A Woman in Charge by Carl Bernstein Page A

the way she dressed. Her face, without her glasses, was unquestionably pretty, though she had something of an overbite. And when she dressed up, it was said she had a certain tasteful look of refinement and sophistication. But she didn’t dress up often, and style did not come to her naturally. Hillary was convinced that her father’s penurious attitudes and his tendency to overrule her mother in decisions affecting her as a young woman forced her to dress unattractively. “He didn’t want to give her money to do things that she wanted to do,” said Betsy. “We were all clothes crazy and he didn’t see that as a good reason for spending a lot of money or time.” Betsy and others at school believed his attitude undermined Hillary’s sense of femininity, making it difficult for her to feel comfortable or popular with boys.
    The essential rite of passage to young adulthood in suburban America of the 1950s and 1960s was getting a driver’s license. Hugh Rodham forbade it. “You don’t need to drive a car, you have a bike,” he insisted. Besides, Betsy, who did drive, picked Hillary up whenever they needed to get somewhere together.
    Embarrassed to have to continue riding her bicycle while her classmates drove (and, in some instances, even owned) cars, Hillary took matters into her own hands. Lori Jo Hansen, a classmate, surreptitiously helped her get her driver’s license. Hillary’s father was incensed at first, but after some lobbying by her mother he finally agreed that she could sometimes drive his Cadillac. She turned out to be an awful driver.
    As Hillary’s senior prom approached, her anger and disillusionment with her father became almost uncontrollable (or as uncontrollable as Hillary could get). She and Betsy were to double-date, chaperoned by the Rodhams. Hillary was clearly embarrassed by the dress her father had permitted her to buy. “Looking at it, I think everyone else next to me will think they are overdressed, it is so modest,” she wrote to Don Jones, the former youth minister of her church.
    Betsy fixed Hillary up with Jim Van Schoyck, whom Ebeling had once dated back in tenth grade. Van Schoyck balked at the idea initially, saying Hillary was a bit too nerdy for him. But he agreed to call her, and took her out on a “practice date” a couple of weeks before the prom. They went for a drive and Jim stopped the car at the top of the Lutheran General Hospital’s winding driveway, brought out his skateboard, and asked Hillary whether she’d ever ridden on one. She hadn’t, but not wanting to say no, Hillary said she could do it. Jim handed her the skateboard and Hillary stepped on.
    â€œ[He] put her on the skateboard, and down she went,” Ebeling said. “And she made it to the bottom of the hill and didn’t wipe out. So, she was the date.”
    Hillary’s next problem was her hair (which she has struggled with ever since). It was as strong-willed as she was. Betsy, who regularly had the difficult task of trying to tame her friend’s mane, described it as having a mind of its own. The most famous model of the day, Suzy Parker, fashioned her hair with a curl over her forehead, but Hillary could not achieve that effect no matter how hard she tried. The afternoon of the senior prom proved no exception. Hillary, who almost never paid attention to (or had the money for) brand-name goods, had a favorite mock tortoiseshell Revlon comb. She grabbed it angrily from Ebeling and cracked it. This was as riled as Betsy had ever seen her, and she was near tears. Finally, her mother came into Hillary’s room, pulled her daughter’s hair back, and put a blue bow in it and the three agreed it looked wonderful.
    The prom crisis reflected Hillary’s developing perfectionism, which revealed itself in many different ways. If she couldn’t get something right, she felt surprisingly exposed and vulnerable. If