He Has Done His Homework

The country had a President last week, and it was such a novel experience that a lot of people were not sure what to make of it.

Gerald Ford was acting like a real leader. He was the only man in town with a complete economic and energy plan and, whether it will ultimately be judged good or bad, he was moving ahead with relish and considerable skill.

After attending about 100 solid hours of meetings on these matters over the past two months, consuming literally millions of written words on the intricate issues, Ford knew his subject matter better than his critics. That is considered unsportsmanlike conduct in these gaseous climes.

Carl Albert, the Speaker of the House, went to breakfast with reporters and was so mixed up about Ford's plan that he admitted he had not studied it.

"We're talking about thousands of little pieces of paper," Albert said at one point, believing that taxpayers would have to get receipts for gasoline and turn them in for tax rebates. No, no, said reporters, that wasn't the plan. "Well, how is he going to do that. . . I don't know," said Albert.

Ten Governors (eight of them Democrats) from the Northeastern states came to town breathing fire, claiming that the Ford energy tax would penalize their states. They circled around Ford in the Cabinet Room for what one claimed was "a very hard talking session." Massachusetts' Michael Dukakis was the toughest, boring in with a list of arguments against Ford's proposals. Finally, in a stern voice, he asked Ford, who sat across from him: "Have you considered the unfairness of what you are about to do?"

"I'm sorry," came back Ford, "I disagree with you . . . we've looked at every possible option. They were piled high . . . we were on the threshold of disaster . . . we have got to have action."

Ford looked Dukakis in the eye and hammered the table as he spoke. He listened to each one of the Governors as they made their complaints. The meeting ran 30 minutes beyond schedule, but Ford heard them all out. When it was over he went to his small study, and one of his aides murmured, "That was really rough." Ford showed no bitterness. "I've got to hear that," he said. "They've got their problems and I want to know about them."

But then Ford strode into the Oval Office to sign the very proclamation, to increase the oil-import fees, that the Governors had opposed. He made his short statement somberly, scribbled his lefthanded signature, then, looking up at the silent gallery of aides, newsmen and photographers, chuckled: "I don't see anybody clamoring for extra pens."

At that time the Governors were using the White House lawn to denounce the Ford plan before the television cameras. Again it was hard talk, but it was civilized, the kind of ritual on which good government thrives. Ford's ubiquitous staff members reported back to him what was happening out front. Rather than hide in his sanctum, the President decided to go out on the lawn and rebut the critics. Instantly, he had a driveway press conference going. "We've diddled and dawdled long enough," he said, clasping his hands behind his back. "We have to have an energy program . . . I think the American people want action . . . affirmative action, not negative action."

By the end of the day he was sitting in the family quarters of the White House, having just finished an hour of live-television questioning by NBC's John Chancellor and Tom Brokaw. The TV lights were out, the cameras dead, and the men were sipping Scotches. Ford was puffing his pipe and musing about the people who were going after him. Ford was handicapping each of the key men who would oppose him, determined to press his case in a democratic manner. It is such a sane and decent approach that it has already confounded a sizable segment of the opposition.

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