TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/election/76elect/76elect.001

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                                                                                March 8, 1976

THE NATION

Jimmy Carter: Not Just Peanuts


     He does not say "If I'm elected President." He says "When
I'm elected." He promises to bring love to government when he
takes office next January. All people have to do is trust him:
he has their best interests at heart. "I'll never tell a lie,"
he assures voters. "I'll never knowingly make a misstatement of
fact. I'll never betray your trust. If I do any of these
things, I don't want you to support me."

     Such vast self-assertion would be breathtaking were the
phrases not delivered by a soft-spoken, low-keyed, ever smiling
Southerner, who also says that he has been "twice born" -- the
second time when he "committed" himself to Jesus. So far in
this campaign, Jimmy Carter, 51, has been the surprise and
irritant of the politics-as-usual world. Hardly anybody took the
former Georgia Governor very seriously a year ago, when he
started running for the presidency in his friendly, dogged way.
Since then, he has covered a lot of territory and obviously made
many converts. Although it is early in the game, he is now
being treated as a leading contender for the Democratic
nomination.

     As Carter has begun to score some caucus and primary
victories, his opponents' amusement has turned to concern and
then to hostility. To make up for lost time, they are turning
more heat on him. So along with all the love from his ardent
supporters, there is a wave of hate from some of his opponents.
An aide to Morris Udall vows never to support Carter, he would
rather vote for Ford. "Carter's so damn slick," he says. "What
monopoly does he have on goodness? To me, he's dangerous." Says
Alan Baron, George McGovern's press secretary: "By saying that
he would never tell a lie, Carter decided for himself that
that's going to be his standard. Well, fine, let's hold him to
it."

     Now that he is a real challenger, Carter is being asked to
pass sterner tests than other candidates. He has been accused
of fudging the issues. He has been charged with telling little
white lies -- and indeed he has occasionally exaggerated past
accomplishments --along with some big ones. But he seems mostly
to be faulted for advancing himself at the expense of others.
George Wallace complains that Carter promised to support him
for President in 1972 and then reneged. (Carter replies that his
own letter of refusal to Wallace rests in the Georgia
archives.) George McGovern is resentful because Carter joined
the forces trying to stop his nomination at the 1972 convention.
Florida Governor Reubin Askew is unhappy with Carter for not
backing him for the chairmanship of the Southern Governors'
Conference in 1973.

     Some other politicians have developed a visceral
antagonism to him, though they cannot exactly spell it out. Says
Kentucky Senator Wendell Ford, a former Governor: "I don't know
of any Governors or former Governors whom Carter has contacted
for support. That might indicate how much support he has among
his former colleagues." Adds a onetime Northern Governor: "It
was obvious he was a hustler. His style was just a little
different: soft voice, soft sell. But there was a political road
map all over his face. Jimmy would take advantage of any single
opportunity to further himself. He is absolutely driven. But
unlike a lot of politicians, he knows who he is and where he
wants to go."

     The liberal-to-left wing of the Democratic Party is
especially dubious, fearing that his independence may be a
camouflage for a closet conservative. He is also not part of
the old-boy liberal network. When he won in New Hampshire,
liberals held some anguished meetings about what to do. Says
Joseph Duffey, director of the American Association of
University Professors: "The anti-Carter sentiment is the
cultural provincialism of a group that finds it hard to relate
to someone who is neither a knee-jerk liberal nor an ideologue."
Mark Shields, a Washington-based Democratic campaign
consultant, believes the "problem is that no one in Washington
feels that they own a piece of Jimmy Carter. But they're just
playing into his hands."

     At a time when voters' distrust of Washington runs deep,
Carter considers his status a campaign advantage. "I have been
accused of being an outsider," he says. "I plead guilty.
Unfortunately, the vast majority of Americans are also
outsiders. We are not going to get changes by simply shifting
around the same groups of insiders, the same tired old rhetoric,
the same unkept promises and the same divisive appeals to one
party, one faction, one section of the country, one race or
religion or one interest group. The insiders have had their
chances and they have not delivered. Their time has run out."

