A Basket of Deplorables: What I Saw Inside the Clinton White House

© 2020 by Linda Tripp with Dennis Carstens

All Rights Reserved

ISBN: 978-1-64293-772-5

ISBN (eBook): 978-1-64293-773-2

Linda Tripp cover photo used with permission from Getty Images.

This is a work of nonfiction. All people, locations, events, and situations are portrayed to the best of the author’s memory.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

Post Hill Press

New York • Nashville

posthillpress.com

Published in the United States of America

Contents

Prologue by Linda Tripp

Impressions by Dennis Carstens

Chapter 1: Intro to Linda

Chapter 2: The Bush White House

Chapter 3: Meet the Real Clintons

Chapter 4: The Main Clinton Scandals

Chapter 5: Whitewater

Chapter 6 : The Travel Office Massacre

Chapter 7: Filegate

Chapter 8: Hillary Clinton and Vince Foster

Chapter 9: Vince Foster’s Death

Chapter 10: The Main Bill Clinton Sex Scandals

Chapter 11: Kathy Shelton, Gennifer Flowers, and Marilyn Jo Jenkins

Chapter 12: Introduction to Monica Lewinsky

Chapter 13: Monica in 1996

Chapter 14: Monica and Andy Bleiler

Chapter 15: Michael Isikoff: Part One, March 1997

Chapter 16: Isikoff: Part Two

Chapter 17: Norma Asnes and the Attempted Seduction of Linda

Chapter 18: Office of the Independent Counsel

Epilogue by Dennis Carstens

Linda’s Last Word

In Memoriam

This book is dedicated to the memory of Linda Tripp Rausch. Her sudden, swift, and too-soon passing left a hole in the hearts of many. It was her enormous courage and love of country that led her to tell the truth about two of the most corrupt politicians in our nation’s history. Knowing she would be vilified from coast to coast by the protectors and enablers of these two extremely flawed people, she held forth and did America a great service. A book dedication and simple thank-you hardly seem adequate.

Rest in peace, heroic soul.

Prologue

by Linda Tripp

This writing journey began as a personal journal more than ten years ago, eighteen years after I first met Bill and Hillary Clinton and fourteen years after the hurricane that was The Clinton-Lewinsky Scandal. As the years passed, it also became more difficult to ignore the aging process. As hurtful as the media portrayal of me was, I always thought one day I would have the courage to correct the record. That day was a nebulous someday and something I didn’t have to think about now.

But now had suddenly arrived, and I began to think I was running out of time to tell the story from the perspective of someone who had been there. Most of what has been told, and specifically what has been written, has been by those whose real agenda was to continue as Clinton loyalists, always providing yet more cover for them. These self-proclaimed journalists were not in the Clinton White House and have universally gotten it wrong.

Some say I am the most notorious woman of all time. I knew that my family, principally my grandchildren, deserved to learn the truth as I had lived it before it was too late. A journal seemed to be the best solution. So, several years ago, I began to write. That journey would be a long one, with twists and turns, starts and stops, but in the end, it resulted in this book.

My comfort zone had always involved burying things I wanted to forget. I was extraordinarily good at compartmentalizing unpleasant memories and putting them in boxes. Out of sight, out of mind. But that is selfish, because this story is not about me. It is not even about Monica Lewinsky. Not really. It is about two of the most corrupt political operatives to ever grace the international stage. It is a story that needs to be told.

Slowly, my reticence began to change. There were instances over time that began to prompt me to take my head out of the sand. There were the countless retrospectives of that time. All seemed superficial; all seemed lacking. It all felt wrong. The continuing shenanigans of the Clintons are reminiscent of that which had come so many years before, notably during Hillary’s run for the White House. Twice. Except for a few op-eds, I hadn’t warned anyone. Added to that, I found myself feeling guilty that I had never spoken up. But it was not just the civil servant side of me that felt guilty. The personal side was worse.

Several instances happened in quick succession that prompted me to begin writing. There was the time my nephew, then in high school, told me that his Aunt Deed—as he called me—had been a topic of discussion in his social studies class. His confusion about this and his questions bothered me. His father, my brother-in-law, would often joke: When are you going to write that book so I can finally know what really went on? And the worst was when my eldest granddaughter came home from school one day many years ago saying, Omi, I didn’t know you were famous. Were you a bad person? I was at a loss for how to respond to this sweet six-year-old. She is now fourteen and deserves answers. And, not to sound too full of myself, so do the American people. History deserves perspective.

