A Sense of Privacy

By Hugh Sidey

Ronald Reagan is at once more a part of the Washington scene than his predecessor, and, in another way, more removed. He has, as every President before, begun making his own patterns of leadership and life in the White House.

He is husbanding his personal privacy; yet he ventures forth more in person into the regular capital routines. Perhaps it is his conditioning in show business that makes it so. In that world the adoration of the masses is cultivated, but the crowds are in most instances kept at a certain distance.

For 20 years now, reporters have verbally manhandled the President, leaping and shouting for attention, then muscling the victim up front as if he were an inferior intellectual adversary. Before Reagan walked on the stage at his first televised press conference last week, he established a barrier between him and the 300 journalists. It was a simple device. Through Press Secretary James Brady, he outlined rules of behavior requiring the questioners to remain in their seats, raise their hands and stay silent until recognized. Reagan presided. The press did not.

A couple of Saturdays ago, after a Cabinet meeting, the President wandered over to the Alibi Club on I Street, a narrow and shadowy enclave of 50 of the city's powerbrokers. He went without the usual army of photographers. He did not hold court once he was inside.

The men there did not cluster around him but came one by one to chat with Reagan, who talked of the rundown condition in which he had found the White House, of his adjustments to life in the mansion. It was unspectacular and disarming. The President left as quietly as he came.

That-night he was on the town again, this time a guest of the Alfalfa Club. That organization has no reason for being other than to meet once a year for fun, but can pack into a hotel dining room 600 of the nation's most influential men.

Reagan did not arrive late with trumpets and spotlights. He was there as scheduled. He ate dinner, waited his turn behind Senator John Glenn and former Secretary of State Henry Kissinger to give his speech, which was nice but not notable, and then slipped out so that he would not paralyze the after-dinner festivities. Nobody was dazzled, but even the loyal opposition felt a little warmth toward the man for displaying such natural dignity.

There was other evidence of his style. Reagan opened the ceremonies for the returning hostages and then receded. Cameras were banned from sensitive and emotional moments. No detailed reports were given of Cabinet meetings or other sessions with key Administration figures. They were, in the official jargon, "characterized." What had the President done on a Sunday night? the White House was asked. We don't know, said an aide, that is his private time.

Meetings with legislators and visitors were cautious affairs in which Reagan listened far more than he talked. He asked questions of the experts and then waited out the full answers. When questions were directed at him, even on sensitive subjects like mistreatment of the hostages, he responded politely but with only a short generalized observation that revealed almost nothing. There was no compulsion to let his innermost views gush forth. A wise Washington hand, Speaker Sam Rayburn, used to say that you don't have to explain what you don't say. Maybe Reagan heard.

Probably the most that can be concluded from these early events is that Reagan has so far avoided embarrassment; he has nudged the American public back just a bit from the Oval Office to permit himself and his people to debate alone. He has also claimed some time and space for his very own. So far, Ronald Reagan has not personalized the presidency, has not insisted it yield to his peculiarities. He has demonstrated a respect for the office. It will take more than that to govern well, but it is not a bad way to start.

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