TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/112392/11239930.000

Text File | 1993-04-08 | 5.5 KB | 113 lines

                                                                                WASHINGTON, Page 31

It's the Little Things . . .


Sure, reviving the economy and bringing peace to the Middle
East will be important. But that's not all that counts.

By MARGARET CARLSON/WASHINGTON -- With reporting by Melissa
August/Washington


    In the avalanche of advice crossing the President-elect's
desk, there is a dearth of guidance on truly crucial matters --
like whether dressing as if you're going to church is necessary
for the photo op boarding Marine One for the hop to Camp David.
Statecraft may define a presidency, but so will small acts at
the margin. Who knows? If Richard Nixon hadn't dressed the
White House guards like Prussian police, he might have survived
Watergate. There would have been no need for the
fashion-obsessed Nancy Reagan to debase herself at a Gridiron
Club dinner dressed up like a bag lady in hand-me-downs if the
East Wing had not declared a tablecloth crisis and ordered new
hand-painted china inscribed "Nancy" the minute she moved in.
George Bush got most of the symbols right, except for the pork
rinds and country music. Like not inhaling, those proclivities,
even if genuine, should have been kept secret because they are
too out of synch with what is already known for ready
acceptance. Atmospherics count. So here are a few things for
Bill Clinton to keep in mind:

    -- You are no longer just a regular guy, except perhaps to
Hillary, and even she may want you to act presidential now. A
little toasting your own English muffins and carrying your own
garment bag go a long way. The costs of the White House are
fixed, and few people begrudge you the luxury as long as you
don't go around complaining about the problems of life in a
fishbowl. When most Americans have company, they put on airs,
and so should you. Just as only Nixon could go to China, you can
get away with serving fine cuisine and vintage wines. Hold the
barbecue. Jimmy Carter should have.

    -- Pay courtesy calls on the Washington establishment, a
kind of reverse welcome wagon that Carter self-righteously
shunned. It will go more quickly this time around, since so many
of the Democratic Pooh-Bahs are power lunching in the Great
Marble Halls beyond or are under indictment. And once you pay
your respects, you don't have to hire them.

    -- Presidents are partly known by their vacations. Summer
in a place where your arrival does not cause a one-hour traffic
backup (as happened in Kennebunkport), does not subsume the town
(Plains), doesn't fit (Nixon in wing tips on the beach in
California) -- or where summer is used as a verb. Your
preference for intellectual retreats with friends during
Christmas vacation to discuss enterprise zones should give way
to the real thing: find a lazy cottage on a lake near Hot
Springs, Arkansas, where you can relax.

    -- Take up a sport that is not associated with a country
club. Anything that can be played in the backyard goes down
well. The Kennedys still own the patent on touch football, and
Bush expropriated horseshoes. Badminton or volleyball might do
nicely. And keep running, as long as you look funny in the
shorts. Beware of Lycra. Caveat jogger: pin to your locker a
picture of the ashen-faced Jimmy Carter collapsing near Camp
David to remind yourself that you have moved to the tropics and
that running in the heat should be kept at a stately pace.

    -- Compared with playing a sport, being a fan is a no-lose
proposition. Cheer at all of Chelsea's games, patronize
presidential boxes, and visit the locker rooms after events like
the World Series. Don't be cowed by the Secret Service. Like all
bureaucracies, it has perpetuated itself all out of proportion
to necessity.

    -- Hipness is undesirable for state-dinner entertainment.
Anyway, it's time to face up to the fact that Elvis is dead. A
Grammy winner is insufficiently stodgy; even Frank Sinatra
didn't go down that well. Think Kennedy Center honoree or a Life
Achievement Award winner: Pablo Casals (Kennedy), not the Allman
Brothers (Carter).

    -- You didn't campaign on the promise that you would send
Chelsea to public school, so you shouldn't, unless she likes
walking through metal detectors to go to basketball games. In
fact, you campaigned on the premise that the schools needed
fixing. The press will go into high dudgeon, but parents will
admire you for putting your child before politics.

    -- To Chelsea: Your parents were right when they said,
Don't talk to strangers. Embed this in your brain: the press is
made up entirely of strangers, no matter how much candy they
offer you. But you must always smile for the cameras, even
though other kids get to stick their tongues out if their
parents so much as reach for an Instamatic. Roll your eyes once,
and you will become tabloid material and Saturday Night Live's
poster child. For guidance, do not look to Caroline and John
Kennedy Jr., who were too little to be criticized, or the Ford
kids, who were accidental White House tourists with sleep-over
rights. Let Amy Carter serve as a cautionary tale. And get a
dog: it deflects attention away from you better than a cat.

    -- Avoid the temptation to take a victory lap abroad on
Air Force One, even though visiting with Francois Mitterrand
looks a lot more pleasant than dealing with honeymoon-pooper Bob
Dole. At least wait until the GDP surpasses 2.7% growth.

    -- Presidential brothers should reside in a different time
zone.