It's Superlawyer!

By Bonnie Angelo

When very big people in Washington find themselves in very big trouble, they dial 202-371-7000. Washington's consummate fixer Clark Clifford did; so did former Secretary of Defense Caspar Weinberger. Even Marge Schott, of Cincinnati Reds infamy. The number gets them the prestigious firm of Skadden, Arps, Slate, Meagher & Flom -- and access to Robert Bennett, Washington's new superlawyer. Not since 1973 has a jury trial sent a Bennett client to prison -- and he got that client off with three years for second-degree murder instead of 20 years for first.

So it was no surprise that Bennett has appeared at the side of Representative Dan Rostenkowski, the powerful chairman of the House Ways and Means Committee, who has been implicated in the congressional post office stamps-for-cash scandal. "The chairman decided he'd better get a fighter," explains a Rostenkowski friend. "Bennett is a tough trial lawyer who's not going to make a deal." Rostenkowski -- a major force in reshaping President Clinton's budget -- could be indicted on charges far exceeding the 29-penny- ante stamp scam, including misuse of campaign funds. After days of stonewalling, the chairman called a press conference to deny the allegations, to put the government on notice that Bennett would not let his client simply twist in the wind and to show that Rostenkowski was going to fight it.

The action was classic Bennett. The lawyer likes to combine shrewd use of the media with concern for his client's state of mind. Says Weinberger, who was indicted (and pardoned) for his role in the Iran-contra affair: "Bob is crucial because of the terrorist approach of prosecutors. They hope the person they target will fold up, blow away and plead guilty."

Bennett, the elder brother of former drug czar (and Republican presidential hopeful) Bill, has spent 35 of his 54 years in Washington. But he was shaped by blue-collar Brooklyn and nuns that made him toe the line ("If you did something wrong, they hit you"). He was a Flatbush Boys Club boxing champ, such a scrapper that his mother paid him a nickel for each day he didn't get into a fight.

These days he's paid $1 million or so a year to take on fights. He doesn't cut much of a figure -- beefy and rumpled. But as the courtroom action begins, he's Clark Kent emerging from the telephone booth in his cape -- energetic, dominating, intuitive, shooting out questions like laser beams.

Apart from instructing juries on the prosecutor's evil ways, Bennett has two passions: fly-fishing in Montana, where he has a house on the Yellowstone River, and poker, which he plays with such friends as Supreme Court Chief Justice William Rehnquist, Justice Antonin Scalia and former Nixon adviser Leonard Garment. While others talk about politics, Bennett concentrates on the cards. He does not like to lose. Yet he is well aware of what he's best at. A fishing buddy remembers a Bennett attempt at gratitude. "You helped me so much," said Bennett, "I wish there was something I could do in return. Maybe you could get indicted."

With reporting by Nancy Traver/Washington