Almost anyone who ever traveled with President Bill Clinton can tell a similar tale. At the end of a long day, Clinton would unwind by working the rope line. He would shake hands, clasp shoulders — and listen. When there were no stories left to hear, he would bound up the steps onto the plane, stretch out his arms and declare, “That was great!”

For his staff, this routine eventually lost its charm. But Clinton never tired of it. For him, politics began in the stories of those ordinary Americans. His continuing dialogue with them — in classrooms and on factory floors, at rallies and on television and, yes, along the rope line — kept him connected.

People didn’t always personally approve of him. But they believed he was on their side. Surely that helps explain why, even after Clinton was impeached, his job-approval rating remained in the 60s.

President Barack Obama would do well to take a page or two from Clinton’s playbook.

Part of Obama’s persona is self-reliance. He’s calm; he’s cool; he’s self-possessed. In many ways, he has tried to define himself in opposition to Clinton’s sometimes needy, often undisciplined, emotionalism.

But while eschewing emotion — and its companion, vulnerability — Obama should be careful not to sacrifice empathy, the “I feel your pain” connection that sustained Clinton. This connection is the shorthand people use to measure their leaders’ intentions. If people believe you’re on their side, they will trust your decisions.

Too often, Obama leaves the impression that he stands alone — and likes it that way. Clinton was fond of saying, “We’re all going up or down together.” Obama must make sure that people know that he needs their help as much as they need his.

In the past few weeks, Obama has increased his travel outside Washington. That’s a good move. He also needs to get out from behind the lectern and the teleprompter. Now, I have no problem with his using the ’prompter. He is more the architect of his speeches than any president since Abraham Lincoln. But Obama has become too dependent on formal speeches and set town halls. His idea of mixing it up is taking off his jacket.

Instead, this president should spend more time with small groups of regular people, go to where they work and live and talk with them about their lives and their concerns. Their stories have the potential not just to put a human face on the debate but also to transform it — and transform him.

Clinton learned this early on. At one such meeting during the 1992 New Hampshire primary, an elderly woman told Clinton that times were so tough, she had to choose between buying food or medicine every month. Her emotional tale changed the health care debate — and became a cornerstone of Clinton’s passionate appeal. (Emphasis added)