They All Make Demands on the New Boy

It was not quite a case of the honeymoon being over even before the marriage had been consummated. But as vacationing President-elect Jimmy Carter gazed out over the soothing marshlands of St. Simons Island off the coast of his native Georgia, pressure was building inexorably. Carter was the loner who had reached the presidency while insisting he owed nothing to any special interest. Yet quite a few groups, either because of their own successful election efforts or Carter's campaign promises, were plainly expecting to collect.

More than 100 mayors met in Chicago and asked that the incoming President set a "national tone of concern for urban America." They drew up an expensive shopping list: more jobs in cities, more federal aid, emergency antirecession programs, low-interest loans for both local governments and private businesses. The Governors of seven Northeastern states, who argue that Washington is shortchanging them in favor of the Sunbelt states, were expected to meet and make some costly demands of their own.

Very Wary. Black politicians, who argue persuasively that the overwhelming pro-Carter black vote guaranteed his victory, are anticipating a handsome reward. Wily George Meany, president of the AFL-CIO, was well aware that labor's vote in many metropolitan areas was another major element in the Georgian's election, and was not bashful about pushing some Cabinet favorites (see box). Nor was he bashful about making his policy preferences known. Carter has suggested voluntary wage and price guidelines, rather than formal controls, to curb inflation. Meany made it clear at a news conference last week that he was "very, very wary of any kind" of controls. He did, however, emphasize the need to expand jobs. Said Lane Kirkland, No. 2 man at the AFL-CIO: "Everything else is on the back burner."

From another quarter, the newly formed Committee on the Present Danger, came a demand for more Defense Department funds--a demand that conflicts directly with Carter's position that the department's budget can be prudently cut without impairing the nation's defense capability. The committee includes a galaxy of former Washington stars. It was organized mainly by Eugene V. Rostow, who was one of the Under Secretaries of State in the Johnson Administration. Among its 119 members are former CIA Director William Colby, former Treasury Secretaries John Connally and C. Douglas Dillon. retired Generals Lyman Lemnitzer, Maxwell Taylor and Matthew Ridgway. Calling detente "illusory" and warning that U.S. defense spending, as a percentage of gross national product, "is lower than at any time in 25 years," the group vowed to lobby for a stronger military.

Perhaps the most potent policy push of all came from Arthur F. Burns, the highly independent Chairman of the Federal Reserve Board. His chairmanship runs until 1978 and he is in a position to move monetary policy in directions that could conceivably nullify any Carter initiatives. Burns warned against efforts to stimulate the economy through easy credit, more Government spending or a tax cut. Carter has considered all three options, but most notably a tax cut, if the economy does not improve by the time he takes office. While his mind is open to a possible tax cut later, Burns told a congressional committee that such action appears unnecessary since he expects "a pickup in the tempo of economic activity in the near future" and any of the alternatives might well increase inflation.

Apart from the crossfire of pressures on national policy, Carter faced a more personal problem at his Plains Baptist Church, where he was working to persuade the congregation to end its policy of discrimination against blacks.

None of those pressures seemed to be bothering Carter--yet. At a folksy post-election press conference at the railroad depot on Plains' main street, he rejected the notion that his victory was too narrow to permit him to act decisively as President. He pointed out, correctly, that 13 Presidents had been elected with less than 50% of the popular vote; he netted 51%. Moreover, in seven of the states he lost, he still collected 49% of the vote. Said Carter: "I'll be very aggressive in keeping my promises to the American people."

Scrambler Phone. He also seemed very exuberant about some of the perquisites that go with his new job. When Gerald Ford dispatched a sleek Air Force 707 to Albany, Ga., to carry Carter on the 26-minute flight to St. Simons Island, the President-elect said boyishly: "That's what I've been waiting for." The aircraft had been used as one of several Air Force One presidential jets; it was the plane aboard which L.B.J. took the oath of office after John Kennedy's assassination in Dallas. Carter roamed the plane in a cardigan sweater and knit slacks. Studying Ford family photos gracing the cabin walls, he joked: "I ought to have on my three-piece black suit." His elevated status was symbolized by two small acts: Carter carried his scuffed spare loafing shoes on the plane; an Air Force steward carried them off. After his rest, during which he caught some sea bass and sea trout off a river dock, Carter responded to the kidding from newsmen about "the imperialization of Jimmy." He put his entire staff aboard a chartered airliner for the return flight. Back in Plains, he inherited another badge of high office: a direct telephone link with the White House switchboard, complete with a device for scrambling any sensitive conversations so possible eavesdroppers could not catch the meaning.

During his vacation Carter studied the thick volumes of transition papers that his staff had prepared before he won the election. His only substantive announcement concerned leadership of his 100-member transition staff, which will work out of an unimpressive set of offices in Washington's HEW North Building. In choosing the team, Carter apparently was trying to bridge a split between the transition planners, headed by the ambitious, efficient Jack Watson, and the campaign staff, directed by the more volatile Hamilton Jordan. One of Jordan's former deputies, Barbara Blum, will become Watson's deputy; Landon Butler, another Jordan aide, was also given a top spot under Watson. One choice in transition planning seemed to have a barb in it: Anthony Lake, a former Kissinger protege at the National Security Council who is now suing the Secretary for tapping his telephone, is handling Carter's relations with the State Department.

Ford, too, was relaxing last week after his gallant but futile uphill campaign against Carter. In Palm Springs, Calif., the President and his family were ensconced in a palm-shaded, 14-room villa owned by U.S. Ambassador to Belgium Leonard Firestone; it is part of a millionaires' development called Rancho Mirage. Ford worked at his rusty golf game at some of the swankest courses on the Coast: Thunderbird, La Quinta and Eldorado. "Relax," he told reporters. "Have a good time. No pressure." For the first time since he became President, his staff did not even refer to the journey as a "working vacation."

For some of those with Ford in California, there was work as well as play. Chief Speechwriter Robert Hartmann began preparing Ford's final State of the Union message; Alan Greenspan, chairman of the Council of Economic Advisers, labored over the annual economic report. Back in Washington, OMB Director James Lynn was putting in twelve-to 14-hour days on budget options for Ford.

The Ford speech, the economic report and the budget constitute Ford's last chance to leave his mark on the presidency. Like Carter, he is thinking of cutting income taxes (see ECONOMY & BUSINESS). Ford would do it by increasing the individual exemption from $750 a year to $1,000. Ford's aides say the President has no intention of trying to rush through any final decisions that might limit Carter's early moves. "The President has gained in stature through this defeat and through the graceful, considerate way he's handled the whole matter of passing on the mantle," Aide David Gergen explained.

There were small signs that the mantle was already beginning to slip. As Ford arrived in Palm Springs, his normally efficient advancemen forgot to ask a high school band to greet him with Hail to the Chief. They played, instead, On a Clear Day You Can See Forever.

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