     One of the motives for the attacks on Carter is left
unstated -- at least publicly. He is a proud Southerner, and
that region is still suspect among the Northern liberals in the
Democratic Party. Carter even boasts of being a redneck -- a
son of the red-baked Georgia soil without, of course, the
racist connotations. Beyond that, he is an earnest Baptist who
says that religion is the most important thing in his life. His
Southern- style evangelism, showing up in so many of his
speeches, irritates the less devout. They are uneasy about a man
who uses the word God so easily, so often. He often prays for
guidance before making a major decision.

     In response to a strident attack on Carter in Manhattan's
Village Voice, Georgia Congressman Andrew Young, a black, wrote
an angry reply: "Carter is one of the finest products of the
most misunderstood region in our nation. You are probably right
in questioning Jimmy's doctrinaire liberalism, but progressive
politics in 1976 must be based on a tough mind and a tender
heart and a loving sensitive spirit."

     Much of the party simply cannot take Carter at face value.
Show-biz analogies are reached for to define him. His frequent
references to love remind derisive critics of that 1930s
musical Of Thee I Sing, in which Presidential Candidate
Wintergreen croons that "love is sweeping the country." To
others, Carter summons the image of the plastic politician in
the film Nashville who broadcasts but never appears on-screen.
Yet to many others, he is a believable leader with eclectic
policies. Carter welcomes the ordeal of the primaries because
he knows he must prove himself. "I want to be tested in the most
severe way," he says. "I want the American people to understand
my character, my weaknesses, the kind of person I am."

     What kind of person is he? Carter has a deep sense of his
roots. The first Scotch-Irish Carter arrived in Virginia before
the Revolutionary War, and over the years the family moved
farther south, to the southwestern Georgia hamlet of Plains
(current population: 600). Cash-poor but land-rich, the Carters
eventually accumulated some 2,000 acres of farm and woodland,
raising peanuts and cotton. By Plains standards, they were
patroons, leading citizens in a society keenly aware of
hierarchy.

     James Earl Carter Jr., the oldest of four, had a typical
rural boyhood. When he was not at school he was working in the
fields. His home lacked electricity and running water.
Initiative was esteemed. At nine, he bought five bales of cotton
with money he had saved from selling peanuts and stashed them
away. A few years later, he sold them for enough profit to buy
five old houses in Plains and became a landlord. The venture
made him a confirmed capitalist.

     Father James Earl Sr. was a resourceful farmer and small
businessman, who was strict with his children and devoted to
community mores, including racial segregation. But Carter's
mother was something else: one of those doughty and durable
women that the South produces among both races. It was "Miss
Lillian" (pronounced locally Leeyun) who taught her son to aim
for something higher than what Plains could offer. A registered
nurse, she supported the family during the Depression when farm
prices plummeted. Instead of letting her children talk at
mealtimes, she urged them to read at the table. She treated
blacks with no less compassion than whites. She nursed them
when they were ill, attended their funerals and tried to bring
them into her church. "I've been called a nigger lover all my
life," she told TIME Correspondent Stanley Cloud recently in
Plains. "I have even had eggs thrown at me." At 68, Miss Lillian
joined the Peace Corps and worked as a nurse for two years in
India. Today, at 78, she lives in Plains and cares for Jimmy's
eight-year-old daughter Amy while the candidate and his wife are
off campaigning.

     It was largely because of her influence that Jimmy became
the first Carter to finish high school. While he waited to
fulfill his youthful dream of entering the Naval Academy, he
spent two years at Georgia colleges. Finally, he was admitted
to Annapolis, graduating in 1946, He married a hometown friend,
Rosalynn Smith; they have four children: three sons, now in
their 20s, and Amy.

