.WatchinghimtalkourwayinwasthefirsttimeIsawhispersuasivenessinaction.Wehadtheentiremuseumtoourselves.WewanderedthroughthegalleriestalkingaboutRothkoandtwentieth-centuryart.Iadmittobeingsurprisedathisinterestinandknowledgeofsubjectsthatseemed,atfirst,unusualforaVikingfromArkansas.Weendedupinthemuseum’scourtyard,whereIsatinthelargelapofHenryMoore’ssculptureDrapedSeatedWomanwhilewetalkeduntildark.IinvitedBilltothepartymyroommate,KwanKwanTan,andIwerethrowinginourdormroomthatnighttocelebratetheendofclasses.KwanKwan,anethnicChinesewhohadcomefromBurmatoYaletopursuegraduatelegalstudies,wasadelightfullivingcompanionandagracefulperformerofBurmesedance.Sheandherhusband,BillWang,anotherstudent,remainfriends.[6]Billcametoourpartybuthardlysaidaword.SinceIdidn’tknowhimthatwell,Ithoughthemustbeshy,perhapsnotverysociallyadeptorjustuncomfortable.Ididn’thavemuchhopeforusasacouple.Besides,Ihadaboyfriendatthetime,andwehadweekendplansoutoftown.WhenIcamebacktoYalelateSunday,BillcalledandheardmecoughingandhackingfromthebadcoldIhadpickedup.[7]“Yousoundterrible,”hesaid.Aboutthirtyminuteslater,heknockedonmydoor,bearingchickensoupandorangejuice.Hecamein,andhestartedtalking.Hecouldconverseaboutanything―fromAfricanpoliticstocountryandwesternmusic.Iaskedhimwhyhehadbeensoquietatmyparty.[8]“BecauseIwasinterestedinlearningmoreaboutyouandyourfriends,”hereplied.[9]IwasstartingtorealizethatthisyoungmanfromArkansaswasmuchmorecomplexthanfirstimpressionsmightsuggest.Tothisday,hecanastonishmewiththeconnectionsheweavesbetweenideasandwordsandhowhemakesitallsoundlikemusic.Istilllovethewayhethinksandthewayhelooks.OneofthefirstthingsInoticedaboutBillwastheshapeofhishands.Hiswristsarenarrowandhisfingerstaperedanddeft,likethoseofapianistorasurgeon.Whenwefirstmetasstudents,Ilovedwatchinghimturnthepagesofabook.Nowhishandsareshowingsignsofageafterthousandsofhandshakesandgolfswingsandmilesofsignatures.Theyare,liketheirowner,weatheredbutstillexpressive,attractiveandresilient.[10]SoonafterBillcametomyrescuewithchickensoupandorangejuice,webecameinseparable.Inbetweencrammingforfinalsandfinishingupmyfirstyearofconcentrationonchildren,wespentlonghoursdrivingaroundinhis1970burnt-orangeOpelstationwagon―trulyoneoftheugliestcarsevermanufactured―orhangingoutatthebeachhouseonLongIslandSoundnearMilford,Connecticut,wherehelivedwithhisroommates,DougEakeley,DonPogueandBillColeman.Atapartythereonenight,BillandIendedupinthekitchentalkingaboutwhateachofuswantedtodoaftergraduation.Istilldidn’tknowwhereIwouldliveandwhatIwoulddobecausemyinterestsinchildadvocacyandcivilrightsdidn’tdictateaparticularpath.Billwasabsolutelycertain:HewouldgohometoArkansasandrunforpublicoffice.Alotofmyclassmatessaidtheyintendedtopursuepublicservice,butBillwastheonlyonewhoyouknewforcertainwouldactuallydoit.11]ItoldBillaboutmysummerplanstoclerkatTreuhaft,WalkerandBurnstein,asmalllawfirminOakland,California,andheannouncedthathewouldliketogotoCaliforniawithme.Iwasastonished.IknewhehadsignedontoworkinSenatorGeorgeMcGovern’spresidentialcampaignandth