Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1917-09-27
OUR NATIONS HEAD
The |rks3fae Etiquette of Office
to Which He Is a Slave.
DIGNITY IS THE WORST BORE.
The F'resi!en. Is Always on Exhibition,
ans He Can Never Relax, For That
Would Not BE Good Fcrm-Must Use
discretion In Making Calls.

u aNl Sa1IS
Few people ever stop to think what
a captive Of convention and dignity a
president really is, writes David Law
renee in the Century Magazine. The
city cf Washington is not his accus-
toned residence. 1t is, in fact, the
home town Of few, being simply q
house of transients, end in the. later
years of lie intimate friends are not
easily made.
Therefore, unless the new president
has previously lived amid Washing
toms migratory population and is accli-
mated to the city's periodic changes, he
finds himself alone in q strange envl-
ronlnent, q cold atmosphere depressing
to the newcomer.
Even after he has made friends he
cannot call upon them casually OF at
random. Form, that ancient regulator
Of Washington life, is the immediate
barrier. Discretion is another.
The president may drop in on his
friends now and then, but not too fire.
quently. Such visits, unless distrib-
uted with calculating foresight, are apt
to be misunderstood, and it is difficult
to discriminate.
So the new president must at once
detach himself from private life, pri-
martly because disinterested men TIC
few. Somebody is always wanting
something from the president.
Mr.. Taft went about Washington
freely, for he had lived there several
years before being elected to the pres
1dency. But the general criticism of
him was that he spent too much time
socially, and his defense, it will be re-
membered, was that the White House
was u lonesome place. Mr.. Roosevelt
provided his own observation-disclosures,
wrestlers and rough riders-but these
were exceptional diversions, revealing,
indeed, the artiiciality of q presidents
position.
Though before his election to the
presidency a president may have been
a sociable fellow. may have liked upon
occasion to drop in at a club, lounge
in the reading room or recline in an
easy chair enveloped in smoke rings
and gossip, he cannot now be a club
man II that sense. Even If lie SO de-
sired he would not find time for'it and
do his work conscientiously. y
Mr.. Wilson plays golf, for instance,
but rarely If ever stays longer at the
clubhouse than is necessary to pass
through it to a waiting motorcar. He
used to be fond of the University club
of New York and frequently as presi-
dent elect went there to write personal
letters or to read magazines.
Doubtless he would now like to lose
himself for hours in the retreat Of q
library, but he cannot; he is never
completely alone. He is like one under
arrest, always guarded, always pro-
tected, always awkwardly aware Of
his own troublesome presence. = y X
The president must always be on his
dignity. He ear never relax. He can
not sit in the orchestra or in the bal
cony of a theater away from every
body's staring glances. He cannot
laugh too uproariously; he cannot fail
to applaud. He is constantly on exhi-
bition.
Dignity, after all, is the most terri
Die unlSnmen that is inflicted on q
president. Ho is constantly reminded
Of it wherever lie goes. When he trav-
els he must appesr at all the railroad
stations that he passes through, lest
the impression get abroad that he is
undemocratic. He may be tired or
sleepy-it makes little difference, for
he must be seen.
1t is not sufficient that the president
modestly follow the ways of the or
binary man. He finds himself hedged
about by the knowledge that, while a
private citizen can walk the streets at
will, gaze III the shop windows and
move about unmolested, the president
cannot go anywhere without finding a
big crowd tagging at his heels and a
number of people pressing forward to
shake hands.