Bill Clinton's Double

As printed in the August 4, 1995 issue of The Times London

A bizarre invitation had arrived from Bob Tyrrell, editor of the American Spectator, and chief nemesis of Bill Clinton. "come and have dinner with the President" said Mr Tyrrell in cryptic tones. "We'll be sitting down around 8pm at The Palm."

The delicious prospect of Tyrrell and Clinton was perhaps a little too good to be true. The tow had been involved in a stand-up row the previous week, when a bottle of champagne had arrived at the presidential table in Washinton's Jocky Club as a peace offering for the latest subversive magazine attack on Mr Clinton's contentious past in Arkansas.

Lighting was dim inside the Palm, a popular haunt for the Republican Right, but in a corner booth at the back two men were engaged in animated conversation. The man on the left was certainly Bob Tyrrell. His neighbour was the spitting-image of the American commander-in-chief and leader of the Western alliance.

An all-too familiar voice floated up from the table. "I couldn't bring Hillary this evening. She's back at the White House, sitting in the Oval Office, running the country," came the slow, rasping Southern drawl. The content of the conversation, spattered with mentions of Whitewater and Paula Jones, was the sole clue that this could not be William Jeffersion Clinton, but was instead Tim Watters, a former estate agent from Tampa, Florida.

In the past year Mr. Watters, born in New Jersey 38 years ago, has become the hightest paid impersonator in the world earning more than four times the government salary of $200,000 paid to his doppelganger at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.

So convincing has Mr. Watters become since the Democrats won the White House in 1992, that invariably he is stopped in the street, has had Mayor Rudolph Guiliani of New York clapping his surprise entrance to a fundraising event in in [sic] Manhattan, and even kept the First Lady guessing at a political rally in the South. Recently, one of Clinton's Secret Service agents followed him into a McDonald's, assuming the President somehow lost his security entourage.

"The most amusing time was when Hillary walked past me and stopped in her tracks," he said. "The President was running late and I'm sure that for some time she really thought it was him standing there."

At The Palm, Robert Novak, the influential conservative columnist, walks past the table, does a double-take and stumbles off wondering whether the red wine is slightly stronger than he had expected.

Mr. Watters had not heard of Clinton before the last election. He never saw him at the 1988 Democratic convention and was otherwise engaged selling beachside property in Florida until the new President was elected in 1992.

A growing pile of newspaper cuttings on his desk and the muttered comments of other estate agents may have brought a wry smile but there was never any serious thought of a career change.

"I suppose what clinched it for me was when my sone Brian, who was 18-months-old at the time, pointed to a picture of Clinton and said 'Daddy'," said Mr. Watters, who concedes that at least one colleague also managed to convince him of the financial rewards involved.

He had some photographs taken, found an agent, cut and coloured his blond hair to replicate Clinton's salt-and-pepper style and placed pads in his shoes to approximate the presidential height of 6ft 2in. The somnambulant walk came next and finally, he says, the voice. "It took me ages to learn that particular drawl. There aren't many Rhodes scholars from Arkansas-it's an unusual mix because his voice is not truly Southern" he said. "The only things I didn't have were those big, white, pasty thighs."

The remarkable likeness is unusually supported by a varied entourage prepared to act as Secret Service agents and personal assisstants.

For a small fee, Mr. Watters persuades hotel waiters to dress in suits, sport regulation earpieces and sunglasses, and walk beside a stretch limousine he has bedecked with the American flag. In fact, he has only once met whos idiosyncratic traits and style of government have helped to create the Watters fortune. After a campaign speech in Tampa, he sidled up to the President-elect and shouted from the crowd: "Hey Bill, I look just like you." Clinton apparently paused before replying: "No, I think you're better looking."

A spate of television and radio talk shows have followed in America, Japan, and Germany. Almost always they are accompanied by his trademark, a podium emblazoned with the fake presidential seal bearing the words Seal of the Clone of the President. In Mississippi, meanwhile, he is famous for advertising vinyl; in Connecticut for water purifiers. The latest contract he says, is a substantial deal with Hilton hotels. After a cameo role in Naked gun 33-1/3 -alongside the infamous O.J. Simpson-Hollywood has shown interst in a possible comedy about life at the White House.

The future is less certain. The 1996 election is approaching and the incumbent is by no means assured of a victory. Mr. Watters is personally partisan for a price but is, one suspects, ideologically opposed to another Clinton presidential term.

"Ife he loses, I'll just build my own persidential library," he jokes. "In the meantime I shall milk the situation for all it is worth." Enough, he says to buy some Florida real estate and retire to the sun in some comfort.

As we walk into the street a gaggle of teenagers rushes forward, hands outstretched. "It's a real pleasure, Mr. President," they say.

Tim Watters looks so much like the President that even Hillary can find herself confused. Tom Rhodes tries to spot the difference.