Reagan's Cabinet: Mixed Grades

By WALTER ISAACSON

A few rate A's, but others are middling C's at best

Despite Ronald Reagan's intention to establish a true cabinet government, as he did when he was Governor of California, the need for central coordination of policy inevitably drew power from federal departments to the White House. Nevertheless, Reagan has tried to foster a sense of team play. In addition to attending frequent Cabinet meetings, most of the Secretaries belong to one or more of five "Cabinet councils" set up to coordinate issues that fall into broad areas. For example, the Secretary of Health and Human Services chairs a council on "human resources, "whose members include the Attorney General and the Secretaries of Agriculture, Labor, Education and Housing and Urban Development.

Some of the Secretaries have put their individual stamps on policy matters. Others have evidently failed to master the intricacies of their jobs. There are 17 members of the Cabinet, four of whom are, in a sense, ministers without portfolio: Counsellor Edwin Meese, U.N. Ambassador Jeane Kirkpatrick, Trade Representative Bill Brock and CIA Director William Casey. The following assessment of the men who have departmental responsibilities, listed in order of protocol, is based on the reporting of correspondents in TIME's Washington bureau.

Prickly Vicar

In his four-star drive to become what he called "the vicar of American foreign policy," Secretary of State Alexander Haig has endured a dizzying eleven-month roller-coaster ride. Yet after all his ups and downs, Haig, 57, seems to have achieved what he wanted. Foreign policy is now coordinated not by the emasculated National Security Council but by interagency groups chaired by the State Department.

Haig's aggressive style is alien to the laid-back Californians at the White House, who feel that the Secretary's well-publicized turf battles with colleagues were as avoidable as they were embarrassing. The volatile former NATO commander still has a tendency to erupt at slights, but he appears more secure than he did a few months ago, possibly because he enjoys more frequent access to the President.

Critics charge that Haig has proved better at administering policy than at conceptualizing the broader outlines of American goals; neither he nor his close aides are known as idea men. His comments often seem contradictory, and on such subjects as Soviet-sponsored terrorism his rhetoric has been excessive. Nonetheless, Haig has brought a realistic approach to the management of policy, often restraining the hard-line ideologues at the Pentagon. For example, he was able to overcome Defense Department objections to resuming talks with the Soviets on reducing nuclear weapons in Europe. (Once the talks were approved, however, the specific proposals were essentially devised by Pentagon planners.)

Haig has also led the Administration, and himself, through a series of mid-course corrections in what originally seemed to be an oversimplified East-West view of the world. Although the U.S. has yet to develop a comprehensive Middle East policy, the early emphasis on forging a strategic anti-Soviet consensus in the region has been balanced by giving more attention to resolving the Palestinian question. Latin-American policy has long been dominated by concern over El Salvador, which Washington charged was being threatened by leftist rebels whose support came from Cuba and Nicaragua. In a meeting with Nicaragua's Foreign Minister last week, Haig slightly modified the Administration's harsh rhetoric about that country's arms buildup and spoke of a possible normalization of relations between the U.S. and the left-wing government there. For such efforts, Haig merits a B-plus in international diplomacy. In intramural diplomacy, he is always in danger of flunking out.

Treasury's Treasure

Donald Regan, 62, has become a White House favorite. The Irish ancestry he shares with the President does not hurt, nor does his smooth, self-assured manner. More important, though, is that, of the top members of the Cabinet, Regan is the only one who has not yet embarrassed the White House or caused a major problem. That in itself is something of a surprise, because when he came to Washington from Wall Street, the Treasury Secretary seemed out of step with the supply-side tax cutters who had Reagan's ear. Regan, who initially warned against the dangers of huge deficits, is now an ardent defender of the tax cuts, which he helped persuade Congress to pass.

