MR. ENERGY: DOING THE DOABLE -AND MORE

Though he is a big-city boy who was raised on Manhattan's Upper East Side, James R. Schlesinger has the air and craggy looks of an American woodsman--aloof, self-contained and utterly confident that he can master whatever emergency may arise. He explains quite simply his willingness to take on the most difficult but also most challenging task that the Carter Administration could give him: "Any time the President of the United States asks one to do a job that's doable, it's one's obligation to do it." And Schlesinger is quite convinced that his job of creating a national energy policy is indeed doable, if for no other reason than that he has dedicated his considerable intellect to it. After all, he has already been the nation's chief nuclear administrator, spymaster and boss of the Pentagon--though he has never been a physicist, a spook or even a soldier.

So what qualifies him for such high posts? Schlesinger is a systems analyst, a member of a special American priesthood that has grown up to cope with the many questions concerning the effectiveness of government and business strategies. Systems analysis, which is really good common sense on a grand scale, combines the knowledge of mathematical probabilities with the aim of dealing with problems in their entirety rather than just piece meal. But since systems analysts use a language unintelligible to outsiders, they have acquired an almost mystical aura. Schlesinger recognized this several years ago and wrote a critical treatise that offended many of his colleagues and created severe opposition when he first came to Washington in 1969.

His life until now, Schlesinger muses, in a sense has been a preparation for his present assignment. One of two sons, he was born into an affluent New York City Jewish family whose accountant father possessed, in the words of Jim's only brother, Eugene, "probably the brightest analytical mind we have ever met." Jim Schlesinger attended the right schools: P.S. 6, Horace Mann, Harvard (summa cum laude. Class of '50), where he was a classmate of Henry Kissinger. After earning his B.A. in economics, Schlesinger took off in 1950 on a traveling fellowship to Europe. In Vienna, then under four-power occupation, he inadvertently walked past the Imperial Hotel, the Soviet headquarters. A Russian sentry trained his submachine gun on the lanky Harvard student. Recalls Schlesinger: "With a rare gesture of compassion, he waved the barrel, motioning me on. I moved." But he remembered the incident when later assessing the attitude behind the continuing Soviet military buildup.

Europe was an inward pilgrimage of sorts. When he returned to Harvard he made a decision that had been forming for some time: he converted to Christianity. He now keeps a Bible in his office bookcase and frequently alludes to little-known passages, including one from the Book of Kings about a widow who had a cruse of oil that never ran out. In the U.S. today, he adds grimly, "There is no widow's cruse."

Schlesinger returned to Harvard to acquire an M.A. and Ph.D. He also married red-haired Rachel Mellinger, a brilliant and beautiful student whom Harvard undergrads had elected Miss Radcliffe of 1952. She has since borne him four sons and four daughters, who range in age from six to 21.

Feeling uncomfortable in Cambridge's doctrinaire liberal climate, the conservative Schlesinger took a teaching post at the University of Virginia, where he wrote a book titled The Political Economy of National Security. It caught the eye of top executives at the Rand Corp., the U.S.'s premier think tank, who hired Schlesinger as a senior staff member. He later became director of strategic studies. At Rand, Schlesinger proved, as one colleague recalls, that "he could out-McNamara Mc-Namara"--then the cerebral Defense Secretary and systems analyst par excellence.

In Richard Nixon's first Administration, Schlesinger was named assistant director of the Bureau of the Budget, where he promptly began to bounce what he considered unjustified expenditures by the Pentagon. In 1971 Schlesinger moved on to become chairman of the Atomic Energy Commission, which had fallen under the influence of the utility industry. In his first meeting with utilities executives, he told shocked industry leaders: "Gentlemen, I am not here to protect your triple-A bond ratings."

