The Politics of Presidential Appointment. Sheldon Hackney

was also getting excited about what I could do at the NEH. Joe Duffy had told me that it was more of a day-to-day management job than people realized, a useful warning because Bill Bennett and Lynne Cheney had turned it into a conservative pulpit. I remember thinking at about this time that I had great respect for what the NEH did; I thought I could do the internal management of the agency, the politics of the humanities community, the lobbying of Congress, and still have time and energy to perform as a depoliticized spokesperson for the humanities in American life, and to help the NEH create some exciting new programs.

      Harris’s follow-through was impressive. He called Bruce Lindsey immediately. I am sure he had a number of things to take up with Lindsey, but he also put in a word for me. I also got busy. I called Philadelphia Congressmen Tom Foglietta and Bill Gray; both were supportive. Bill Gray, a member of the Democratic leadership in the House, called Bruce Lindsey on my behalf. I began to ask other friends, like Robert Brustein, director of the American Repertory Theater at Harvard, to write to Lindsey about me.

      Meanwhile, Mike Aiken and Rick Nahm let me know that they were about to be selected to head other institutions, Mike to be chancellor of the University of Illinois, Champaign-Urbana, and Rick to become president of Knox College in Galesburg, Illinois. I had contingency plans ready. After appropriate consultations, I would name Marvin Lazerson, dean of the School of Education, to act as provost, and I would simply promote Ginny Clark, associate V.P. for Development and Alumni Relations, to succeed Rick. There was, however, a timing problem presented by the search for the new executive vice president (EVP). I could not really announce that I planned to step down on June 30, 1994, until the EVP had been named. Naturally, I would have to tell that person what was about to happen, and that would make the selling of the job a little harder.

      My dual life was far from boring, as a reconstruction of February 3, 1993, indicates. My day started at 8:30 A.M. with a briefing of a large group of trustees by our financial team on a “sources and uses” analysis of University finances, tracing more clearly than ever before where our revenues came from and how they flowed within the institution. That meeting dissolved into a meeting of the Trustees’ special Long Range Planning Committee where Bill Kelley, the dean of the medical school and CEO of the medical center, successfully presented his strategic plan for the medical center. Those crucial discussions occupied the morning. Between 2 and 3 P.M., I conferred with the general counsel, Shelley Green, and the vice provost for research, Barry Cooperman, about a suit against the University by a company accusing our faculty of leaking its trade secrets about solid-state batteries. Between 4 and 5 P.M., Mike Aiken and I met with the faculty senate executive committee, about a committee report recommending changes in the “just cause” procedures, the process through which faculty members can be disciplined, which had just failed miserably to handle a case of faculty plagiarism. I spent the evening, from 6 P.M. to 10 P.M. at the annual football banquet, which was very upbeat.

      During the little empty spaces in the day, especially between 3 and 4 P.M., I did my telephoning. Among my calls that day was one from Harris Wofford, who reported that he had talked to Bruce Lindsey again and that Bruce had said that my name was on a short list for the NEH. He also assured Harris, with what I imagine was a bit of exasperation, that, yes, he understood how distinguished I was. I remember thinking at this point how frustrating it was to be working in the dark; no one from the White House had gotten in touch with me to make an assessment of how well I might be expected to do the job. I had no chance to speak for myself. It also felt strange to know that the White House’s ultimate selection would be heavily influenced by political consideration, what constituency or person it wanted to please, and what message might be communicated by the selection of a particular person. My value, initially at least, was purely symbolic. I could only line up my support and hope for the best.

      I left the next day for an alumni speaking engagement and fund-raising excursion in Florida. Lucy was in Montgomery caring for her mother after an operation to repair a broken hip, so I traveled alone. I spent a delightful evening on Key Biscayne in the home of Carlos and Rosa de la Cruz; Carlos was a Penn alumnus who had been extremely successful in business. Ironically, Carlos and Rosa, whom I do not think of as arrogant, left-wing elitists, collect the work of Andres Serrano, the Latino artist whose “Piss Christ” ignited one of the most ferocious attacks by Jesse Helms and the religious right on funding for the National Endowment for the Arts.

      After my work was done, I went up the coast to spend the rest of the weekend with Don and Ann Brown at their place at Frenchman’s Creek. Ann, an active consumer advocate, was waging a quiet campaign for appointment to be chair of the Consumer Products Safety Commission. We had fun swapping stories about the process. She also was successful in her quest and was a brilliant success in the job.

      I returned to Philadelphia that Monday, February 8, to find some messages from David Morse who had been trolling for information in Washington. He reported that John Hammer had been asked by the White House whether there were any negatives about me in the humanities community. We don’t see the wind; we just see the ripples on the water.

      The next bit of hearsay evidence was provided by a call on February 12 from Jackie Trescott, the reporter on the culture beat for the Washington Post, who was pursuing a list of seven possible nominees for the chairmanship of the NEH. I could only tell her that the White House had not been in touch with me. Shortly afterward, someone from Bruce Lindsey’s office called my office and asked that my c.v. be sent to them, yet another paper missile fired into the dark void of Washington. David Morse guessed that they were delaying a choice for the NEH hoping to be able to announce the NEH and NEA together. If there were a woman for the NEA, and all the rumored candidates were women, that would provide some camouflage if the NEH went to a white male. I understood that.

      On March 3, the Washington Post reported that I was the leading candidate for chairmanship of the NEH. This was news to me, albeit good news. It also began to make my situation mildly uncomfortable. Rumors were swirling about. The Chronicle of Higher Education sent a photographer to take my picture, saying they would save it for an appropriate occasion. Stan Katz at the American Council of Learned Societies, my friend and later my close ally, was telling people that I was about to be nominated. Harris Wofford called to say that he had talked to Hillary about me and that she was enthusiastic. Charley Pizzi at the Philadelphia Chamber of Commerce told me that he had heard it was to be announced that week. The Daily Pennsylvanian called me for a reaction because they had it from an unimpeachable source in the White House that I was to have been announced the preceding Friday. I could not react to something that had not been announced, nor could I explain why it had not been announced. Neither could the reporter. This state of suspended animation had its amusing aspects. Students would fall into step with me on Locust Walk and ask brightly, “Have you gotten the job yet?” Others would just say, “Good luck,” as they passed. Worry about being a publicly rejected suitor was the major discomfort at this point.

      Lucy and I went to Montgomery, Alabama the weekend of April 2-4 where I gave the annual Durr Lecture at Auburn University in Montgomery, an event that celebrated the life and work of Lucy’s father, Clifford J. Durr. My talk began by examining an apparent paradox, one of my favorite devices because I believe paradoxes expose the problem areas of cultures, and thus they can yield very interesting insights into the culture. I have been thinking about paradoxes and using them analytically for a long time, and I continue to be fascinated with them. In this case, I observed that the new globalism was begetting tribalism. It is a curious fact that the shrinking of the world under the influence of modern transportation, information technology, and the integration of economies was accompanied by an epidemic of sectarian violence. The closer we get to each other, the more we fight one another. This phenomenon, I argued, should make Americans think more carefully about what values and commitments were strong enough to hold our racially, ethnically, religiously, linguistically, culturally diverse society together. This was a theme I had pursued before, used for my remarks at Commencement in May 1993, and one that I would return to later at the NEH.

      The next day, Friday, April 2, when Lucy and I were staying with my brother, Morris, and his wife, Brenda, in Birmingham, I was run to earth by Bill Gilcher, who was phoning on behalf of the Office of Presidential Personnel. Could I come talk to them next week? I said that I thought that I might be able to work that into my schedule.

      Actually,