Regan, something of a slow starter, was overshadowed at first by Budget Director David Stockman. That prompted Citicorp Chairman Walter Wriston, a longtime friend, to observe: "One day Don Regan is going to wake up and eat David Stockman for breakfast." Regan has not done that, but he has become increasingly dominant. When Stockman began urging new taxes for 1982 to reduce the deficit, Regan dissuaded the President. He has managed to keep a diverse group of monetarists, pragmatists and supply-siders in harness at Treasury.

Above all, Regan has been an enthusiastic team player, willing to learn legislative strategy from Reagan's chief of staff, James Baker and conceding gracefully when he has lost minor skirmishes at the White House. While some see his occasional lack of assertiveness as a failing, it has served him well in cementing what will probably be a solid relationship with the man in the Oval Office. The final marks are not yet in on the success of the Administration's tax policy, but Regan gets an A for his attempts to make it work.

Cap the Shovel

Once known as Cap the Knife for his budget-cutting zeal in the Nixon and Ford Administrations, Caspar Weinberger, 64, has pressed with equal relish for whopping increases in the military budget. This has led to a dichotomy in his performance as Secretary of Defense: detractors say he has fallen prey to the Pentagon's shopping-list mentality and has been uncreative in setting strategic priorities; supporters say he is faithfully carrying out Reagan's policy of rearming America. Both sides are right.

What disappoints the critics is that Weinberger has become merely a money shoveler, doing little to reformulate national strategy or work for greater military efficiencies. His initial 1982 request for $222 billion was 11% higher than the budget Jimmy Carter had projected for 1982, yet it charted no new directions; it merely boosted spending, item by item. If Weinberger looked like a prisoner of the generals on the budget, he appeared to be an amateur in rejecting the advice of his high command on the MX missile and vacillating on a new strategic bomber. After much public agonizing, he failed to come up with a mode for basing the MX and proposed that the U.S. develop both the B-l and Stealth bombers. In passing the Defense appropriation bill last week, the Senate accepted the B-l but rejected Weinberger's plan to harden existing silos for basing some of the new MX missiles.

Weinberger's hawkish statements on foreign policy issues have often been poorly planned and counterproductive. In Bonn last April, Weinberger denigrated the benefits of detente and called for a buildup of NATO's conventional and nuclear forces; Haig had to reassure allies that the U.S. was still committed to pursuing arms control negotiations with the Soviets as well as upgrading the Western deterrent. Haig also had to rein in Weinberger when he announced, without consulting NATO leaders, that the Administration was planning to produce neutron warheads for eventual deployment in Europe. Haig promised the allies there would be no deployment of the enhanced radiation bombs without full consultations.

Weinberger has one all-important fan: his longtime friend Reagan. The President supported him on the military budget and shares his hard-line anti-Soviet views. Except in the President's eyes, however, his performance has earned him no more than a disappointing B-minus.

Discreet Lawyer

Men who have served in recent years as Attorney General have brought different approaches to the job: flamboyant activist (Bobby Kennedy), judicial academic (Edward Levi, chosen by Ford), slick wheeler-dealer (Nixon's--and Watergate's--John Mitchell). William French Smith, 64, is, above all, a discreet and reticent corporate lawyer, dedicated to serving his once and present client, Ronald Reagan. This conservatism, in both philosophy and style, has been the hallmark of Smith's tenure at the Justice Department.

In a low-key, undramatic way, he has presided over some major changes in policy. While insisting that he will vigorously enforce antidiscrimination laws. Smith announced that the Justice Department will not advocate court-enforced busing as a means of desegregating schools. Smith has also sent a clear signal that big is not necessarily bad, thereby dampening the department's antitrust fervor and creating a favorable climate for corporate mergers and takeover attempts.

A longtime intimate of Reagan, Smith has excellent access to the Oval Office. But some White House officials claim that he is plodding, lacking spark and less than innovative in law enforcement. Yet his frequent get-tough-on-crime speeches have been hampered by the Administration's unwillingness to back his proposals with funds. In the view of White House watchers, he rates a solid but lackluster B-minus for what has been a solid but lackluster performance.

