The Democratic banner. (Mt. Vernon, Ohio) 1898-192?, 1917-05-25
OUR NATIONS HEAD
The Irksome Etiquette of Office
to Which He Is a Slave.
DIGNITY IS THE WORST BORE.

'Ho FTebioent " Always on ENnlptlonI
and He Can Never Relax, For That
Would Not Be Good Form-Must Use
Discretion In Making Calls.
Few people ever stop to think what
captive Of convention and dignity a
president really IL, writes David Law
renee in the Century Magazine. The
city Of Washington is not his accus-
toned residence. 1t is, In fact, the
home town of few, being simply
house Of transients, and In the later
years Of life 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 I'm a strange envi-
ronment, a cold atmosphere depressing
to the newcomer.
Even after he has made friends he
cannot call upon them casually or 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 1t is difficult
to discriminate.
So the new president must at once
detach himself from private life, pri-
marily because disinterested men are
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
idency. But the general criticism Of
him was that he spent too much time
socially, and his defense, 1t will be re-
membered, was that the White House
was lonesome place. Mr.. Roosevelt
provided his own recreation-boxers.
wrestlers and rough riders-but these
were exceptional diversions, revealing,
indeed, the artifciality of 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 recliDe in an
easy chair enveloped in smoke rings
and gossip, lie cannot now be a club
man In that sense. Even If he so de-
sired he would not find time for 1t and
do his work conscienhously.
Mr.. Wilson plays golf, for instance,
but rarely II 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 a
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.
The president must always be on his
dignity. He can never relax. He can
not sit in the orchestra or in the bal
cony of 1neater away from every
body's staring glances. BE cannot
laugh too uproariously; he cannot fail
to applaud. He is constantly on exhi-
bition.
Dignity, after all, is the most terri
BILE punishment that is inflicted on
president. He is constantly reminded
Of 1t wherever he goes. When he trav-
els he must appear 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
dinary man. He finds himself hedged
about by the knowledge that, while
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
number Of people pressing forward to
a