Resisting the 'State and Pomp'

Jimmy Carter thinks it has all gone too far. As early as 1789, John Adams delivered an apologia for the imperial presidency to which some Americans might subscribe even today. Wrote Adams in a letter to President George Washington: "If the state and pomp essential to this great [office] are not, in good degree, preserved, it will be in vain for America to hope for consideration with foreign powers." Now, 37 Presidents later, the "state and pomp" of the presidency have come to include everything from the elegant Air Force One to the presidential seal emblazoned on ashtrays, cowboy boots and cufflinks.

Carter, who frequently referred to himself during the campaign as "the first farmer to run for President since Thomas Jefferson," tends toward a Jeffersonian attitude where the trappings of public office are concerned. As Georgia's chief executive, he sometimes surprised visitors to the Governor's mansion by appearing barefoot and in Levi's, even as Jefferson used to greet visitors to the White House in an old robe and slippers. Carter is discovering, however, that it is not quite so easy to resist the perquisites of the modern presidency.

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Secret Service agents have already urged him, so far without success, to give up his armored Ford LTD sedan--originally made for the President of Mexico --in favor of an equally armored but roomier Continental limousine.

The Secret Service was also distressed by Carter's insistence on using a small air-charter service in his home town of Plains for short hops, instead of the far more secure (and far more expensive) Army helicopters that are at his disposal. The owner of the charter service, Tom Peterson, is a kind of south Georgia bush pilot who has been flying Carter around for years. But his relaxed attitude and unorthodox procedures (he sometimes flies his twin-engine Cessna 310 without a copilot) have caused agents assigned to Carter to consume more antacid than usual. A recent Carter flight from Senator Herman Talmadge's Georgia plantation back to Plains was a case in point. Because Plains was socked in with bad weather, Pilot Peterson originally planned to set down at Albany, Ga., some 45 miles away. The Secret Service therefore dispatched a team of agents and a full motorcade to Albany to meet Carter. But Peterson departed from his flight plan, flew over Plains, sighted what he called a "hole in the clouds" and--with Carter's approval--promptly dived in for a landing while the two agents on board yelled obscenities at him.

After taking and clearly enjoying a trip in the back-up Air Force One provided by President Ford, Carter decided it would be cheaper, at least for the transition period, to stick with chartered jets for long trips. His desire to send his daughter Amy to a public school in Washington was well received by the largely black population of the capital. But his insistence on carrying his own luggage caused the Washington Star's society columnist, Betty Beale, to carp last week that "if the American people had wanted their President to be a bellhop, they could have found one without all that concern about issues, debates, etc." When Carter said he would like to walk to the White House for a meeting with Gerald Ford, the President's staff nixed the idea because, they said, it created logistical problems. Thus Carter was forced to ride in an eight-car motorcade for a journey of about 200 yards.

Some of Carter's attempts to humanize the presidency are either merely symbolic or trivial, but the attitude is nonetheless refreshing. In one respect, at least, it will help to establish a presidential precedent. Carter intends to go on calling himself Jimmy, not James Earl Jr. It was Jimmy Carter who signed bills, and vetoed some, as Governor of Georgia. It was Jimmy who slogged through 30 primaries. And it was Jimmy whose name was on the ballot in all 50 states on Nov. 2, even though he had to sue the state of Maine to keep it that way. Jimmy it will remain--and that use of the diminutive will mark a historic first. Harry was Truman's given name, not a nickname; "Woody" would have been unthinkable for the austere Wilson; and even such informal types as Andy Jackson, Teddy Roosevelt and Jerry Ford reverted to their given names when signing bills or greeting foreign dignitaries.

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