How to Charm a City

By GEORGE J. CHURCH

Reagan gives a boffo performance in his first appearance in the capital

"I was kind of surprised to find out how many things I had done that were considered unusual. I would have thought they were a natural thing to do."

As he mused about his remarkable week, Ronald Reagan was riding in an Air Force DC-9 on his way back to California. Quite clearly, he was honestly surprised by the welcome he had received in the city that, in effect, he had campaigned against, decrying the nation's capital as the symbol of the Big Government dragon that he was so determined to slay. But when the President-elect flew in last week, Washington warmed to him as though he were a native son, mainly because he came not as a conquering hero but as a man with natural poise and an instinct for the gracious touch that seemed to dazzle almost everyone he met. The fact that Reagan did things so matter-of-factly simply added to his appeal. Not in all his years as an actor had Reagan so wowed a tough audience that was waiting to be shown.

Reagan had his role rehearsed to perfection: a serious President-elect determined to get his Administration off to a fast start, yet relaxed and good humored with everyone. Worries about inflation, unemployment, the Persian Gulf war, the Soviets: all the nation's manifold and intractable problems seemed to be pushed aside. They will surely arise to haunt Reagan later, but the week was devoted to symbolic ritual--briefings by the CIA, a courtesy call on the Justices of the Supreme Court, a visit with Jimmy Carter at the White House--rather than substantive policymaking. The ceremony had a serious purpose: Reagan was out to establish an image of his Administration as one that, for all its insistence on changing the nation's political direction, will consult civilly with both allies and adversaries.

Characteristically, he played all the notes of that theme at a lunch with Republican Senators and Congressmen. The President-elect spoke of the desire of voters for "an America that serves them and doesn't interfere with every facet of their lives," then added with a grin, "If I keep on with this I'll be making a campaign speech, and I don't want to do that!" He pledged that "you won't have to always wait to come to the White House because there will be a number of occasions when I'll want to come over here." The prediction drew long cheers, whistles and applause.

It was like that all week, and Reagan's bravura performance won rave notices not only from friends but from once and, no doubt, future foes. One event that symbolized the earnest good fellowship of the Reagan mission to Washington occurred on Wednesday afternoon, when a beat-up Pontiac brought Senator Ted Kennedy to call on the out-of-towner. For 30 minutes, Kennedy and Reagan talked about issues that the Senator felt important, such as arms limitation and getting people back to work. Reagan was attentive but noncommittal. Then Kennedy emerged to explain his visit to reporters: "I believe the American people now want cooperation. In that spirit I came here to indicate mine." Someone recalled that Kennedy had once referred to Jimmy Carter as being a clone of Reagan. Did he still believe that? Kennedy laughed and hemmed and hawed and said, "Those days are in the past and I'm looking forward to the future."

Everybody seemed to be, from the moment the week began. A group of fans turned out in bright Los Angeles sunshine Monday morning to watch the Reagans depart. "I'm ecstatic!" called one woman. "I'm scared!" Reagan cried back, laughing. Nancy got so absorbed in shaking hands that her husband had to shout to her, "Well, do you want to go to Washington?" And off they went.

By the time the plane landed at Andrews Air Force Base that evening, a cold Washington rain was turning to sleet. The Reagans swept into town in a 16-car motorcade. They did not stay at the posh Blair House; that had been booked long before the election for a visit by West German Chancellor Helmut Schmidt. Instead they were billeted in a four-story beige brick, mansard-roofed town house at 716 Jackson Place, across Lafayette Park from the White House. One of a row of town houses owned by the Government, the dwelling is used as a residence for distinguished guests.

Tuesday morning Reagan set out to capture Capitol Hill and took the place by charm. A nest of ego and pride, Congress is like a haughty cat that cannot resist being stroked and fawned over, and it was purring as Reagan went to work on Democrats and Republicans alike.

All the talk was of working together. To reporters, Reagan asserted, "We're not going to accomplish anything without the cooperation of the House and Senate." To Democratic Senators gathered in the office of Majority Leader Robert Byrd, he promised, "There will be no surprises. We'll not send stuff up here without telling you in advance." He did not need to stress the contrast to Carter, who often sprang surprises on even his own party's leaders in Congress. Said Byrd: "You were gracious to come by. We'll support you when we can and be constructive when we disagree."

Tennessee's Howard Baker, who will take over from Byrd as majority leader in the new Senate, told the Republican Senators assembled in his office, "I don't remember when any incoming President has met so quickly with members of Congress." Later in the week Baker, who accompanied Reagan on several of his rounds, wryly observed, "I've been smiling so much my jowls hurt."

