Like many of his ex-colleagues at Swidler & Berlin, Lehman had kept his checkbook wide open when national politicians needed money. Many months later I learned that between January 1, 1991, and November 28, 1994, the S & B crowd had made at least $191,000 in political donations, including more than $22,000 from Lehman himself during his days there. At least $146,000 of the $191,000 had gone to the firm’s political-action committee. Lehman’s personal contributions had reached at least eighteen congressional candidates. In fairness, let me emphasize that Lehman didn’t just have direct career considerations in mind—he was the first openly gay man whom the U.S. Senate had confirmed as a top federal official,[6.42] and he had given generously to gay political-action committees. Gay groups, in turn, showed their loyalty. They had wanted Clinton to appoint Bruce Lehman to _something_, and the White House had made him patent commissioner even though Lehman knew more about copyrights. Ron Brown, however, secretary of Commerce, said: “Bruce Lehman is not here because he’s gay. He’s the absolutely best person for the job.”[6.43] I believed Brown. If the Clinton Administration wanted library interests to be kept at bay to placate rich campaign donors, Gore’s dreamy rhetoric notwithstanding, no one would beat Lehman the ex-lobbyist. A few weeks after the intellectual property hearing in Crystal City, a letter arrived from Mr. Reinventing Government himself. I had mailed my TeleRead proposal and a related _Washington Post_ clip to Al Gore many months ago in spring 1993, and now he replied: “I am impressed with this detailed and very professional presentation. The information you provided certainly appears to contain ideas that merit careful attention. I will retain this material for future consideration as the President and I work on related policies and programs.” I hardly expected a meeting with Clinton and Gore. But was it just possible that one of their GS-14s might deem me worth five minutes of time, and follow up with a few questions? Months passed. An occasional reporter or academic would read my testimony and call or e-mail, but no one phoned from Commerce. Meanwhile, seeing my TeleRead proposal on the Net, major vendors contacted me. Often they asked the big question: “How are you doing in Washington?” “Well,” I said in effect, “I hope they’re keeping an open mind.” “That’s nice, bye,” the answers would more or less come back—assuming I heard again from people at all. The NII wasn’t just TV-centric. It was Gore-centric. If you lacked his blessing, and his bland letter to me didn’t count, you were dead or at least comatose unless the right word from the White House revived your idea.