The Presidency

By Hugh Sidey

The old East Room in the White House has heard it all. Abigail Adams flapping out her wash; the tramp of British troops setting fire to the place; cheers for Ulysses Grant, brought from the West to win the war; the shouts of Teddy Roosevelt's rambunctious kids; Truman's political cronies, with ample bourbon, bellowing their fealty; Nixon's house evangelists heaving and praying in the midst of Watergate. Conniving diplomats have come there, as well as big-time pols and heavy moneymen, all summoned for the payoff of a lunch or dinner at the very headwaters of U.S. history.

Yet something a little different took place last week. Men and women who rarely asked for anything but to be able to bring beauty and understanding to America were invited in and honored. Of the twelve recipients of the National Medal of Arts, six were unable to attend, but their daughters, sons, cousins and friends stepped up for them. Their achievements had preceded them long ago. The recipients were predominantly creators: Contralto Marian Anderson, Filmmaker Frank Capra, Composer Aaron Copland, Painter Willem de Kooning, Choreographer Agnes de Mille, Actress Eva Le Gallienne, Folklorist Alan Lomax, Critic Lewis Mumford and Novelist Eudora Welty. But also on hand were some who gave generously to encourage such work: Houston Art Patron Dominique de Menil, Seymour Knox of Buffalo's Albright-Knox Art Gallery and the Exxon Corp.

This is only the second year of the arts medal, but the awards already have a sense of importance about them. Ronald Reagan lauded the honorees very / quietly and eloquently "for crowning our nation's greatness with grace." It was an echo of sorts from a thought expressed 200 years ago. John Adams, Abigail's husband, wrote that he studied war so that his sons might study commerce and agriculture so that their children could study painting and poetry. That hope lives on.

Agnes de Mille, who choreographed such classics as Oklahoma! and Carousel, now 80 and frail, vowed to walk to the stage for her medal. She asked for the help of one young Marine, preferably "handsome and unmarried." She needed the additional arm of a naval officer, but she proudly made it, while the audience applauded all the way. Alan Lomax, 71, who helped America discover Burl Ives, Pete Seeger, Leadbelly and Woody Guthrie, explained as he left the White House on that special day that he had gathered "the voices of the voiceless Americans" to bring to the President.

In the audience was Daniel Boorstin, the Librarian of Congress, who is completing a sequel to his volume The Discoverers, a study of the men and women who unlocked the secrets of this world. His new work, The Creators, is about those people who took talent and energy and made something new. Boorstin looked at the gentle folks who came to the East Room to receive the new medal and mused on the special ingredients of creators. "The most important thing a government can do is foster the freedom in which the unexpected can happen," he said. Marian Anderson's voice rose from a humble church choir in Philadelphia. Frank Capra, an Italian immigrant, turned film into art when he made Mr. Smith Goes to Washington and You Can't Take It with You.

All 6-ft. 5 1/2-in. of Andrew Heiskell, chairman of the President's Committee on the Arts and the Humanities, hugged and kissed and toasted his friends that day and went off into the scorching Washington afternoon renewed and rededicated to finding, encouraging and honoring the unexpected, that grace that always rises out of a free people.