The View from the Ideal Caf

By Hugh Sidey

The Presidency/Hugh Sidey

Go up South First Street in Greenfield, Iowa, and left a few yards around the town square, then turn in to the Ideal Cafe, and toward the back at a couple of tables any workday morning about 9:30, you will find a genuine American grass root.

Jimmy Carter's organizers have been sniffing around. NBC was in town last week nibblnig at a couple of the coffee drinkers. CBS and Bob Dole cannot be far behind. This about as middle as you can get. And Walter Cronkite really is missed when he disappears from the TV screen and goes off to sail and play tennis.

Cliff is a clothier, Dick runs the moviehouse, Ted is retired. Bill is a school man...On last Thursday morning, Ted thought they all ought to read Machiavelli's The Prince to enlarge their understanding of real political intrigue, a guide to contemporary Washington. If some other, lesser man than Carter were in the White House, thought Ted, we would have had a little army down in Nicaragua by this time, a Machiavellian notion.

But we had a little war a few years back someone chortled. Wrong war, allowed Ed. Next time we've got to pick one we can win. Laughter, and a little fresh coffee came around.

Doc thought Jimmy Carter was just not a big enough man for the job of President. Oh, farmers never had such good prices. The oil companies were making plenty, said Ted. Look at everybody around the table--doing well. Why the complaining? That's what Carter was talking about, somebody noted with sympathy.

Carter may be too good a man, suggested Bill. Carter just cannot handle those people in power. That could be, others agreed. Did you see the Congress on television a while back? asked Ted. Senators were acting like juveniles It was disgusting. Yes, said Doc, Carter may just not be fit for the Washington fight. There was sympathy but no suggestion of renewed faith.

When the President gave his big speech he sounded like a Baptist minister, declared Cliff. He's the greatest President we've had since Nixon, offered Lou. Wait a minute, came another voice. What about Ford? He wouldn't like that. There was a little more Sanka and waves more of laughter among old friends.

Did this man Hamilton Jordan know anything? somebody asked. One of the boys in one of the town's shops had declared that everybody he knew believed Jordan was real horse's ass. After a loud guffaw the consensus was that Carter might be all right, but many of those people around him were just no good. The shop man said that he would never again vote for a man who did not have experience with Congress. Around the tables ni the back of the Ideal Cafe there were silent nods.

Inflation was the real enemy, said Gordon, even more than energy. Firing the Cabinet was not that big a deal. Just like pro football, said Monk, a quarterback of long ago. If you don't win, get rid of the team. But what was really bothersome, said bill, was why Carter had not fired those men earlier. Why did somebody else have to tell Carter to fire his Cabinet, and who was that somebody--Hamilton Jordon? For a moment in the Ideal cafe it seemed as thought Machiavelli had met his equals.

If Ted Kennedy runs, he will win hands down, continued Monk. He (Monk) was a Republican, but he would vote for Kennedy because of his obvious leadership ability. Well, said another Ted, this one banker, he could never bring himself to vote for Reagan or Connally, being particularly suspicious of warmed-over Texans. If Kennedy was the other man, this Ted lamented, he might not vote at all, for the first time. By then it was neer 10, the summer sun was up, the county fair gates were open. Good work, good families, good land were waiting. Some days some places, it isn't hard to understand what keeps the U.S. going.

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