Read My Pins (12 page)

THE TRUSTEES OF THE BRITISH MUSEUM
This gold brooch-clip is decorated with a winged chimaera, a beast that was popular in Etruscan mythology. Etruscan, circa 525–500 BC.
Courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum.

The concept of the safety pin—in which a needle-like shaft, a hinge, and a sheath combine to secure an object—dates back to ancient Crete, the home turf of Theseus and his ill-tempered Minotaur. Metalsmiths in pre-Christian Etruria (present-day Tuscany) skillfully shaped such pins into the form of lions, horses, or the Sphinx before adding the frosting: tiny granules of gold. The brooch-clip, which clenches the fabric rather than piercing it, has
been used widely since the 1930s. I cite this history to prove that I could not possibly have been the first person to be publicly embarrassed by a pin that came undone in a moment of need.

In December 1996, President Clinton nominated me to serve as America’s sixty-fourth secretary of state. For the announcement, I wore one of my pins as a pendant.
Liberty Eagle, Ann Hand.

AP/WIDEWORLD PHOTOS

On January 23, 1997, shortly before noon, I was sworn in as secretary of state, the first woman to hold that position. Ever since, people have asked what I was feeling at the time. The answer is that my attention was divided between the drama of the moment and the possibility that my pin would fall off, landing on the floor in front of President Clinton and the assembled cameras. I had been introduced to the pin weeks earlier at the Tiny Jewel Box. Jim Rosenheim, one of the proprietors, brought it to me as soon as I walked in, saying he had acquired the piece with me in mind. The brooch is antique, French, and composed of rose-cut diamonds and a gold eagle with widespread wings. It was love at first sight, but I balked at the cost. Saying no to Jim, I inwardly promised to reverse that decision should I be named secretary of state, then a possibility but hardly a likelihood.

When that possibility became reality, I bought the eagle and chose to wear it for the first time at the swearing in. What I failed to notice was that the clasp was not only old but also complicated; fastening it was a multistep process that I neglected to complete. All seemed well until I had one hand on the Bible and the other in the air. Then, a glance down revealed the pin hanging sideways. With all the hubbub, I had no time to correct the problem until after most of the photos were taken, showing my beautiful pin only in profile, contributing nothing to the symbolism of the moment but much to my angst. Years later, when publishing my memoirs, I tried to make amends by wearing the eagle—properly fastened—on the cover.

COURTESY OF WILLIAM J. CLINTON PRESIDENTIAL LIBRARY/CALLIE SHELL

By tradition, it is the vice president, not the president, who administers the oath of office to a cabinet member. Here, the president looks on as Al Gore and I get in some practice just outside the Oval Office. At that point, my eagle pin was still secure.

COURTESY OF WILLIAM J. CLINTON PRESIDENTIAL LIBRARY/RALPH ALSWANG

Flanked by President Clinton and Vice President Gore, I deliver remarks following my swearing in. My precious eagle is barely hanging on.
Secretary of State Diamond Eagle, designer unknown.

COURTESY OF WILLIAM J. CLINTON PRESIDENTIAL LIBRARY/BARBARA KINNEY

During an overseas trip, I needed to confer privately with First Lady Hillary Rodham Clinton. Where better than the ladies’ room? I was proud to be the first woman to serve as secretary of state and delighted when Secretary Clinton became one of my successors. Opposite is a pin showing the glass ceiling in its ideal condition: shattered.
Breaking the Glass Ceiling, designer unknown.

By
the time, in early 1997, when I began serving as secretary of state, my penchant for pins had become well-known. It helped that the picture on the front of
Newsweek
featured me with my combination Uncle Sam’s hat and eagle. Since I was wearing brooches and getting photographed more than ever, the public’s perception of the connection grew. Due to the demands on my time, I had fewer opportunities for browsing through shops, but it didn’t matter, because everyone began giving me pins.

TIMOTHY GREENFIELD-SANDERS/NEWSWEEK
Newsweek
cover, February 10, 1997. Photograph by Timothy Greenfield-Sanders.

When diplomats meet, it is considered only civilized to exchange gifts. Legally, American officials may retain foreign offerings that are below a certain value—in my day, $245. More expensive items become the property of the U.S. government and are displayed, stored, or sold for the benefit of the federal treasury. Another option is to purchase the present at full price, which I did on a few occasions. Some particularly large gifts, such as the handsome live horse with which I was presented in Mongolia or the endearingly vocal goat I was given in Mali, are actually retained by the hosts and, I suspect, given more than once to dignitaries passing through Ulan Bator or Bamako.

Selecting the perfect gift for a foreign minister is like finding “just the right thing” for a distant relative. The choice requires a blend of common sense, intuition, and guesswork. I generally gave mementos that reflected the United States: to men, eagle cuff links; to women, a specially made eagle pin that I signed on the back.

My gifts to foreign leaders.
Foreign Minister’s eagle, Christine Harkins;

eagle cuff links, Ann Hand.

Solana’s flower, Primakov’s snowy scene, Védrine’s French design, designers unknown;

Axworthy’s maple leaf, Ann Hand.

MIKE THEILER/REUTERS
Robin Cook gave me this striking Judith Leiber lion pin. I made sure to wear it during our press conference in 2000.

MIKE THEILER/REUTERS

Scripture instructs us that it is more blessed to give than to receive, but it says nothing about which is more fun. My colleagues in the diplomatic community were pleased to assume that, in my case, a clever but inexpensive pin would always be appreciated. They were right. From British Foreign Secretary Robin Cook, I was given a lion brooch; from Canada’s Lloyd Axworthy, a maple leaf; from France’s Hubert Védrine, a sparkly French design; from
NATO
’s Javier Solana, a delicate flower; and from Russia’s Yevgeny Primakov and Igor Ivanov, lacquer pins showing various snowy scenes hand-painted in the intricate Russian style. You might think that enough would be enough, but to an aspiring collector, every addition is exciting. When presented with a gift-wrapped box, I ripped the ribbons off with heartfelt thanks and relish. The only problem I had was remembering to wear the pin in my next meeting with the person who had given it. As my Wellesley classmate Judith Martin (Miss Manners) might have reminded me, etiquette counts.

Among my favorite gifts is one from Leah Rabin, the widow of Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin. The pin is of a dove, symbolizing the goal—peace in the Holy Land—for which the
prime minister had given his life. Like many of my predecessors, I had been reluctant to wander into the quicksand of Middle East negotiations. A series of terrorist incidents in the summer of my first year as secretary, however, left me with no choice. If leaders did not find a way to bring people together, extremists on every side would prepare for a future without peace, pointing inevitably to disaster.

AMR NABIL/AFP/GETTY IMAGES
In September 1999, Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak (
second from left
) and I witnessed the signing of an interim agreement between Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Barak and Palestinian Chairman Yasser Arafat.

In 1997, on August 6, I appeared before the National Press Club to outline ideas for negotiation and to announce plans for a trip to the region. The speech drew a full house, which, when combined with the television lights, warmed the room. I felt flushed and would probably have fainted had I not been petrified
by what the newspapers would have written. Somehow I made it through the speech; Leah Rabin, among others, noted the dove pin displayed prominently on my chest.

UPI
A gift from Chairman Arafat.
Butterfly, designer unknown.

A few weeks later, Mrs. Rabin came to see me at my hotel in Israel. She brought with her a companion necklace, composed of a flock of doves, and handed me a note that read: “There is a saying: ‘One swallow doesn’t announce the spring’—so maybe one dove needs reinforcements to create a reality of peace in the Middle East. We need hope which is so much lost—I do wish you will restore it. With all my sincerest wishes, Leah.”