"Sic 'Em"

When James Watt was signed on as Interior Secretary, he told the President exactly what policies he wanted to pursue. Federal lands must be opened for development of energy and mineral resources, said Watt, pledging to undo "50 years or so of bad Government." Said a delighted Reagan: "Sic 'em." And Watt did, promptly becoming the most ideologically controversial member of the Cabinet. As he puts it: "I was brought in to yell down a new chain of command on environmental issues. I yelled, and to my surprise, I was obeyed." He proposed offering for lease 1 billion new acres of offshore tracts for energy exploration, despite ecologists' protests that drilling on many of the sites threatened coastline areas as well as endangered species. He also advocated selling energy and mineral lease rights in wilderness areas in Montana and other Western states.

Watt, 43, has managed to keep the full backing of the White House on matters of substance, though not of style. In seeking to redress what he calls the "environmental extremist" bias of the past, he has alienated not only liberal environmentalist groups like the Sierra Club but such conservative organizations as the National Wildlife Federation and the National Audubon Society. Even the Los Angeles Times, which endorsed Reagan's candidacy and his pro-development policy, has called for Watt's resignation.

Ideally, an Interior Secretary should try to balance the conflicting demands of development and conservation. Watt has yet to prove to critics that he cares very much about the latter. He far too often sounds as if he is still a litigator for the Mountain States Legal Foundation, which was founded by right-wing Brewer Joseph Coors and other businessmen to fight wilderness conservation efforts in the West. Last week, for example, Watt decreed that members of the National Park Service and top Interior Department aides should refrain from "wasting Government money by talking to national conservation leaders." He also requested, in a move of dubious legality, a list of department employees who are members of environmental groups. Although the Secretary might award himself an A for effort and many developers grade him A for achievement, others flunk him cold for his insensitive attitude toward conservation and his megawatt manner in dealing with controversy. Because it is not yet clear if his policies will improve the economy or endanger the environment, or both, he gets a C.

Farmer in the Dell

He is likable, charming and always has the best interests of farmers at heart. But Secretary of Agriculture John Block, 46, is regarded in Washington as something of a political lightweight, lacking the toughness and savvy to handle an all but impossible job. Time and again, Block has been outmaneuvered by powers within the Administration and on Capitol Hill who do not share his priorities, which are to make farming profitable again and to reduce the Government's role in agriculture.

Block has one early triumph to his credit. Over Haig's objections, he persuaded the President to live up to a campaign promise by lifting the ill-advised grain embargo against the Soviet Union. But Block's subsequent proposal to sell surplus butter to the U.S.S.R., also opposed by Haig, ended in a compromise that pleased few. The butter was sold at about 30% below the world price to New Zealand, which was then free to sell its own butter to the Soviets. The high-cost U.S. dairy surplus program ($2.1 billion in fiscal 1981) lost a lot of money to make a dubious diplomatic point.

Block, a successful hog farmer from Galesburg, Ill., faced his greatest challenge in trying to cope with this year's farm bill. Stockman was determined to defeat the farm lobby by proposing E bill that was so stingy that it would splinter the unity of the various crop-support factions. Said Stockman in his famed--or infamous--Atlantic Monthly interview: "I forced Block into a position that makes his life miserable." Block had recommended the elimination of all direct subsidies and proposed that Congress give him discretionary power to set the loans that determine the floor prices for crops. But he was undermined by the White House, which cut deals with Southern lawmakers by trading the promise of peanut and sugar supports for votes on the budget. Meanwhile, it was business as usual in Congress, where House and Senate conferees put together a pork-barrel farm bill well in excess of what Reagan said he would accept. No wonder the conservative Heritage Foundation concluded that there has been the "appearance that farm policy is not under the direction of the Secretary of Agriculture." That being the case, Block might merit an A for effort but gets a C-minus for impact.