     Diffident at first about politics, Rosalynn soon learned
how to be at home on the hustings. Her delivery is like her
husband's: soft-spoken, low-keyed but highly persuasive. Today
her status is separate but equal. She and Jimmy campaign apart
and take turns going home to Plains each week for two or three
days of rest and recuperation and family renewal. "What I liked
about the Navy," says Rosalynn, "is what I like about politics.
You see your old friends again and again -- those with whom you
have shared experiences."

     In 1952, Carter was picked for the nuclear submarine
program by Admiral Hyman Rickover, who later assigned him to
the prelaunch crew of the submarine Seawolf. "Rickover
transformed my life," says Carter. "He was unbelievably
hard-working and competent, and he demanded total dedication
from his subordinates." Today, Carter's aides consider him just
as much of a taskmaster as Rickover; the two men often meet.

     Lieutenant Carter's naval career ended abruptly in 1953
when his father died. Jimmy was needed at home to run the
family peanut and fertilizer business. He regretted leaving the
Navy, but he was also nursing ambitions for public office. Back
home, he immersed himself in farming; he attended classes on
farming, devoured books, sought advice from U.S. agricultural
agents. Impatient to expand, he invested in a peanut sheller and
began to supply large processors; then he branched out into
warehousing. (Last year the income from the farm and the
warehouse totaled $44,523; his net worth is estimated at
$666,000).

     Not satisfied with just peanuts, Carter worked on many
community projects. As a deacon in the Southern Baptist church,
he taught Sunday school and traveled to Pennsylvania and
Massachusetts to organize new churches. In 1962 he decided to
run for the state senate, and he was defeated -- until it was
proved that the cemeteries as well as the jails had produced
votes for his opponent. The results were overturned and Carter
entered the legislature.

     He disliked the tussle and compromise of the senate and
considered himself more of an executive, so he jumped into the
gubernatorial race in 1966. Coming almost from nowhere, he
finished a respectable third in the primary that was ultimately
won by ax-handle-wielding Segregationist Lester Maddox. For
Carter, that campaign was only a warmup. To prepare for the
race four years ahead, he steeped himself in the history of
Georgia, pored over state budget and education bills, shook all
the hands that he could find.

     The 1970 gubernatorial campaign is the most questionable
aspect of Carter's career. It was rough and dirty on both
sides. Carter's opponent was former Governor Carl Sanders, a New
South liberal who had the backing of the Atlanta Establishment,
the city's newspapers and the black community. Carter
positioned himself as a populist to the right of Sanders. For
the entire campaign, "Cufflinks Carl" was derided as a tool of
moneyed interests. It was a bitter contest to determine which
was the less wealthy candidate -- and by any standards, Carter
was well off.

     Beyond exploiting class resentments, the Carter campaign
cozied up to the state's segregationists. He never made remarks
that could be interpreted as racist, but he visited one of the
private academies that had sprung up in response to
integration, and he paid a call on a notorious segregationist
publisher who subsequently endorsed him. Carter said that he
would permit George Wallace to speak at the state house, and he
had kind words for Maddox, who was running for Lieutenant
Governor. Many white liberals in Georgia were aghast; they have
never forgiven him.

     It can be argued that Carter was as liberal on race issues
as he could be without losing his supporters and thus the
election. He did make a point of emphasizing the more
respectable traits of his rural constituents. "Georgians are
conservatives," he later explained, "and I told them that
conservatism and racism are not the same thing. We talked about
the positive aspects of conservatism: the opposition to big
government; the flag, patriotism. We made that pitch hundreds
of times. This gave me a rapport with the voters, and it did not
remind them or make them think of past deficiencies."

     Elected by a landslide vote, Carter appeared to be a
changed man in office -- leading to accusations that he had
misled the voters. In his inaugural address, he proclaimed: "The
time for racial discrimination is over. No poor rural white or
black person should ever have to bear the additional burden of
being deprived of the opportunity of an education, a job or
simple justice." Maddox cried foul and started sniping at
Carter. He has never stopped. He even pursued Carter to New
Hampshire last month to denounce him as "the McGovern of '76"
and "the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde of '76."

