Mr. Smooth comes to Washington; Vernon Jordan is the ultimate Washington insider - rich, powerful, and unaccountable.

• Author: Cottle, Michelle
• Position: Cover Story

In the second century, the Ptolemaic view of the universe put the Earth at the center of the action: Ladies and gentlemen of learning believed that the sun, moon, and stars traced endless circles around their steadfast home planet. This theory held sway until 1543, when Polish astronomer Nicholas Copernicus rocked the educated world by positing that the sun was in fact the center of the universe. Now, with the 21st century fast approaching, it has at last become clear that the true hub of it all is ... Vernon Jordan.

OK, so maybe Jordan's not the epicenter of the universe, but as far as U.S. business and political developments go, this civil rights leader cum Washington powerbroker possesses an unsettling omnipresent quality. Like Forrest Gump, he is constantly popping up at the center of news events, ranging from the 1960s civil rights movement to the 1993 passage of NAFTA. Who hooked CEO Lou Gerstner up with IBM? Vernon Jordan. Who approached Colin Powell in '94 about replacing Warren Christopher as Secretary of State? Vernon Jordan. Who was on the short list in '89 to succeed Pete Rozelle as NFL commissioner? Vernon Jordan. Who gave World Bank President James Wolfensohn a leg up in attaining his current post? You guessed it.

Today, as a senior partner in Washington's third biggest lobbying firm (in terms of revenues, that is), an unofficial adviser and golfing partner of the President of the United States, and a director on the boards of a dozen domestic and foreign mega-corporations, Vernon Eulion Jordan Jr. wields more power and influence than a passel of politicians. Moreover, in a town run on connections and relationships, this 61-year-old Atlanta native seems to know everyone between the ages of five and 95 -- and he's friends with almost all of them. Of course, it doesn't hurt Jordan's cachet that he and his wife, Ann, are intimates of Bill and Hillary, spending many a vacation and holiday together. As one prominent Washington attorney remarked to The New York Times last year, Jordan "is as close to the President as anyone I know since Bobby Kennedy was so close to his brother."

Despite all this, Jordan sails along under the radar of both the media and the public. Although he consults frequently with Clinton and other administration officials on issues ranging from international trade to political appointees, Jordan's access is largely based on informal, nonofficial relationships. As such, he is not bound by the same disclosure laws as lobbyists, appointees, or elected officials. Who Jordan's clients are and what exactly he does to earn his $500,000-plus in annual board fees and his estimated $1 million income from his law firm, Akin, Gump, Strauss, Hauer, and Feld, is anybody's guess -- and Jordan plans to keep it that way. When quizzed about his income or work, he invariably cites attorney-client privilege or ethical constraints.

In general, Jordan has little patience with people who question his business or political dealings, and whether the overlap of those relationships might pose conflicts of interest. Nor does he feel obligated to address rumblings about whether, with his seven-figure income and his summers on Martha's Vineyard, Jordan has turned his back on the civil rights cause that helped launch him into the ranks of the power elite. When The New York Times's Jeff Gerth asked Jordan in an interview last July how the attorney feels about charges that his influence is not "sufficiently open to public view" and that he "has neglected the cause of racial equality," Jordan responded: "I, and only I, am the keeper of my conscience." In a 1992 Washington Post article, Jordan rebuffed similar inquiries with the statement: "I am the custodian of my morality and ethics." When asked in 1993 why he chose to stay with his lucrative private legal practice rather than become the first black U.S. Attorney General, as many had predicted: "I do what I want to do." (And, although he declined to be interviewed for this article, Jordan did take the time to call and inquire why we had been looking into his financial affairs and to inform us that "I don't know that it's any of your business how much money I make.")

This kind of brush off has long been Jordan's stock-in-trade when pressed about his position or actions. In 1992, shortly after being named co-chair of Clinton's transition team, Jordan dismissed a reporter's questions about his insider, wheeler-dealer status with: "I do not apologize or feel any need to explain that I am participating in a process that is as American as anything I know." He even got the new President-elect into the spirit: Responding to questions about the appearance of conflict in having Jordan, then a board member of cigarette manufacturer RJR Nabisco, to help fill posts at Health and Human Services or other agencies involved in smoking-related issues, Clinton stated: "I don't think the American people should be concerned about it."

Wrong. The American people should without question be concerned about the individuals who shape the economy and politics of this country -- even those who do so in an unofficial capacity. No one with Jordan's influence and connections is qualified to be the sole custodian of his own ethics. If anything, Jordan's "unofficial" status -- and the lack of disclosure it allows -- suggests we should be paying more, not less, attention to his business. Vernon Jordan is more than the President's best buddy: He was brokering multi-million dollar deals for his clients and keeping company with the privileged and powerful long before the Clinton clan rolled onto the national scene. Now, as the person perhaps closest to the President's car and farthest from the public eye, Jordan holds a unique (and enviable) position. A look at how he got there tells us...