A "Troublemaker" Enters Politics

By Hugh Sidey

THE PRESIDENCY

At 27 John Robinson West has survived wealth, good looks, Groton, the University of North Carolina, Temple law school--and a job at the White House. This week he is planning to declare himself a Republican candidate for Congress in Pennsylvania's Fifth District.

That a young gentleman, whose heroes are Admiral Horatio Nelson, General George Marshall and former Governor William Scranton, and who numbers among his friends Andrew and Jamie Wyeth and numerous Du Ponts, should enter politics is some of the best news to emerge in the season of Watergate. He is one of a growing number who are now seeking to right a monstrous wrong.

Last week West was tramping in the snow of his suburban district, which lies between Philadelphia and Wilmington, still pondering his compulsion to serve his country. He carried along some old-fashioned notions of good manners, honor and duty, some stern dictums from his parents ("Thank God every day for what you've been given . . . don't feel sorry for yourself . . . admit your mistakes, you'll only get back what you give"), and something else. Head down in his wool scarf, puffing steam in the cold, he recalled what he saw in the first months in Nixon's White House, when the seeds of today's disaster were sown. "All those people were running around with their vulnerable egos, more interested in their power than in governing," he said. "So much was done to vindicate themselves. The purpose of politics is not to justify your own existence, but to do something for the country."

He remembered debating with junior White House staff members about the President's policy on race. The thrust of the discussion was how they could thwart integration. He was against the whole idea. Finally he blurted, "It's not right." There was, he recalled, silent disdain for such an irrelevancy.

Involved in a debate on the President's proposed youth program, he offered some ideas. There was instant hostility from the man running the meeting. "I control the program," the fellow said sternly. "We will do it my way." It was just fine that he controlled the program, said West, but there were some serious doubts that the man's ideas would work. Didn't it matter if nothing got done? "No," came the reply. "I control the program."

Marked by some Nixon men as a troublemaker, West left the White House. He enrolled at Temple Law, pondered the world and himself, and by the time his shingle was up in the Farmers and Mechanics Building in West Chester (pop. 20,400), he was more than a little shocked and angered by what was transpiring in Nixon's White House, and he was running for Congress. Last week the incumbent, John Ware, a 65-year-old industrialist and a Republican, announced that he would not run again.

Only a few days before that, West was in a modest Berwyn home savoring brandied fruitcake and sipping coffee. Standing before the fireplace, he talked to the nine Republican women who had come to inspect him. He discussed the need to develop mass transit in their area, to use the Valley Forge General Hospital for treating handicapped children. Then he got to an issue that lies under the surface but in the end will be the most important of all--trust. "Our problems will not be solved by legal maneuvers," he said. "They will be solved on the basis of trust. We must get good people involved in politics. If we don't, we will lose what we have here. What we've got to do is get the confidence of the people. If we fail, we will assure that what has gone on in Washington will continue." Later, West acknowledged that some time soon he will have to take a public stand on the question that is at the heart of this matter of trust: whether Nixon can or should continue to be President. It will be the most important test for him in his appeal to the people of the Fifth District. West said that he will be ready.

Coaxing his battered Volvo along the Brandywine in the south, or up north in Valley Forge, where George Washington weathered the young republic's nadir, Bachelor West makes his muted appeal, argues for a form of compassionate and enlightened free enterprise and individuality, throws out a little Ben Franklin ("The things which hurt, instruct"), and loves every day. "Damn," he says, "this is fun. If someone like myself won't try in politics--someone who enjoys it, realizes its importance, and is insulated from many of the problems most people face--then who will try?"

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