Michael Davis

Statesman Journal

I can sum my thoughts pretty easily about the latest undie-in-a-bundle outrage over Bill Clinton.

The 42nd president of these United States has earned something north of $100 million in speaking fees since leaving the White House. To him say, I say, "Good for you, Bubba-in-chief."

I would say the very same to Jimmy Carter or either of the two Presidents Bush (the skydiver and the portrait painter) if they were raking it in on the lecture circuit.

Being president is one of the most difficult and essence-sucking assignments on the planet. On Inauguration Day you step into the White House with a full head of lustrous dark hair, but you walk out four or eight years later with a mop of gray and more wrinkles than a bed sheet at the Afternoon Delight Motel.

If institutions around the world are willing to plunk down piles of cash to listen to President Clinton, it's fine with me.

They should just be glad he is not charging by the word. Do you remember his run-on State of the Union Address that began on a Monday and ended on a Tuesday?

There were only eight members of the Supreme Court in the gallery when it ended. One died of disinterest.

With the vice president in the background it was like watching two hours of Al Gore and Al Bore.

Actually, what William Jefferson Clinton wanted more than anything in life after his two terms was to be Oprah. But no one offered him an afternoon talk show with an exclamation in the title ("Bill!") or a monthly self-help magazine that would feature cover photographs of him in seasonal outfits ("Bill & Hil's Chappaqua Christmas").

Come to think of it, President Clinton might be just the tonic "American Idol" needs to build back its sagging ratings. (I can just see that lip quivering now over some warbler covering a James Ingram ballad.)

My brother, the estimable Robert P. Davis, is a lecture agent based in Boston. He makes his living booking dates for the big names in arts, letters, politics and science.

Through the years, Brother Bob has represented Ralph Nader (the Green Party), Mikhail Gorbachev (the Red Party) and cast members from "The Jersey Shore" (the Drunken Summer-Long Party).

Lecture agents represent the famous and the infamous. If memory serves, Bob booked dates for a gaggle of Watergate criminals after they were sprung from the slammer.

And lest we forget, President Richard M. Nixon was paid $600,000 and 20 percent of potential profits to play verbal tennis with British journalist David Frost on the telly. This came at a time when the disgraced president was short on cash from having to pay his defense lawyers. Dare I say it? He was almost flat broke.

Of course, starchy non-fiction books provide the biggest payday for out-of-office leaders. Publishing houses pay out huge sums for these memoirs — thick tomes with vaguely contemplative titles like "In My Time" or "Talking to Myself." If they were being honest with us, the books would be called "My Big, Fat Annuity" or "A History of Me, By Me and For Me."

By the way, they're still in the studio working on that audio book for Bill Clinton's "My Life" (2004). It's like counting out loud to a trillion.

But let's get back to the main point, shall we?

As celebrities, our presidents are like athletic superstars in reverse.

Newly emancipated Miami Heat free agent LeBron James ("I'm taking my talents from South Beach!") will make the big bucks while in his 20s and 30s, basically the first third of his life.

Barack Obama will cash in toward the final third of his life, when he will need to come up with some serious Simoleons for Sasha's and Malia's weddings.

Ask yourself: In whose shoes would you rather be, Barack's or LeBron's?

What nightmare topic would you choose? Nuclear defense systems or the San Antonio defense that crushed Miami like a tomato can in the NBA Finals?

Presidents deserve every cent they can muster after living on high alert and making decisions that shape history.

There's a reason why folding money has presidential portraits on the front.

Michael Davis is executive editor of the Statesman Journal. Contact him at mdavis4@statesmanjournal.com; P.O. Box 13009, Salem, OR 97309; or (503) 399-6712.

If I had the big bucks ...

Rapid Response: $100 million ways to say 'Happy birthday, USA'

My answer to today's Rapid Response question? I'd buy the Statesman Journal building (it's for sale) and gut it.

In its place would rise the Seymour E. Davis Center for Scholastic Music, an endowed (by me) center that would honor and elevate music in our public schools.

Two professional-grade performance spaces — one seating 1,500, another seating 750 — would be home to an annual festival of bands, orchestras, ensembles and choruses from across America. There would be small and large auditoriums, rehearsal and solo practice rooms, a vast library and multimedia center, guest apartments, a catering facility and ample underground parking. The grand atrium would lead to an interactive museum patterned after Cleveland's Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, with artifacts from musicians who got their start in public school programs.

(Seymour E. Davis was my father, the person who urged me to express myself musically. He grew up desperately poor and only wished he could have played an instrument.)