In December 1988, Soviet President Mikhail Gorbachev delivered a speech to the United Nations that heralded the death of communism. "We are, of course, far from claiming to be in possession of the ultimate truth," he said. Up to then, Marxism-Leninism had insisted that it was the only valid world view, the sole guide to the brighter future for all mankind, the inevitable winner in the implacable struggle of world-historic forces. Gorbachev's announcement was the political equivalent of a papal statement questioning the Virgin Birth.

For Marlin Fitzwater, spokesman for Presidents Ronald Reagan and George Bush, the collapse of communism presented a unique problem: how to keep the Russians from getting credit for the end of the cold war. Never mind that the last of the twentieth century's historic battles between freedom and totalitarianism is ending; what's important is tomorrow's headline, the nightly network news, the weekend talk shows, the spin. So when Gorbachev reveals that he has lost the faith, the White House responds by demanding "deeds not words." When Gorbachev proposes unilateral troop reductions -- unilateral! -- the White House sneers that they are inadequate. When Gorbachev wants to include the word "coexistence" in a communiquŽ, Reagan's secretary of state, George Shultz, objects. And, when Gorbachev offers radical nuclear-arms reductions, Fitzwater infamously calls him a "drugstore cowboy," a phrase he now deeply regrets. (He also admits to doubting the Laffer Curve theory that tax cuts would increase federal revenues, andhat the Star Wars missile-defense shield -- a "Reagan bluff," he calls it -- would ever materialize.)

When Fitzwater took over as White House spokesman in January 1987, he was greeted with an ovation from the press. The Iran-Contra storm was at its peak; Fitzwater would be the calm old pro: to an administration trapped in ideological zealotry, Fitzwater would bring his years of civil service (at Treasury and in Vice President Bush's office), his seeming lack of partisanship, his reputation for integrity. Those assets quickly lost their value, however, as the affable bureaucrat found him- self transformed into a political spokesman in one of the most divisive and personal struggles Washington has ever seen. He handled this transition gracelessly, making tasteless jibes about Mario Cuomo's Italian name and leading the verbal attacks on Bill Clinton in Bush's bitter campaign for reelection.

For a professional government spokesman, Fitzwater has a curiously distorted attitude about the press. He assumes, as do many, not only that the press as a group is liberal, but also that it has a specific liberal agenda. After the 1992 Los Angeles riots, for example, when the Bush administration proposed tax breaks for inner-city businesses, Fitzwater writes, "The liberal press corps, of course, wanted direct social programs like Job Corps and federal work programs." It must fit some right-wing fantasy: all those White House reporters sitting around in their cubicles wondering how they can force a Republican president to resurrect the Great Society.

Fitzwater complains that the liberal press was so in love with Clinton that it never made an issue of his ducking the Vietnam War, which will surely come as news to Clinton. And in one bizarre piece of speculation, he says that the White House press corps arrives to work angry every morning because the ever-loyal Secret Service guards, resentful of liberal press criticism of their president, harass even the most famous reporters at the gate by questioning their identities. This is utter nonsense. Security can be a nuisance, but the uniformed guards at the White House routinely wave reporters through upon presentation of their Secret Service press passes.

Now, for wicked little inside tales: Did you know that George Bush's scheduling secretary consulted an astrologer? Or that tough-guy John Sununu wept when he was fired? Or that when POTUS (President of the United States) Bush got sick at a state dinner in Japan, the beeper message to White House staff said "Potus barfed in dinner"? Or that Jack Kemp chased Jim Baker out of the Oval Office and almost came to blows with him over U.S. policy in the Baltics? Or that the publisher of The New York Times sent in a quasi-apology over that newspaper's hyped story that Bush could not recognize a supermarket scanner? For members of the press, Fitzwater will confirm some long-held suspicions. Yes, the White House does play favorites. It protects The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Wall Street Journal, and the networks on major stories and on critical inside-the-room background information. Fitzwater had high regard for ABC White House correspondent Brit Hume and looked after him. He had foes: David Hoffman of The Washington Post; Rita Beamish of The Associated Press ("She opposed every Republican program. She was pro-choice, pro-welfare, for bigger government, anti-military, and a feminist").

Although Fitzwater's memoir can be petty and dispiriting, it is unexpectedly graced by an evocative, almost poetic portrait of the small-town Kansas world in which he grew up. Amid the tale-telling, score-settling, and political gamesmanship that dominate Call the Briefing!, the Kansas years are a gentle oasis, filled with decent and honest people who would be utterly baffled at the amount of time, energy, and intelligence their national leaders expend on this thing called spin.

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