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Meathead would be proud
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Sept. 30, 1999 |
I knew this, but decided to arrive at the DAR Constitution Hall early anyway, to soak up a little federal arts funding flavah. I brought along the current issue of Time, just in case I needed to kill some. The leather-gloved security guide at the door, checking my bag for anything untoward, pointed at cover boy Bill Bradley and winked. "The next president of the United States, you think?" In D.C., everyone wants to talk politics. Making my way into the cavernous hall, I surveyed the sorry batch of cameramen napping in the press section, then plunked down next to two young women, who described themselves as "one step above an intern" for People magazine. Their goal was to pick out celebrities in the audience and report back to their superiors -- so far, they sighed, they hadn't found anyone worth noting. I looked around and concurred. It was an interesting mix of New York air-kissing arts types; socially conscious, D.C. arm-pumping types (including, I later learned, crunchy Minnesota Sen. Paul Wellstone, New York Rep. Jerry Nadler, Maryland Rep. Connie Morella and retired Ohio Sen. Howard Metzenbaum); and a smattering of huggy West Coasters. I caught snippets of conversation over the sound of "The President's Own" Marine Chamber Orchestra, which, golden epaulets a-twinkling, gamely cranked out the show tunes. "Yes, I work for the Brooklyn Museum of Art," one bearded fellow confirmed with pride. "The accordion is like melted cheese," one Tom Waits-voiced man passionately proclaimed. "I'm here for one reason," one New York reporter told another. "New York Senate race -- dung-laden art." He was talking, of course, about the "Sensations" show (which opens Saturday at the Brooklyn Museum of Art). You've heard of it, no doubt -- as prudy Rudy Giuliani's carping has brought public arts funding back into the national debate and made what might have been a mundane medals ceremony news. When the festivities did finally get under way -- roundabout 12:30, after what felt like hours of musical tributes to "Cats," "The Sound of Music" and "Porgy and Bess" -- it turned out to be a real lip-biter. The first couple, it was immediately clear, truly felt the recipients' artistic pain. After the honorees were announced and filed in rather stonily -- Aretha Franklin, Norman Lear, Miss Odetta, Garrison Keillor, Jim Lehrer, Michael Graves and Steven Spielberg, just to name a few -- the president and Mrs. Clinton arrived looking fresh and fabulous. Her brand-new haircut, topping a New York black outfit, looked short and sophisticated ... and just a little cute. Amy Reiter Amy Reiter's column appears daily on the People site, Monday through Friday.
Got a hot tip? Tell Amy! She congratulated the recipients, talked about the value of arts education for the kiddies, commended the members of Congress in attendance who consider the arts "not a luxury for the few but a necessity for all" and reminisced about being moved by a Picasso painting in junior high school, before turning over the mike to her husband. "His voice has been a little hoarse these days," she explained, "but as long as he still has one, he'll raise it on behalf of the arts." Then the photo-ops began in earnest. Here was Hillary shaking hands with the head of the Juilliard School, the ex-director of the Brooklyn Academy of Music, a prime funder of the Dance Theater of Harlem. How much more New York can you get? The president, for his part, got in a few good quips and stories as he bestowed the awards. Before draping a medal on sitcom god Norman Lear, President Clinton recalled the time -- just after he'd lost a gubernatorial election -- Lear took him to the opening of a Broadway play he'd produced. The play, clucked Clinton, closed three days later. "We're here today because the intervening years have been kinder to both of us," he said. "I'm not sure Archie Bunker would approve, but Meathead sure would be proud." He gently poked Keillor, whom he called "our modern-day Mark Twain" and said was "always blaring at the White House." Unlike Lake Woebegone's forefathers, Keillor, he said, has never stopped short: "Just ask the governor of Minnesota." But Jesse Ventura wasn't the only Keillor nemesis invoked. Before the ceremony, Keillor modestly mused to the president that his National Humanities Medal came thanks to someone else's "last-minute cancellation." The president smiled, shook his head and confided to the audience, "I didn't have the heart to tell him how sorry I was that Rush Limbaugh couldn't make it." Newsman Lehrer was dubbed "asker of hard and probing questions in a deceptively civilized way." Author Taylor Branch, a friend of the Clintons for 30 years, got the biggest presidential hug. And Spielberg set flashbulbs clicking so rapidly the staid DAR started to look like the old Studio 54. The whole thing took a little more than an hour, but that was apparently too long for a certain Queen of Soul, who showed just a hint of D-I-S-R-E-S-P-E-C-T by sneaking out a little early. But after taking one look at the rain and the chain of fools lining up for cabs, I had to admit, Aretha had the right idea.
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