Commerce's Cowboy

A steer roper and rodeo rider, Secretary of Commerce Malcolm Baldrige, 59, occasionally twirls a lasso to show off his old cowboy skills. But the main thing Baldrige is trying to rope in these days is export business for U.S. companies. Having built a small Connecticut brass factory into the $1 billion Scovill Inc., Baldrige wants to instill his Yankee-trader spirit in U.S. businessmen. His department is conducting 1,500 trade seminars to coax smaller businesses into foreign trade and has instituted new training for commercial service officers in U.S. embassies. He also has successfully lobbied for bills to relax the anti-bribery laws for overseas businessmen and exempt trading companies from antitrust enforcement.

Although an ardent free-trader, Baldrige has pressed charges against five countries accused of dumping cut-rate steel on the U.S. market and has pushed for "voluntary restraints" on Japan's car exports. He also hopes to help the American auto industry by persuading Congress to loosen the Clean Air Act's auto-emission standards. Ahead is a battle with Stockman, who wants to eliminate the department's office of export development and Foreign Commercial Service from the 1983 budget. Unlike most Commerce Secretaries, who labor away in obscurity, "Mac" Baldrige has a good channel to the President. They go horseback riding together at Quantico, Va. His performance is a solid Aminus, but he is in a C-minus post.

Labor Pains

Raymond Donovan, 51, is one of the Cabinet's weakest players, even in the eyes of the White House. "No comment," said a presidential aide when asked about the Labor Secretary. Added a Hill staffer: "He is simply out of his league. He combines not much knowledge of the issues with not much skill in politics."

Donovan's reputation began to tarnish during his confirmation hearings, which raised some unanswered questions about the involvement of his former New Jersey construction company in illegal union payoffs. No charges were proved, but a New York Teamster official was indicted for extorting funds from the company. Donovan's performance on the job has not redeemed him. He has failed to build bridges to organized labor, though other pro-business Labor Secretaries before him have managed to do so. He attended an AFL-CIO meeting ten months ago, but since then, complains the federation's president, Lane Kirkland, "I've heard from him only through the Federal Register," the weekly list of changes in Government rules. Many of those changes, such as the cutbacks in Occupational Safety and Health Administration programs, and a weakening of affirmative-action requirements for federal contractors, have further angered labor.

Donovan has many supporters in the business community, which applauds his zeal for deregulation. Says John Tysse of the U.S. Chamber of Commerce: "He understands that his is a broader mandate than simply marching to the tune of the AFL-CIO." Nevertheless, in an Administration that suffers from poor relations with organized labor, much of the blame goes to Donovan, with a D.

Good Soldier Schweiker

As a Republican Senator from Pennsylvania, Richard Schweiker, 55, was a liberal spokesman for most of the Government's health programs. Thus, when he was appointed Secretary of Health and Human Services, many social welfare advocates breathed a sigh of relief. They still sigh when his name is mentioned, but with disappointment. Reason: Schweiker's go-along attitude toward the elimination of many of his department's functions.

When the 1982 budget for HHS was slashed by more than $3 billion, Good Soldier Schweiker hardly raised a yelp. But he has not yet come forward with proposals for less expensive ways to deliver the social services he once fought for as a Senator, or to contain health-care costs through greater competition and coordination. Moreover, he has joined the fight against programs like family planning, which the Administration opposed primarily on ideological, rather than budgetary grounds.

Schweiker backed into a buzz saw when he and Stockman jointly proposed a plan to reform Social Security by reducing benefits. Regardless of the degree to which the plan had merit, and elements of it had a lot, it was met with bipartisan outrage on Capitol Hill. Reagan had to disclaim it. For a man who served two terms in the Senate, Schweiker showed himself surprisingly inept in dealing with Congress. He earns a middling C, but only because he does not deserve blame for all of what has happened in his realm.

Low Visibility

Samuel Pierce, Secretary of Housing and Urban Development, has not noticeably increased his visibility since the notorious White House meeting last June when the President did not even recognize him. "Mister Mayor," said his boss, "how are things going in your city?" Pierce, 59, presides over a department that others in the Administration view mainly as a target for budget cuts. During the first round of reductions last spring, Pierce, a lifelong Republican, objected only to the proposed elimination of Urban Development Action Grants, which help finance private construction in inner cities. He was able to save the program, which is popular with many mayors. Pierce last week sent to the White House a much stronger appeal against further cutbacks in urban programs. But he toned down the harsh language in the memo, drafted by his staff, that warned of potential "rent strikes, riots and vandalism."