From the beginning, I had always had the full, unquestioned, and unwavering support of my amazing family and my closest friends. Yet during this ordeal, we never fully discussed what had happened, why it had happened, or why I had taken the extraordinary steps that I did. They simply stood by my side, knowing I would have done something so dramatic only for what I considered to be valid reasons. A part of me felt I owed this to them.

No one knew better than me the way I had been depicted in the media. And, as they say, the press drafts history; the books cement it for posterity. Often, truth is the accidental casualty.

And there were so many books—all written from an outsider’s point of view, unfailingly from a political perspective, all by bystanders to history who chose to malign me as an avarice-driven political hack with a political agenda. My silence over those many years had allowed all of them—Jeffrey Toobin in A Vast Conspiracy, Michael Isikoff in Uncovering Clinton, and Sydney Blumenthal in The Clinton Wars, to name just a few—to define me. And in doing so, they framed the dialogue from their point of view while I stood silent.

These very same people had loudly and repeatedly accused me on national TV of being motivated by the desire to write a book. In that relatively new twenty-four-hour news cycle, it was a veritable cacophony, all asserting knowledgeably and in lockstep that I did what I had done motivated by greed. If you knew anything about me at that time, you would have thought from the repeated claims derisively alleging it was all about a book deal that I chose to turn the world upside down to sell books. Many of these same Clinton loyalists and protectors, within a year, wrote bestsellers. Apparently, the irony and hypocrisy were lost on them.

With all of this in mind, I began the laborious effort of writing a journal. One day, in the distant future, this would provide my family answers to all the questions, asked and unasked. They would finally have a level of understanding I had never provided before.

So, I wrote. And, as I revisited this painful time, I found myself bombarded with memories. Events long buried began to surface, and as I faced them all for the first time in so many years, I slowly began to realize that what I had lived, and what I had to say, was important.

My best friend, who lived this entire ordeal with me, had for decades encouraged me to write a book. It had never been an option. I told her of my decision to write the journal and, despite her urging, I assured her it would remain just that.

Slowly as my journal progressed, as I said, the memories flooded back. And once I found myself back in l993, I couldn’t stop. My journal began to look more and more like a book I would like to read. I did nothing about it, but it was at this point that my journal began to be far more detailed.

A book. Could I do this after all? I had the vague and unarticulated sense that this was meant to be. As always, my trepidation surfaced, knowing that the very facts, as melodramatic as they were, could be construed as unadulterated Clinton bashing. That so many years after the fact, everything would still be seen through a political lens. That what I wrote could be considered questionable or perceived as vindictive or vengeful, inadvertently giving credence to those who said all those years ago that my agenda was political. If so, the obvious question to put to my critics would be: Why did she wait so long?

I plodded on, knowing that the incendiary facts would be challenged simply because of who I am, but also knowing there were those who would believe what I had to say.

The actual writing served as a catharsis of sorts, but in the back of my mind I felt myself in the middle of a real-life push-pull. As the journal morphed into something much more, the old fears began to overtake me. Other than my best friend for more than thirty-five years, I told no one. If no one knew, it did not exist.

There was a selfish concern too. My dear husband and I had made a wonderful life for ourselves over the many previous years. We’d been together for twenty years. We cherished our simple lives, treasured our privacy and anonymity, made possible by the slow-paced area in which we chose to live. We were surrounded by our grandkids and our horse farm and the normalcy that a consistent low-profile life afforded us. We were richly blessed and knew it. I didn’t want to do anything that might jeopardize our idyllic lives.

As I wrote my journal, now a bona fide manuscript, I was overcome by all the old fears. Fear of the bullying that would surely ensue, and fear for the physical safety of myself and my family. In looking for ways to justify the cowardly decision to abandon the whole thing, I rationalized that as politically radioactive as I had been, it was unlikely that any publishing house would touch me anyway. As is true in most of academia, publishing houses tend to be a part of the liberal establishment. I was the enemy.

As much as I believed mine was an important accounting of events back then, remaining silent seemed the wiser solution. After a great deal of pondering, I made my decision: I shelved the idea. The journal would be there for my family one day. A book would not.

Until now, ten years later. As with many small things in life, a serendipitous occurrence triggered a series of events that resulted in what you are reading today.

I had come to know an author whose work I admired greatly. His fast-paced works of fiction enthralled me. I was introduced to him through a dear friend. She convinced him to send me one book in particular. It is titled Political Justice, and I was captivated by it. I could not put it down. In fact, my interest was so piqued after reading Political Justice, I was prompted to read all the author’s excellent legal mystery/courtroom dramas, leaving me much like his thousands of admirers, enthusiastically and eagerly awaiting the next book. The author is the very talented Dennis Carstens, who has written eleven great works of fiction, and he encouraged me to write this book. He thought it was an important historical work that needed to be told, and he showed me how to do it.