The most boisterous meeting turned out, somewhat surprisingly, to be the one in the chambers of House Speaker Tip O'Neill, a bluff Democratic partisan who had never met Reagan. O'Neill clapped Reagan on the shoulders and boomed out introductions to Democratic Congressmen so loudly that they could be heard through closed doors. Then O'Neill took Reagan aside for 15 minutes of advice. Reported Tip: "I said to him, 'You were Governor of a state, but a Governor plays in the minor leagues. Now you're in the big leagues. Things might not move as quickly as you like.' He seemed a little surprised when I said that." Reported Majority Whip John Brademas: "Tip was kind of counseling him like father to son."

O'Neill later pronounced Reagan to be "a very personable fellow" and acknowledged that "we got along better with the Reagan people than with the Carter staff at their first meeting." O'Neill then delivered a handsome pledge: "We'll hold any criticism for six months. I'm going to give him a long rope and see if he can herd the problems in."

Leaving the Capitol, Reagan posed on the Northeast Steps with the 1981 March of Dimes poster child, Missy Jablonski of St. Louis, sweeping the six-year-old up into his arms to the delight of a mob of professional and amateur photographers who filled the stairwell. Then he rode to the nearby glass-and-concrete headquarters of the Teamsters Union, the nation's largest and one of the rare labor organizations to back his candidacy.

At a closed meeting, he exchanged platitudes with Teamsters President Frank Fitzsimmons, who beamed, "As far as I am aware, this is the first time a President or President-elect has come to call on a labor union. We think this is a significant, symbolic gesture on behalf of the working men and women of America." Fitzsimmons had reason to be pleased: the visit gave a rare bit of favorable publicity to the 2.3 million-member union, the target of almost endless accusations of corruption and misuse of pension funds.

Tuesday evening, the Reagans threw a glittering dinner for their new neighbors: Washington's movers and shakers. In a week of symbolism, it was one of the most important events: Reagan, who campaigned against "Washington" as the fount of most of the nation's woes, was trying to assure the city's leaders that he did not mean it personally. He was also launching a kind of pre-emptive strike against the backbiting that often goes on over the capital's dinner tables, especially against a President who seems to be an aloof outsider. Accordingly, his aides sent invitations ("When Nancy and I are in Washington next week, we hope to greet old friends and make new ones") to the people who run the city. "Are you sure this is serious?" one incredulous invitee asked in a phone call to Reagan's transition office. "I'm a lifelong Democrat."

Standing in the ornate sitting room of the F Street Club, a turn-of-the-century town house that is often the scene of chic dinner parties, the Reagans received their guests, including Mayor Marion Barry Jr., National Gallery of Art Director J. Carter Brown, Howard University President James Cheek, Department Store Magnate John Hechinger, and Mstislav Rostropovich, conductor of the National Symphony Orchestra of Washington.

Reagan mingled with guests in front of the drawing-room fireplace for small talk and storytelling, at which he excels; he is a walking repertory theater of showbiz anecdotes. During the evening, Vice President-elect George Bush eagerly introduced Reagan to his guests: "Now, Ron, I want you to meet some people in this community who really make it go." Later, Lawyer Edward Bennett Williams, a longtime fund raiser for the Democratic Party, said of the affair, "This is something the current President never did."

Wednesday morning brought one of the more solemn transition rituals: the passing on of intelligence secrets to the President-elect. CIA Director Stansfield Turner arrived at the Jackson Place town house, briefed Reagan for 90 minutes, and left stonefaced and silent; he knows that he will be replaced, probably by William J. Casey, Reagan's transition chairman, who sat in on the meeting. But the ritual had one touch of humor. Hurrying to the briefing, Bush bounded up the steps of 712 Jackson Place and began shaking hands with puzzled secretaries from the Harry S. Truman Scholarship Foundation before he realized he was at the wrong building. Said Bush to newsmen: "You can always tell the new kid on the block."

After lunch with Republican Senators and Congressmen on Capitol Hill, Reagan revived an almost forgotten Washington tradition by proceeding to the Supreme Court's Greek temple for a "get-acquainted" visit. A social call by a President-elect on the Justices was regular procedure until the late 19th century, but the custom then fell into disuse.

Chief Justice Warren Burger received Reagan in the court's conference room; cameras were admitted to that room for the first time, to the obvious displeasure of Burger, who does not admire the press. "There sure are a lot of them," he said to Reagan, glancing at the TV crews. Burger then took the President-elect upstairs to the dark, wood-paneled second-floor dining room to meet the Associate Justices. Burger and Reagan chatted about California wines. Justice Byron White engaged the visitor in talks about Reagan's days as a radio sports announcer, which occurred before "Whizzer" White won All-American renown as a halfback at the University of Colorado in 1937. The gathering, however, was about the only one in Washington in which Reagan, 69, was one of the junior participants; five of the Justices are older.