     Unlike Sanders, Carter appointed blacks to posts at every
level of state government. (Sanders today concedes: "Carter is
far more liberal than I ever was.") He set up a biracial
"disorder unit" of various experts to mediate clashes between
blacks and whites. Since Georgia did not have federal referees
to enforce the Voting Rights Act of 1965, Carter deputized all
the high school principals in the state as registrars so that
they could sign up voters at school. He overhauled the state
prison and mental hospitals, which contained a high proportion
of blacks. He set up a system of drug treatment and day care
centers.

     Carter appealed to blacks perhaps even more strongly by
making certain symbolic gestures. When black legislators had a
party in their part of town, they sent a routine invitation to
the Governor. Much to their surprise, he showed up, and word
spread quickly that the Governor was eating chitlins with the
brothers. In the state capitol in 1974, Carter placed a
portrait of Martin Luther King Jr. on a wall amid pictures of
other Georgia notables, while an integrated audience sang We
Shall Overcome. Many blacks who did not vote for Carter swung
over to his support. Now his presidential drive is endorsed by
men as disparate as Martin Luther King Sr. and Henry Aaron.

     Almost as important as improved human relations to Carter
was efficiency in government. One of the few things that make
him stop smiling is disorder or sloppy work. He was appalled by
Georgia's jumble of some 300 overlapping state agencies. He
recalls: "It had got so that every time I opened the closet
door of my office, a new state agency would fall out."

     He pushed a reorganization plan, which eventually trimmed
agencies so heavily that an occasional bureaucrat would try to
barricade himself inside his office. By the time his four-year
term had ended, he had reduced the agencies to a more
manageable 22. That did not mean that all the agencies
disappeared; many of them were simply grouped in a single
department with no loss of staff. Carter also introduced
"zero-based budgeting." Every state department had to justify
its entire budget request, and not just the increase over the
year before. The new system is still being tested, and it has
flaws. But political scientists -- and even some of his enemies
-- concede that Carter made substantial improvements, cut the
flow of paper and reduced the rate of growth in state costs.

     The Governor's relationship with the legislature was more
stormy. A stubborn, even self-righteous man, he seemed
temperamentally unsuited for the give-and-take of governing. He
though nothing of tongue-lashing legislators and lobbyists whom
he considered obstructionist. This attitude almost cost him his
cherished reorganization plan and prevented his consumer
protection legislation from being enacted.

     Once Carter's aides were elated when a state senator said
he would vote for a bill if his father, a minor state employee,
was promoted. The Governor balked at the deal. "Hell, no," said
Carter. "I didn't run for Governor to pass bills promoting that
guy's father."

     Overall, Carter's governorship was a success because of
his skilled balancing of traditional and emerging political
forces in Georgia. "He cloaked liberalism in conservative
jargon," says a state official. Carter promoted his social
programs as an extension of the Gospel: problem-solving combined
with Christian charity. In headier moments, he compared his
actions to Christ's ministry to the suffering. It was an
extravagant analogy, but politically it worked. Carter gave to
the poor without overly offending the well-to-do, conquered
without excessively dividing.

     This year he is showing similar dexterity in his
presidential campaign. So far, he had negotiated an intricate
slalom course with remarkable ease, swooping first to the left,
then to the right. The most difficult of all the candidates to
categorize, Carter is liberal on some issues, moderate to
conservative on others. At a time when many in his audiences
want simple answers, he recognizes that issues are complicated
-- and sometimes gives complex or even confusing answers. But,
more often, his positions are clear.