Then, as the Central Intelligence Agency became mired in inefficiency, Schlesinger was tapped for the shape-up operation. As CIA director he immediately began to demythologize the agency. For example, he ordered road signs that identified the CIA headquarters in Langley, Va., as THE BUREAU OF PUBLIC ROADS to be changed to the correct designation. Staffers were instructed to answer the telephone with their names, not just the telephone number. Schlesinger elevated scientific types to the top jobs and fired some 1,500 of the "old boys"--undercover agents who had come in from the cold to cushy jobs in the home office. "He was very, very brutal about it," complains one ex-CIA officer. "He just sent out notices, 'Bam, you've had it!' " Schlesinger dismisses the charge. "Considering the slipperiness of some of those characters, I was too gentle!" says he.

When Schlesinger took over as Secretary of Defense in 1973, he worked overtime at becoming an absolute terror. At 6:15 in the morning he would blaze into his office in such a foul mood that his staff was afraid to speak to him. "He could melt the stars off the shoulders of a four-star general," recalls one former aide. There was an angle in his anger. Schlesinger wanted to dominate the entrenched bureaucracy of the Pentagon, which has defied the mastery of all but two or three of the eleven other Secretaries. He managed to start rebuilding the post-Viet Nam Army, trimming fat to get more men on the firing line.

Without notice on Nov. 2, 1975, President Ford fired Schlesinger, ostensibly because Ford felt uneasy in the presence of his harsh Defense Secretary. "Bullshit," says Schlesinger. The real reason, he suspects, was his constant questioning of Kissinger's detente policies. After his ouster, Schlesinger passed up offers of high-paying positions in industry to become a visiting scholar at Johns Hopkins University and settled into a cramped office in Washington. ("I have never done anything for money.") A request from then Candidate Jimmy Carter for advice on defense policy led to his present job.

Schlesinger places no value whatsoever on the pomp of power. He tools about Washington in a secondhand Olds Cutlass, absentmindedly dresses in rumpled suits and, during conversations, shifts so frequently from chair to chair that his shirttail invariably flops out. His tie is always askew, his socks limp. On days when he forgets to pick up the brown-bag lunch that Rachel has packed for him, he simply does not eat.

By modern standards, Rachel and he have produced an astonishingly large family--four girls and four boys. The Schlesingers live with seven of their children--and a grossly overweight Dalmatian bitch Speck--above a woodsy ravine in an unassuming ranch-style house in Arlington, Va. A torn-down auto engine, which 20-year-old son Charlie is rebuilding, shares the family room with Rachel's violin (she is an expert musician). Jim, aware of the value of each second, is sometimes irritated if he finds his wife or children engaged in unnecessary activities like cutting the lawn. "Get somebody else to do it," he says.

Schlesinger often invites his children to take him on in highly competitive games of cribbage and backgammon ("If you don't play games, you can't do anything") and to challenge his reasoning when the table talk turns to politics or social mores. As CIA chief, he once turned up for his morning briefing with a bandaged hand. To his startled staff, he explained: "I had a problem with one of my teen-age sons. He's a good boy, but I had to deck him."

Sometimes in the evening, says Rachel, "his mind never comes home." He stands sipping Scotch and water while vacantly dredging up peanuts from a bowl. "It's hard to find the button," says Rachel. "But once he does relax, he is completely relaxed." At such times, Schlesinger grabs one of several harmonicas scattered around the house or a guitar and delights his children with vigorous renditions of The Yellow Rose of Texas and Irish ditties.

Schlesinger's cherished hobby is that most private of avocations: bird watching. He carries a ragged notebook in which he records his sightings--so far, 600 of some 715 species identified by the Audubon Society in the U.S. and Canada. The hobby is unusual enough for a mover and shaker to lead to misunderstandings. On his first visit to London as CIA director, Schlesinger sent ahead a message to his colleagues in British Intelligence to leave time in his schedule for bird watching. The British, who use bird as slang for girl, were convinced that the austere Dr. Schlesinger was interested in stationing himself on Piccadilly Circus, where the birds parade in full plumage.

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