On Thursday the Reagans called on the Carters. Meeting with his successor, the President ticked off his list of priorities, domestic and foreign, and spoke at length of Iran, the hostages and the Middle East. Carter also urged Reagan to back pending legislation that would provide a fund to clean up chemical wastes, and he hinted that Reagan was "wise" in re-evaluating his opposition to the embargo of grain sales to the Soviet Union. Declared Reagan later: "Let me sum by saying it was a rather complete briefing." Carter was pleased with the way things had gone. Said one aide: "You got two guys approaching this with a certain degree of apprehension. It went well."

Less than an hour later, Reagan met with West German Chancellor Schmidt in one of the few unscheduled events on the President-elect's calendar. Schmidt was in Washington as a result of a miscalculation; he had expected Carter to win the election and scheduled an early visit to patch up their strained relations. In the new circumstances, the German leader had his aides pester Reagan's advisers with requests for a meeting.

Reagan's men at first said no: the President-elect had resolved not to consult with any foreign leaders before his inauguration. But when West German Ambassador Peter Hermes phoned the Jackson Place town house Wednesday morning once again to propose a meeting, Reagan's chief foreign policy adviser, Richard Allen, concluded his boss could not refuse a call from a head of government who was staying a mere four houses away--especially since Reagan is eager to strengthen ties with the U.S.'s European allies.

So Schmidt strode over to Reagan's house at 4 p.m. Thursday and talked with the President-elect for an hour. They discussed the state of the NATO alliance, East-West relations, arms control and defense. Schmidt was obviously pleased, in glowing contrast to his usual somber mood after talking with Carter. The German leader could never conceal his impatience with what he regarded as Carter's moralistic and vacillating approach to foreign policy. Although he originally considered Reagan to be a politically inexperienced movie actor, he is swallowing his doubts and now regards Reagan as a man of decision who will conduct a strong and consistent foreign policy.

While Reagan was wooing the Washington establishment, his personal advisers met in Los Angeles to consider potential appointees to the Cabinet. Two members of the advisory team are themselves under consideration: William Simon, a former Secretary of the Treasury who is widely regarded as the leading choice to get his old job back, and Caspar Weinberger, top aide to both Reagan in Sacramento and Richard Nixon in Washington, who seems to be setting a record for the number of jobs anyone is being tipped for (Secretary of State, Treasury or Defense; Director of the Office of Management and Budget). Simon and Weinberger excused themselves and stood obediently outside the room while their qualifications were being debated. At midweek, the group sent to Reagan in Washington a list of some 70 names, a minimum of four for each of the ten Cabinet posts.

The only person in town not dying of curiosity to see the list was Reagan, who said he felt his advisers should be able to present their views to him back in California when they all sat down to address the Cabinet staffing. In the sweepstakes, George Shultz, a former Secretary of Labor and of the Treasury for Nixon and an early favorite for the State Department was believed to be fading: some Reaganites feel he is too sympathetic to the Arab cause, and he is opposed by organized labor and right-wing conservatives. Along with Weinberger, one leading candidate being mentioned for State is former NATO Commander Alexander Haig, once Nixon's Chief of Staff in the White House. The leader of the talent-seeking group, Attorney William French Smith, was also being described as a possible Attorney General.

Democratic Senator Henry Jackson, a hawk on military affairs, had been touted for the Department of Defense, but working against him is Reagan's concept of having the Defense Secretary be part of the inner group of Cabinet officers that would oversee other departments; Jackson may be too liberal on domestic matters for such a job in a Reagan Administration.

Texas Senator John Tower wants the job of Secretary of Defense and called on Reagan in Washington to press his claim.

But his appointment would force the G.O.P. to play two games of musical chairs: finding a popular Republican to run for Tower's Senate post, to prevent the party from losing a seat in the upper chamber, and selecting another head of the Armed Services Committee, which Tower is slated to fill in the new Senate.

At week's end Tower was expected to take his name out of consideration.

When Reagan flew back to Los Angeles Friday for meetings with his advisers on Cabinet appointments, he left a capital suffused with good feeling, how ever transient. By adroit use of pageantry he effectively communicated an important message: he means to begin as a consensus seeker rather than a hard-edged ideologue, a man who will try to win the cooperation of the permanent establishment rather than govern over its opposition.

If there is one disconcerting note to last week's visit, it is that the President elect did little to discuss substantive programs, or to tell his new friends in Congress what he wanted them to do and how.

The week strengthened the impression that Reagan will be what he has said he will be: a chairman-of-the-board-type President, relying heavily on the consensus of his advisers to shape the substance of his programs.

There is plenty of time, however, for substance: four years after Jan. 20. And if backslapping and dinner chitchat will not by themselves bring down the inflation rate, they can help pass legislation designed to do that. The ability to create an aura of cheerful optimism, manipulate symbols and establish smooth personal relations with allies and adversaries is a vital asset for a President. Ronald Reagan proved last week that he possesses it in abundance, and he will surely need it in the battles that lie ahead when the honey moon is over.

--By George J. Church. Reported by Walter Isaacson/Washington

With reporting by Walter Isaacson/Washington

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