Longing for the Return of ‘Silent Cal’
Obama would do well to model his public personae on the reticent and restrained nature of Calvin Coolidge.
April 26, 2010 - 12:00 am
Dorothy Parker, the early 20th century American writer and poet, once approached Calvin Coolidge at a dinner party. “Mr. Coolidge,” she said, “I’ve made a bet against a fellow who said it was impossible to get more than two words out of you.” The then-vice president looked at her and replied, “You lose.”
Coolidge, who earned the nickname “Silent Cal” for his quiet bearing, was one cool cat. Sworn into office by his father upon the sudden death of President Harding in 1923, President Coolidge brought a constructive demeanor to the White House. His almost serene calm, even in the aftermath of tragically losing his son, was never confused with contrived pensiveness. Coolidge did not view the presidency as a conduit to fulfill personal fantasies and realize his political legacy. The job was to run the nation’s executive branch for a temporary period of time — and then to go home. “I think the American people want a solemn ass as a president,” he once said, “and I think I will go along with them.”
Our current conception of the office of president is far different than it was in 1923. No, Americans haven’t always rejected charismatic leaders (Andrew Jackson and Teddy Roosevelt preceded Coolidge, after all). But today, it’s a little bit different. In the Jacksonian era, we still championed masculine values — one of which is independence, or the dream of being left alone. Today, the culture doesn’t want to be left alone. We want to be a part of something. We want to be entertained. Presidential candidates, before being given the nuclear key, are thus asked to first hula hoop with society’s court jesters.
So we have Mr. Obama dancing with Ellen DeGeneres. We’re hearing him comment about Kanye West and Taylor Swift. At the checkout aisle, he’s on magazine covers, shirtless, and on a beach. It’s the kind of stuff Putin does.
The contemporary embroilment of politics with the pop culture is quite disconcerting. Though Obama has taken this presidential celebritydom to a new level, the fault rests not so much with him, but with the country. The reason he’s voicing his college basketball and Super Bowl picks is because we asked what they were.
Why do Americans continue to let the cultural view of the presidency go in this direction? At what point does it become shameful? Last year, the citizenry of Iran rose up in righteous fervor against their totalitarian oppressors. Thousands were bloodied; many were kidnapped and never heard from again. All these dissidents wanted, these brave teens, was some moral support — a simple statement of solidarity — from the leader of the free world. But he wasn’t there for a few weeks. He was on TV, grilling with Bobby Flay.