Self-publishing had never occurred to me. But when it did, all at once everything seemed possible. A liberating sense of freedom followed. I would no longer be beholden to those who would silence me. My voice would finally be heard. I would not need the services of publishers whose disinterest I felt was guaranteed. And my lingering fears, while never completely gone, at least took a backseat to the euphoria of being able to share my unique journey with others.

Dennis Carstens would prove to be invaluable, and he worked with me hand in hand to weave what had begun as a journal—all my written memories—into a cohesive story line. Without the input of the immensely talented Dennis, none of this would ever have seen the light of day. I am enormously grateful to him.

I invite you, from the safety of your own lives, to come along on my journey.

Impressions

by Dennis Carstens

Please allow for a brief introduction of myself. I am a retired lawyer and the author of a series of ten legal mystery/courtroom dramas available on Amazon. A friend of Linda Tripp’s is a fan of my writing and emailed me with a request. She asked me if I remembered who Linda Tripp was, and would I mind sending Linda a specific copy of one of my books, Political Justice ? Of course, I remembered Linda and gladly sent her a copy. Linda mentions more about this in her introductory chapter in this book. A couple of weeks later I received an email from Linda, and she could not have been more complimentary about the book she had read. In short, this is how we connected and how we came to collaborate on her story.

I remembered Linda’s becoming almost a household name during the scandal that led to the impeachment of a president of the United States for only the second time in the nation’s history. At the time, being a lawyer, I understood that perjury, subornation of perjury, and obstruction of justice are serious felonies. These charges are high crimes and misdemeanors required by the Constitution for impeachment. Also, abuse of power, if bad enough, can be an impeachable offense if the House so decides. The Senate Democrats ignored this rather obvious truth on behalf of one of theirs.

First, an uncomfortable confession. I voted for Bill Clinton twice. First in ’92, because I thought it was time for a postwar president and a new generation, my generation, to take over. Thank you for your service; now go out to pasture, you World War II pols. I voted for him again in ’96 because the country was at peace and prospering. Had I known then what so many others have come to know about the sleaze in which the Clintons and their support group wallow, I would have gladly given my parents’ generation at least another four years.

Bill Clinton was impeached for committing these crimes and was guilty as charged, but the Senate Democrats voted not to remove him from office. Clinton’s defense lawyers, as was their job, were able to convince the Senate Democrats and most of the nation that the case against President Clinton was only about an extramarital affair. If it is okay with Hillary, why should you care?

Most of us have seen and heard, over the past twenty years, who Bill and Hillary are and what they are truly about. If you still do not know or refuse to believe it, they are about two things only: power and money, and they are capable of just about anything to obtain both. And that is from the picture of them they have allowed us to see in public. Behind the scenes, they are so very much worse. For starters, to call the Clintons users of people is analogous to saying the ocean has water in it. Users of people are minimally who they are.

Let’s be blunt about these two. The Clintons’ motto should be: Why tell the truth when a perfectly good lie will work just fine? For years I have watched in wonder how so many people refuse to believe this about them, even when they are so obviously, blatantly lying. They look into the cameras and treat us all with absolute contempt. What they are actually saying is, You idiots are so far beneath us that lying so boldly to you is what you deserve, and we know that enough of you will still believe us.

Then there are those people, many of whom are lawyers—and, as such, officers of the court—who have themselves lied on the Clintons’ behalf even under oath, which is perjury. They have lied to cover up crimes and reprehensible behavior, scandals, multiple instances of sexual abuse of women, and on and on. Then these people are tossed aside like a used napkin when they are no longer of use to the Clintons, especially to Hillary. I see some of these people on TV talk shows who still believe that the Clintons are their friends. Cult members who are starry-eyed and talking as if their puppy dog loyalty to the Clintons is reciprocated. I just shake my head in wonder at the naïveté of such people. What do these two have that makes so many people want to throw themselves at their feet, wrap their arms around the Clintons’ ankles, and whimper like puppies? I simply do not get it.

Take an objective look at Hillary’s behavior during and after the election campaign of 2016. When asked during a debate with Donald Trump if they would both accept the results of the election, Hillary literally laughed at the very idea that she would not accept the results. Of course I will, she boldly declared. Then when the results were in and Donald Trump had won, Hillary accepted the results with an amazing display of grace, dignity, and class in an effort to help heal the nation and allow us all to move on. Isn’t that what she did? Maybe not.

