Each Day Like Another Town

IN his early days in office, every President develops his own style and schedule. Once established, they rarely change again, even in the midst of crisis. Richard Nixon has now been in office long enough--seven weeks--to reveal some of his particular traits and habits as President. To the surprise of many, Nixon in the White House radiates an easy self-confidence that was seldom evident during his campaign. When it comes to work, however, he still approaches every task with the efficient no-nonsense attitude that was summed up in the exhortation to his aides that he used at hundreds of campaign stops last year--and repeated as he left his plane in Rome two weeks ago: "O.K., let's go. Another town!"

Every day is another town to Nixon. The atmosphere of the White House West Wing is one of intense organization. The President constantly reads summaries prepared by his staff and encased in handy folders. Preparing for his televised press conference last week, he waded through two black notebooks of briefing papers put together by National Security Adviser Henry Kissinger's staff and read another compendium of "suggested thoughts" from his speechwriters. Then he carefully drafted a five-minute opening statement on one of his everpresent, legal-size yellow pads, committed it to memory and delivered it without consulting a note.

Nixon has installed three IBM dictating machines in the White House--one on a table behind his desk in the Oval Office, a second in the Lincoln sitting room and a third at his bedside. He frequently turns to one of the machines and dictates an "action order" on anything from the crime problem to oil imports. He usually brings several filled tubes of dictation to the West Wing in the morning. The memos do not all deal with solemn questions of state. One recent tape noted that while Daughter Julie was married before the end of 1968, she would be better off filing a separate income-tax return. Another asked White House Counsel John Ehrlichman to make sure that the copyright to Nixon's book Six Crises had not expired. The action orders pass through Staff Chief Robert Haldeman for appropriate handling. Lawrence Higby, a Haldeman aide who is charged with seeing that Nixon's requests are carried out, has earned himself the nickname "the Nudge."

Nixon's day usually begins by 7:15. He breakfasts on orange juice, cereal and coffee, then walks to his office at about 8 to go through the morning-staff news summary and analysis. Haldeman, Ehrlichman and Congressional Liaison Chief Bryce Harlow come by at 8:30 to organize the President's day. Kis singer arrives at 9 to give Nixon an intelligence briefing, and then Nixon begins his regular daily routine of outside appointments.

Nixon goes to lunch in the family quarters at 12:30, takes a 20-minute postprandial nap and returns to the West Wing around 3 o'clock. At about 6, he goes to the White House swimming pool, dons trunks and splashes through four or five laps, as recommended by his doctor. Back at the family quarters an hour later, he often meets a small group for cocktails. Last week the Republican congressional leaders came by for shoptalk, and Barry Goldwater dropped in for a drink. Nixon normally sticks to Dubonnet on the rocks, but if he is in a particularly good mood he will down a couple of dry martinis. Dinner is either with the family or a black-tie affair for eight or ten guests. Afterward, Nixon retires to the Lincoln sitting room and tackles the blue folders that Haldeman has tucked into the President's old tan attache case, often working until 1 or 2 a.m.

Nixon has taken a deliberately go-slow approach to the nation's problems, and he has yet to produce anything resembling a full legislative program. He can move abruptly at times, however. He announced his plan to end Post Office patronage without consulting the congressional postal committees. While he had first counseled against haste in filling the more than 100 sub-Cabinet jobs still vacant, he ordered a speedup before leaving for Europe.

Nixon's associates promise that legislative recommendations will soon "start popping like firecrackers"--including a "blockbuster" on crime. The President has sent out no fewer than 94 directives asking for reports and proposals across the spectrum of domestic problems. "The pace looks faster from the inside," says one of his urban-affairs advisers. "He's established some pretty firm machinery, and it's starting to crank out some pretty important action now. But it isn't frantic, and it won't be."

"I think he's getting more job satisfaction than he has at any time in his life," says a longtime associate. Adds another aide: "You might even say he's more human." His sense of humor has not suffered, as he showed when John Ehrlichman related to him a conversation with Charles de Gaulle in Paris. The French President was fascinated by Ehrlichman's intricate duties as chief campaign advance man in 1968: organizing the ballyhoo, the bands, the balloons, the crowds. "By the way," Ehrlichman told Nixon, "I signed up for three months in 1972 to handle De Gaulle's campaign." "But," said Nixon, "haven't we got something on in 1972?"

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