     The centerpiece of the Carter campaign is his promise to
carry out the same kind of reorganization of Federal Government
that he accomplished in Georgia. Insisting that it is
impossible to give any specifics until the matter has been
thoroughly studied, he nonetheless predicts that he will reduce
the number of federal bureaus from 1,900 to 200. "If you don't
want to see the Government completely reorganized," he tells his
audiences, "don't vote for me."

     On the all-important issue of the economy, while liberal
candidates support large-scale public works programs to relieve
minority unemployment, Carter stresses the role of free
enterprise in providing more jobs. He does not believe that the
Government should guarantee every American a job, and he
opposes the Humphrey-Hawkins bill that would commit the
Government to bringing unemployment down to 3% within three or
four years. To do that, Washington would have to spend so much
that inflation would rage anew. But in some cases, Carter would
have the Government make direct payments to industry to
subsidize more jobs. If a company had to lay off workers, the
Government could offer to pay part of their wages for a limited
time. He argues that this would reduce the need for welfare and
unemployment compensation and would be far less costly than
public service employment. Carter would also use the Government
to create Civilian Conservation Corps-type jobs for 18- to
21-year-olds who are out of work.

     Unlike the liberals, Carter has not called for curbing the
independence of the Federal Reserve Board, though he mildly
complains about its tight money policies of the recent past. He
favors more vigorous antitrust action but, in contrast to Birch
Bayh, Mo Udall and Fred Harris, he does not call for totally
breaking up the big oil companies. In his opinion, they should
be forced to sell off their coal and uranium production
operations, and to choose between being in either the "retail"
(gas stations) or "wholesale" (exploration, drilling and
refining) end of the business.

     One reason many labor leaders are suspicious of Carter is
his stand on right-to-work laws. He has told union leaders that
if they can persuade Congress to pass a repeal of the laws, he
would sign it as President. But he refuses to take the lead in
the matter and even suggests that he favors the right-to-work
concept. Aware of these ambiguities, he adds: "The truth is, I
just don't think it's a very important issue -- and I don't
think the unions really do either."

     Carter keeps promising a more detailed analysis of his tax
program. He calls for the elimination of most income tax
deductions, which in turn would permit a general lowering of
tax withholding rates. This sensible reform has long been
advocated by some liberal economists. But in response to a
question put by an aide to Henry Jackson at a forum in Boston
last week, Carter said that deductions for home mortgages should
also be cast out. Sure enough, Scoop Jackson thundered two days
later: "What Carter is threatening, in actuality, is the
destruction of the working- and middle-class American family."

     Cities, not states should receive revenue-sharing money,
he believes, and cities should also be relieved of the costs of
welfare. He says that all able-bodied people who are on welfare
should be removed from the rolls, and, if necessary, trained by
the Labor Department for a job they can handle in the private
sector. But he estimates that only 10% of relief recipients
fall into that category. The rest, he believes, are unemployable
and must be treated with "all the love, respect, compassion and
understanding that they deserve."

     A strong advocate of civil rights, Carter often says that
"passage of the civil rights acts during the 1960s was the
greatest thing to happen to the South in my lifetime. It lifted
a burden from the whites as well as the blacks."

     Even so, Carter is opposed to "forced busing." He
acknowledges that it is necessary in some cases because blacks
may have no better way of establishing their right to attend
all- white public schools. Once that right is affirmed, however,
he thinks blacks themselves will begin to lead a movement for
a voluntary busing plan similar to the one adopted in Atlanta
while he was Governor. The Atlanta plan provides that any child
who wants to be bused may be, so long as it does not lead to
greater segregation. At the same time, no child may be bused
against his will, and -- most important of all -- blacks must
be involved at all levels of the decision of the decision-making
process in the school system.

     Though Carter was accused of waffling on abortion in Iowa
before the first caucuses, his position is clear, if
complicated. He opposes abortion and would use the bully pulpit
of the presidency to discourage it. Rather generally, he says
he favors federal programs that would emphasize birth control
and easier adoption procedures. But, because he believes that
a woman has a legal right to decide for herself, he does not
favor a constitutional amendment to ban abortions. Feminists
would be happier with his stand on the Equal Rights Amendment;
he supports it wholeheartedly.