Pierce has not been an articulate salesman or apologist for the Administration's policies. "He underwhelms us," says one Democratic Congressman. Even the conservative Heritage Foundation faulted Pierce for not effectively promoting tax-exempt urban development zones, a concept he favors, and for seeming to have no creative policies to compensate for the budget cuts. Pierce says that he deliberately has kept a low profile while learning his department. His supporters say that he is now about ready to make his move. For the moment, he gets a slow-learner's C.

In the Driver's Seat

"He is just dynamite," says an admiring congressional aide. Drew Lewis' success in running the Department of Transportation is surpassed only by his effectiveness as a team player in the White House and his adroitness as a political operator on Capitol Hill. In Congress, Lewis, 50, is, in the words of one staffer, "the best Transportation Secretary since Hannibal, and has certainly moved more elephants over mountains."

Lewis' greatest triumph was his decisive handling of the air-traffic controllers' strike. When negotiations failed, the Federal Aviation Administration, which he oversees, managed to keep air traffic moving. Less visibly, Lewis has worked to get the Government out of the railway business and eventually divest itself of the Conrail freight line in the Northeast. He is also working to cut back federal subsidies for Amtrak passenger trains and for local transit systems. Many may strongly oppose his programs, but almost all who have dealt with him admire his effectiveness and his attention to political sensitivities. A possible candidate for promotion to a more important post, Lewis belongs on the Cabinet's A list.

Low Energy Level

Until James Edwards, 54, took over, the job of Energy Secretary was one of the most serious, controversial and demanding in the Cabinet. Now the main question is when the slow-talking dentist, who is probably the most amusing man in the Cabinet but sometimes is considered a bit of a joke, is going to go back home and, perhaps, run for Governor of South Carolina. Reagan often ridiculed the Energy Department during his campaign, saying that it had never produced a barrel of oil. He has pledged to abolish the agency and get the Government out of the energy business.

Edwards' task, therefore, has been mainly to push through deregulation and, as he once put it, "to work myself out of a job." But he has been uncertain about when and how to lift controls on natural gas and has a narrow grasp of the issues involved. His major initiative has been to support the troubled nuclear power industry, primarily by speeding up licensing procedures and pushing forward with the Clinch River breeder reactor in Tennessee, a $3.2 billion boondoggle whose principal beneficiary will be Senate Majority Leader Howard Baker. At best Edwards gets a C. That would hardly matter, unless, of course, the nation is hit with another energy crisis, which the shrinking department is totally unprepared to handle.

For Whom the Bell Tolls

Secretary of Education Terrel Bell, 60, also faces the thankless task of presiding over the disappearance of his own domain. A Utah educator who once was a strong supporter of a separate Education Department, Bell has won White House approval for his dismantling zeal. Says a presidential aide: "He has not been captured by the bureaucracy. He's made a positive impression by being the first Cabinet member to perform institutional hara-kiri."

More surprisingly, Bell has impressed many of those who strongly believe in saving the department. Says Thomas Shannon of the National School Boards Association:

"We give him high grades for intelligence and integrity. We think he's so good, we're working to save his job." In fact, of all the officers whose departments have been targeted for severe cuts or extinction, Bell has emerged with the most popularity. He has accomplished this feat despite the fact, as one teachers' spokesman puts it, that he is working for "the most anti-education Administration in this century." Bell, who served as U.S. Commissioner of Education under President Ford, hopes to turn his department into an independent, government-supported foundation, such as the National Science Foundation. This would give local school boards access to federal funds while avoiding tight federal control.

All of the A's he may have earned on his report card merely stand for adios, or perhaps au revoir. --By Walter Isaacson

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