The Graying of the Office

By Hugh Sidey

The Presidency

Not only has Ronald Reagan dispelled the myth that old men can't be President, he may have started a geriatric parade at the White House that could last for the rest of the century. If he seeks and wins another term, most of his would-be successors will be old men themselves by the time they have a crack at the Oval Office.

Right now the dispassionate oddsmakers suspect that Reagan enjoys his job enough to want it for four more years. More important, the economy is rebounding, and public pressure is softening Reagan's hard-line instincts on the Soviets and arms control. Accidental or not, these two developments bode well for his chances in 1984.

The other day on his way down to Houston, the President told a reporter that if he decided to seek reelection, he surely wanted Houstonian George Bush to be his running mate again. Instantly, Bush signaled that he had been hoping for such an invitation and that he was ready for another race if Reagan was.

Bush still wants to be President. He jogs, has no double chin, still wears a preppie watchband. His body and his ambition should easily survive two Reagan terms. After eight years of loyal if inglorious service as Vice President, Bush would have a strong claim on the top spot of the 1988 Republican ticket. He would be 64, an age we used to consider too advanced for starting a presidential quest, much less enduring the rigors of four years in office.

Howard Baker, the other Republican worthy, is also determined to hang around and reach for the brass ring. He is a year younger than Bush. But by 1988, he too will be on the threshold of those golden years when a man might prefer shuffleboard to hand-to-hand combat with Democrats and overnight flights to distant capitals.

If the Democrats lose to Reagan next year, will their pre-eminent contenders turn over the presidential torch to younger compatriots? Hardly. Walter Mondale will be 60 and John Glenn will be 67 in 1988. Both will be beyond the age that we used to judge ideal for the presidency. But both will still be younger than Reagan was when he was first elected.

The average age of our 39 Presidents when they took office is 55. The youngest was Theodore Roosevelt, who made it at 42, thanks to an assassin. John Kennedy, at 43, was the youngest elected President. The oldest is Reagan. The sample is too small to support a valid statistical trend. Yet a glance at this century's Chief Executives and their Inaugural ages suggests that the presidency is growing grayer (unless Reagan passes along the secret of his Hollywood hair): Theodore Roosevelt, 42; Taft, 51; Wilson, 56; Harding, 55; Coolidge, 51; Hoover, 54; Franklin Roosevelt, 51; Truman, 60; Eisenhower, 62; Kennedy, 43; Johnson, 55; Nixon, 56; Ford, 61; Carter, 52; Reagan, 69.

Politicians, like other people, are plainly living longer and enjoying it more. The suggestions by some professors and journalists that elected leaders often hate their work and are dying to get back to the ranch are mostly nonsense. They seem happier and more vigorous in Washington. Johnson, Nixon, Ford and Carter were all reluctant to leave the Oval Office.

There is something else to consider: America may no longer be so enthralled by the freshness and energy of youth. There is a detectable distrust of brilliance not tempered or cooled by experience. The qualities that many Americans feel are most needed in a President today--historical perspective, intuition, patience, courage, wisdom--are those most likely to come from long, sweaty years in the arena. The complexities of the issues, not to mention the gravity of international relations in a nuclear age, may require that our Presidents serve as understudies longer than ever before. This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.