The Presidency

By Hugh Sidey

Notes from retiring Secretary of Education William Bennett on Cabinet service, achieving and maintaining capital curmudgeon status, and the debilitating effects of cold salmon after sundown:

Bennett's law of diminishing smarts.

Most Cabinet officers are brightest in the morning. After 10 a.m., the average IQ drops a point every half an hour; by nightfall it is off the charts.

The key to political longevity.

It is nonsense that a public official must attend receptions and eat the food, both of which further enervate him. "I have eaten a lot of poached salmon, and I don't like it, particularly at 10 p.m.," Bennett said last week. "I never could get used in this town to being treated as if I were a large house cat." In four years Bennett attended only one State and one Gridiron dinner, absences considered in pre-Bennett eras as a sure way to oblivion. His alternative for political longevity: home cooking as often as possible. "Eat something recognizable," he declared. "Beef or chicken. Or chicken or beef." But go home. There is much more there than food.

On President tending.

Do not treat a President as royalty. In Cabinet meetings know what you think and say what you think. "Don't leave a Cabinet meeting saying to yourself, 'Gee, I should have said that,' " Bennett offered. But also, he noted, try a joke now and then. Call the President "Boss" when it seems appropriate. Eat a few jelly beans.

Serving the public, Corollary No. 1.

"If you don't like Government, then don't govern. I love it. Speak your mind; be truthful and candid. The American people can handle it. I never went anyplace in this country that I did not meet smart people. Talk to the American people because you actually like them and respect them. A lot will respect you, and some will like you."

On debunking Washington myths.

If at first you doubt, doubt again. Harry Truman's advice that "if you want a friend in Washington, get a dog" is funny but false, insisted Bennett. "I leave this job with a lot more friends than when I came. None of them are dogs."

On symptoms of sartorial uncertainty.

The idea that every Cabinet officer must first be neat, trim and well pressed is backward. What is inside is more important than what is outside. The 6-ft. 2-in., 216-lb. Bennett bought his suits off the rack for less than $300 and sometimes got them pressed. "Enough said about that," declared the rumpled Bennett in his National Press Club valedictory.

Bennett's guide for capturing and controlling attention.

Be as aggressive as decency will allow. Do your homework, know what you are talking about, and talk about something real. "If you don't have anything to say, the media are not going to come around more than a couple of times. Your job is to have a successful conversation with the American people."

Corollary No. 2.

"The most important thing in this city is not keeping your head so much as keeping your feet," he said. "Don't forget where you are from. Cling to your family and friends. Books and lessons from the past should be your roots. Heed that line from Alan Drury's Advise and Consent that goes something like this: 'Washington took them as lovers and they were gone.' "

Bennett's code of decorous departure.

Next Tuesday, Sept. 20, the Secretary plans to visit a prize elementary school in Hollis, N.H., give it a tribute, turn and hand his Cabinet credentials to aides, then hike off into the White Mountains with John Curnutte, one of his best friends.