Did you see the Bill Clinton telethon over the weekend?

Don't feel bad if you didn't. The Clinton Global Initiative wasn't carried on any channel, even if, in its slickness, it seemed made for TV. But don't be surprised if it really is on TV next year.

Strictly speaking, the Clinton Global Initiative wasn't a telethon — it was just run like one. The format of the "show" was this: a series of earnest discussions on such weighty topics as alleviating poverty and minimizing religious strife, punctuated by Clinton in Jerry Lewis-emcee mode, interrupting the earnest but soundbitey proceedings on a regular basis to announce do-gooding philanthropic "commitments" of time and money.

The Clinton Global Initiative was held in Manhattan from Thursday to Saturday. The idea behind the timing and location, it seems, was to glom onto some of the glitz spilling over from the United Nations' 60th-anniversary meeting. Still, Clinton surely used up chits to secure the presence of such bold-faced names as George Soros, King Abdullah of Jordan and Mick Jagger.

But Clinton wanted more than mere presence, he said — he wanted skin in the game. And that's where the pledge-drive-like "commitments" came in. Starbucks promised to treat its Third World coffee growers better, although, of course, the company has been touting its good-corporate-citizen credentials for years now. Was Starbucks really so inspired by the Clinton program to do more than it was doing anyway?

While some commitments seemed real and admirable enough — Sir Tom Hunter, the Scottish retail tycoon, volunteered $100 million in help for Africa — others seemed on the airy side. Harvard University, for example, promised to foster "CEO dialogues." Yet, in each case the donor got some face time with the ex-president, as the crowd cheered. The Bible tells us that the highest form of charity is that which is done anonymously, with nobody knowing, except, of course, God.

Clinton claims no godlike status, but he is happy to be seen as a sort of secular demigod. The conceit of the Clinton initiative is that only an ex-president could raise $1.25 billion in commitments. (For purposes of comparison, the Jerry Lewis telethon for muscular dystrophy, a TV staple since 1966, claimed a mere $55 million over the Labor Day weekend.)

Indeed, at the Clinton event, one could be forgiven for thinking that he was still president. For three days, participants and groupies referred to him as "President Clinton" — just like old times. Even the familiar "Bill" has disappeared; he's now "William J. Clinton."

Not surprisingly, the 42nd president lives in a world of adoring courtiers; most of the worker-bees at the initiative seemed to be ex-White House staffers. All these busy folks got to strut around wearing pretentious enamel lapel pins and little earphones — just as if they were still in the government.

And who knows, if Hillary Rodham Clinton becomes the 44th president, many of them will, in fact, be back "inside." But in the meantime, since nobody at the initiative is subject to government ethics rules, a good time was had by all.

As The Financial Times observed, "Say what you will: Bill Clinton throws a great party. Late on Friday night, as Tony Bennett crooned in front of hundreds of high-powered guests, the former two-term Democratic president ... was glowing with pride." That party was at Nobu, the snazzy sushi eatery, where Clinton was joined by the likes of Elvis Costello. Imagine: Elvis and Elvis.

Yes, there's something strange about fighting poverty from the back of a fancy restaurant. But in fairness to Clinton, this is America, where money is transferred only in a leaky bucket — as plenty of loot sloshes into the hands of middlepeople. Accountants will eventually calculate how efficient the Clintonathon was at helping the poor.

But it sure was fun, at least for those who were there. Now, looking ahead to next year, all he has to do is figure out how to get it on live TV.

James Pinkerton is a Newsday columnist.