Hillary has spent the entire time since the election allowing the façade to come down and letting everyone get a good look at the real Hillary Rodham Clinton, the behind-closed-doors Hillary. The angry, bitter, mean, vindictive, malicious, nasty, entitled, small, tiny, petty person that she is. No, I did not get carried away with that description. There are any number of worse things to truthfully say about her.

During my time working with Linda Tripp as she told her story, I received an almost horrifying insider’s view of whom Bill and Hillary Clinton truly are. The impressions I came away with are of two deeply flawed people who somehow have been able to demand and receive total fealty from so many who should have known better. Here’s a question that needs to be answered: how did these two find each other? On an entire planet filled with billions of men and women, how is it that these two managed to run into each other and team up like this? The dark stars must have aligned for this. It is almost too weird for fiction, let alone reality.

In contributing to the writing of this book, I worked with Linda exclusively using a journal she was writing for her family. She had literally hundreds of pages of the behavior of the Clintons that could have and should have gone in here. Most of it would have been disgusting to a rational adult but would have been akin to bombing the rubble. Instead, we decided to go with the highlights to keep the book from being repetitive, long, and possibly a little boring. We decided to stay with the main items that were criminal sexual abuse and that unmasked these two hypocrites.

I fully understand that this is only my layman’s opinion, but I find Bill Clinton to be an exceptionally weak man. Charming to women and men alike and an excellent politician (is that a compliment?), but incapable of controlling himself and his basest instincts. A man who became the most powerful person on the planet, yet a man who would cower like a little boy who nervously had to pee while being ripped to shreds by his control-freak wife. And this would occur on an almost-daily basis. He was powerless in front of a woman who would, with a vile, foul mouth, dress him down in front of others with language that could shock a sailor six months at sea.

There is also Bill’s political ideology or, more accurately, his lack of any. He has been praised as a president able to compromise for the betterment of the country. To work with Republicans to solve problems. Compromise? How could he not compromise? Without any true political beliefs, there was no reason for him not to compromise. I believe the only reasons Bill is a Democrat were to help win elections in Arkansas and because Hillary is a true-believer Democrat. I do not think running as a Republican would have made one bit of difference to him if being a Republican was what he needed to be to win and obtain power.

Willing to compromise? I found a man so beaten down that he had trouble standing up to almost anyone face-to-face. Bill Clinton would be pitiful if he were not also a sexual predator. But for his political achievements, and if the Clintons were held to the same standards as the great unwashed deplorables they clearly despise, Bill Clinton would be a registered sex offender.

As for Hillary, where to begin? Before I get started, let me be clear about something. I am a lawyer by training and education, and have become a decent writer. I am not a psychiatrist or psychologist, nor have I ever played one on TV. I have never met Hillary Clinton or in any way interviewed and/or counseled her for a mental illness. I am a layman, and any diagnosis of mine is strictly my layman’s opinion. Except the evidence is almost beyond a reasonable doubt.

Given all of the behind-the-scenes accounts of her behavior (available more than ever since November 2016), the us versus them paranoia, the unreciprocated demand of absolute loyalty, and the public Dr. Jekyll and private Mr. Hyde faces, Hillary Clinton is, I believe, an undiagnosed paranoid schizophrenic. The woman is likely mentally ill. I do not mean that flippantly. I mean it sincerely. I believe she needs serious psychiatric care.

Doubt it? As just one little example—there are an almost endless supply of them—when she habitually claimed there was a vast right-wing conspiracy out to get her and Bill, most rational adults chocked this silliness up to be political posturing. It was not. Hillary Clinton believed it in the beginning, and she believes it is still out there preventing her from becoming president. Has she ever taken any real responsibility for the election loss? Or for anything else?

This is, again, an amateur’s opinion, but again, the symptoms are clear and obvious. Hillary is also, likely, a pure sociopath. There does not seem to be a single authentic particle in this woman. None. She has no human empathy or concern for anyone but herself and what she wants. You do not have to be a licensed shrink to see it. Hillary wears her unconcern, in most cases absolute disdain, for others almost with pride. This also explains how she can so seamlessly shift from threatening women her husband has sexually abused to proclaiming herself to be the worldwide champion of women. And worst of all, she believes it.

There is also her reckless attitude toward the nation’s security. I am a veteran of the U.S. Air Force. During my time in the Air Force, for almost three years of it, I was assigned to the Operations Center of the National Security Agency. The 24/7, 365-days-a-year, We never sleep frontline monitor of America’s enemies. I held the highest security clearance the nation had. Everything that went on in that room had the highest top secret classification there was. I tell you this so you know I have very real experience dealing with classified material.

There absolutely was a cover-up of Hillary’s too-numerous-to-count crimes involving her handling of classified material. No question about it.

Hillary tried to claim that she did not know that material