     Foreign policy is not Carter's strong suit. A New
Hampshire speech that was billed as a "major address" was
largely platitudinous; if the U.S. loves the rest of the world,
he seemed to say, the rest of the world will love the U.S. He
supports detente in principle but echoes the complaint of many
conservatives that the Soviet Union is taking advantage of it.
He criticizes Henry Kissinger's penchant for secrecy, which
clashes with Carter's notion of a government open to inspection
by the people. He favors withdrawing American troops from Korea
within the next five years and reducing U.S. forces in Western
Europe.

     The Defense Department, Carter charges, is the "most
wasteful agency in the Federal Government." The old sailor
would reduce its budget by $5 billion to $7 billion, cancel
production of the B-1 bomber, but go ahead with the Trident
submarine. Worried about the dangers of the nuclear arms race,
Carter is convinced that the President must make nuclear
disarmament a firmly fixed national goal. He tells his audience
that in his inaugural address he would state clearly the
commitment of the U.S. Government to a "zero goal" -- the
elimination of all nuclear weapons in the world through
multilateral negotiations. He admits, however, that the goal
will probably not be reached "in my lifetime."

     Carter does not want to break up the CIA or curtail covert
operations. But he pledges to deal harshly with any illegal
activities. "I will know what is going on and if there is
wrongdoing, I will find out about it. I will tell American
people about it and I will see to it that those responsible are
punished."

     His campaign style is to give fairly general speeches,
then throw the meeting open to specific questions. Carter
usually makes a genuine effort to respond adequately and will
often ask his questioner if the answer was satisfactory. But he
rarely delivers a formal, policy address from a text, and while
he has issued a series of brief position papers, he has made
little or no effort to lay out his proposed policies in full
detail. One reason: he lacks the kind of large professional
staff maintained by his opponents from Congress. Still, in his
day-to-day campaigning, Carter is at least as specific on the
issues as any candidate in the race.

     In the end, the most important issue may be Carter's
character and personality. For all his emphasis on establishing
an "intimate" relationship with the voters, he shields a part
of himself from the public. "Jimmy is not easy to get close
to," confides his campaign manager, Hamilton Jordan. "He
doesn't really understand the personal element in politics,
though nobody is better at campaigning."

     The candidate contends that he understands the needs of
the people, perhaps even some they do not yet recognize. Fully
a year ago, he visited the mayor of Plains to discuss the need
for a new zoning ordinance in town. Carter feared that once he
became President, tacky souvenir shops and motels would spring
up all over the place. To the lovers and the haters alike,
Carter simply reiterates: "Trust me." Whether or not enough will
do so will be seen only after many more contests, but the
determined, supremely confident believer from Georgia certainly
has shaken up the race.

________________________________________________________________

 Men Behind a Front Runner

     The pace of a presidential campaign is almost guaranteed
to upset stomachs  and strain marriages of the men closest to
the candidates, and Jimmy Carter's top aides are not immune.
They spend weeks away from their homes in the South,
crisscrossing the nation and working 18-hour days under extreme
pressure. Only rarely do they all get together with the
candidate at his campaign headquarters in a modern office
building on Atlanta's Peachtree Street. Usually they must confer
with him by phone or on the run -- in the brief privacy of an
auto, an elevator or a motel room.

     But the Carter aides are young and aggressive, and they
relish the tension and excitement that builds with early
success. As they demonstrated in New Hampshire last week, they
are adept at blending the old and new in American politics. They
drew heavily on the techniques first used there by Eugene
McCarthy in 1968 and sharpened by George McGovern in 1972.

