His clothes were as aggressively fashionable as his choice of heroes. The Times’s Teresa Riordan would write of “stylish suits detailed with a fresh white handkerchief.” He might display “a touch of exotic color, perhaps a mint-colored watchband or the ruby background of a Brooks Brother tie.”[[6.37]] Lehman needn’t haunt any thrift shops. During a twelve- to fourteen-month period before joining the Administration, he had pulled down $430,000 as a lobbyist and lawyer for intellectual property clients.[[6.38]]
The patent office’s Web site said he had represented “individuals, companies, and trade associations in the area of intellectual property rights as it affects the motion picture, telecommunications, pharmaceutical, computer software, and broadcasting industries.”[[6.39]] His clients had included Lotus and Microsoft.[[6.40]] The latter was buying up electronic rights as if they were soft drinks for the programmers’ offices. No, Microsoft would hardly be the world’s leading backer of a universally affordable, well-stocked national digital library of the TeleRead variety. I’d lobby anyone, any company, for my idea. But could I ever persuade Microsoft? Oh, come on. This was the company that owned the word “Windows.”
Clinton-Gore campaigners had once talked of “People First.” Based on Lehman’s background and proclivities, however, a better motto in the case of intellectual property might now be “Entertainment, Information, and Software Magnates First.” It was as if Clinton-Gore had turned national health policy over to a zealous insurance lobbyist who had spent years crusading for higher premiums.
Even at the local level, Lehman was no stranger to the world of money and politics. In 1991, while a Georgetown lawyer, he had lent $10,000 at 12 percent interest to Washington city council candidate Jim Zais even though local law apparently restricted candidates to borrowing only from the usual lending institutions. Zais at the time had raised less than $13,000 from other sources. Questioned by election officials, the candidate had claimed ignorance of the law and promptly paid the money back to Lehman, along with some $120 in interest.[[6.41]]
Like many of his ex-colleagues at Swidler & Berlin, Lehman had kept his checkbook wide open when national politicians needed money. Many months later I learned that between January 1, 1991, and November 28, 1994, the S & B crowd had made at least $191,000 in political donations, including more than $22,000 from Lehman himself during his days there. At least $146,000 of the $191,000 had gone to the firm’s political-action committee. Lehman’s personal contributions had reached at least eighteen congressional candidates. In fairness, let me emphasize that Lehman didn’t just have direct career considerations in mind—he was the first openly gay man whom the U.S. Senate had confirmed as a top federal official,[[6.42]] and he had given generously to gay political-action committees.
Gay groups, in turn, showed their loyalty. They had wanted Clinton to appoint Bruce Lehman to something, and the White House had made him patent commissioner even though Lehman knew more about copyrights. Ron Brown, however, secretary of Commerce, said: “Bruce Lehman is not here because he’s gay. He’s the absolutely best person for the job.”[[6.43]]
I believed Brown. If the Clinton Administration wanted library interests to be kept at bay to placate rich campaign donors, Gore’s dreamy rhetoric notwithstanding, no one would beat Lehman the ex-lobbyist.
A few weeks after the intellectual property hearing in Crystal City, a letter arrived from Mr. Reinventing Government himself. I had mailed my TeleRead proposal and a related Washington Post clip to Al Gore many months ago in spring 1993, and now he replied: “I am impressed with this detailed and very professional presentation. The information you provided certainly appears to contain ideas that merit careful attention. I will retain this material for future consideration as the President and I work on related policies and programs.” I hardly expected a meeting with Clinton and Gore. But was it just possible that one of their GS-14s might deem me worth five minutes of time, and follow up with a few questions?
Months passed. An occasional reporter or academic would read my testimony and call or e-mail, but no one phoned from Commerce. Meanwhile, seeing my TeleRead proposal on the Net, major vendors contacted me. Often they asked the big question: “How are you doing in Washington?”
“Well,” I said in effect, “I hope they’re keeping an open mind.”