     The Carter forces saturated the state with television,
radio and newspaper advertisements. Hundreds of youthful
volunteers were brought from other states, often at their own
expense. They formed five-person squads and fanned out across
the wintry landscape to canvass neighborhoods. Other volunteers
manned banks of telephones to get the Carter message to still
more New Hampshire Democrats. On election day the Carter staff
tried to ensure that every pro-Carter voter was able to get to
the polls on time.

     For all this, Carter has relied heavily on four close
aides since long before New Hampshire. They are:

     HAMILTON JORDAN, 30, National Campaign Director. A plump
native of Albany, Ga., Jordan wears denim jackets and
open-necked shirts. He affects a good-ol'-boy manner but is a
coolly professional political operative. In 1966, he was youth
coordinator of Carter's first, unsuccessful campaign for
Governor, then managed his winning gubernatorial drive in 1970
and became his executive secretary. Jordan describes himself as
a late-blooming progressive. A cousin founded Koinonia (Greek
for fellowship or communion), a biracial farm in southwestern
Georgia that deeply offended Ku Klux Klan members and other
white racists in the 1940s. Even so, Jordan as a teen-ager
opposed the black civil rights movement, only to change his mind
a few years later.

     MORRIS DEES, 39, Finance Chairman. An elegant Southern
millionaire, he is widely known liberal attorney and civil
rights activist. Dees and a partner founded a company that sold
mail- order books; it was bought by the Los Angeles Times in
1969 for $6 million. In 1972 he used his direct-mail skills to
raise $20 million for the McGovern campaign. Late last year he
joined the Carter campaign. In five months, Dees nearly tripled
the candidate's treasure, to more than $2 million.

     In mid-February, he mailed appeals for money to about 1
million voters; he plans an even larger mailing after the
Florida primary. In addition, he organized countless cocktail
parties, receptions and dinners -- at up to $250 a person --
sometimes with Carter in attendance. On Valentine's Day, Carter
presided over a five-hour telethon in Georgia that featured Rock
Stars Gregg Allman and James Brown, Actress Peggy Cass and
Ballplayer Henry Aaron, and pulled in pledges of $325,000.

     JODY POWELL, 32, Press Secretary. A southwestern Georgia
farm boy, he was raised in Vienna (pronounced Vie-anna), not far
from Carter's home town of Plains, and was headed for a
military career until he was dismissed from the Air Force
Academy for cribbing on a history exam in 1964. While working
on a doctorate in political science at Georgia State University,
he joined Carter as his driver in the 1970 campaign and later
became press secretary. Powell spends much time these days
replying to charges, often false, about Carter's past.

     CHRIS BROWN, 27, New England Regional Coordinator. A native
of Seattle and an expert on the mechanics of campaigning, he was
a student organizer for McCarthy in 1968, and was an early co-
chairman for McGovern in Seattle four years later. In 1974 he
managed Jerry Apodaca's winning gubernatorial campaign in New
Mexico. After briefly serving on Apocada's staff, Brown joined
Carter in 1975. Now that the electioneering is moving on to
primaries beyond New England, Brown will probably run Carter's
campaign in the Western states.

     Carter also consults outside experts, from Atlanta Adman
Gerald Rafshoon, who had handled his political advertising
since 1966, to well-known scholars. On foreign policy he has
been advised by former U.S. Ambassador to the United nations
Charles Yost, former U.S. SALT Negotiator Paul Nitze and
Columbia Government Professor Zbigniew Brzezinski and Law
Professor Richard Gardner. On economic matters, Carter draws on
moderate- to-liberal economists, including Joseph Pechman of the
Brookings Institution; Albert Somers of the Conference Board,
a group of business leaders and economists that makes analyses
of U.,S. economic policy; and M.I.T.'s Lester Thurow, who
advised McGovern during the 1972 campaign.

     But Carter is renowned among associates for following his
instincts and often rejecting advice. Thus while some ideas for
his campaign have come from his aides and outside advisers, the
outlines of his strategy and positions are very much his own.