Courses in American Government, including those which focus specifically on the presidency, rarely grant much attention to the period of transition that follows the election of a new president. That is unfortunate, for the transition period reveals in acute detail some of the enduring difficulties presidents encounter in trying to impose their influence on the structure and performance of the executive branch. Transitions especially highlight the awkwardness of the in-and-outer system of leadership selection in the United States and should be regarded, therefore, as highly valuable sources of instruction.

This brief essay looks at the principal problems confronted by new administrations in staffing the executive branch. It identifies the contours and complexities of those problems and then suggests some options for coping with them. These options, and others which students might propose, should invite vigorous debate and discussion.

A modern president-elect who has not prepared in advance for staffing an administration will suffer serious and harmful delays in launching a new presidency. It is critically important that personnel identification begin before the election. Careful planning should afford opportunities for the new President to anticipate the normal problems of transition personnel selection and to prepare to cope with them.

The transition and the president's first year in office is the most important period for establishing the tone and character of the White House's relationship with Congress. It is the time of closest scrutiny and the greatest vulnerability to making major mistakes. Taking the right steps early and avoiding errors can lay in the foundation for a productive working relationship. Actions taken in this period create lasting impressions. According to Max Friedersdorf, the “enemies and mistakes made in the first week will dog a President throughout his term in office.” Stuart Eizenstat adds, “I don't think Carter's image ever recovered from some of those early mistakes.”

This essay examines George Bush's relations with Congress early in his term. First I focus on the context in which the new president is operating to explore the opportunities and constraints present in his environment. Then I assess the primary components of his legislative strategy.

When George Bush took the oath of office on January 20, 1989, he was already fighting an uphill battle in his relations with Congress. He began his tenure with one of the worst strategic positions of any newly-elected president in our history. There are two dimensions of his strategic position that bear examination: his leadership resources and his leeway in taking policy initiatives.

New presidents traditionally claim a mandate from the people, because the most effective means of setting the terms of debate and overcoming opposition is the perception of an electoral mandate, an impression that the voters want to see the winner's programs implemented. Indeed, major changes in policy, as in 1933, 1965, and 1981, virtually never occur in the absence of such perceptions.

The need to recognize institutional limits on presidents' abilities to translate their campaign promises into concrete public policy is a central theme characterizing much of the presidency literature during the past decade (Barger, 1984; Cronin, 1980; Hinckley, 1985; Light, 1983). Scholars have argued that the so-called “text-book presidency” (Cronin, 1980) paints an unrealistic picture of presidential power within the confines of a Madisonian framework of separated powers and checks and balances. Others have said that this unrealistic vision has contributed to the “cult of the presidency” (Hinckley, 1985), which is reinforced by the political socialization process and the media, thus leading to the “no-win” (Light, 1983) or “impossible” (Barger, 1984) presidencies. The notion of a plural executive, whose powers are fragmented throughout our Madisonian system has grown in popularity (King and Ragsdale, 1988). As a part of their recommendations for reform, virtually all of these authors emphasize correctly the potential role to be played by educators in imparting a more realistic understanding of the limitations of presidential power and outlining the potential consequences of hero worshipping for the occupant of the Oval Office. This article suggests an approach to teaching the presidency that rejects the notion that the president is the most important actor in the American political system. Instead, I will argue that we need to ask our students to consider the President as one actor in a highly fragmented political system, and to develop a more realistic view of both the sources and uses of presidential power within the broader context of democratic accountability and the development of citizenship.

For the past two years as part of the Writing Center's writing-across-the-curriculum project at Montana State University, we have been experimenting with writing assignments in an introductory American government class with an enrollment of 130-150 students per quarter. We think we have developed a way to assign and teach persuasive writing in large introductory political science classes that helps students argue effectively but does not create a grading nightmare for the professor.

In the Spring 1988 issue of The Political Science Teacher, Richard A. Brumback notes that students are entering graduate school without the ability to write effectively. Brumback calls for instruction in writing, particularly persuasive writing, in public administration curricula. “The science of public administration can only take us as far as systematizing our search for information. Effective evaluation and interpretation of that information rests in the ability to use it persuasively.” Professor Brumback's argument should be extended to undergraduate education in political science. English departments alone cannot do the job of teaching students to write well in all disciplines, especially when they have students for just one or two writing courses. Students need to write often in a variety of disciplines if they are going to write well when they graduate.

There are other reasons, besides helping students develop writing skills, for assigning writing in undergraduate courses. Writing about course content makes students think. It gives them a chance to apply the concepts and methods of the discipline and to interpret and evaluate information. It also helps them see themselves more as active learners, less as passive receptors whose job it is to absorb information, memorize it, and repeat it on tests.

Many political science instructors often look for ways to increase the amount of writing in their courses without over-burdening either themselves or their students. The following practical suggestions, none particularly new or innovative, are nonetheless useful for including more writing in undergraduate political science courses. I have successfully used these assignments for several years and they are generally enthusiastically received by students.

The underlying theory in my approach is that students are better able to cope with writing when the assignments are briefer and varied, though more frequent. Furthermore, it may be more productive to focus on what students are saying rather than on how they say it (MacAllister, 1982; Sommers, 1982). Adopting such an approach is not to advocate grammatical anarchy. Rather, it recognizes that good, grammatically correct, effective writing must be taught to college students in a manner that is sensitive to their prior experiences and capabilities.

A journal is much like a diary (Fulwiler, 1987). In it, students record their thoughts, observations, and feelings about the political world or specific course material. Students may be asked to write about questions or problems they discover in their readings, current political events, or they may be asked to reflect on issues or questions raised in class. The instructor can pose a specific question, or students may be permitted to write about anything (political) they choose.

Sniping at the desire and ability of undergraduates is common sport at most institutions of higher learning. Get a few professors together, and the talk soon turns to the fluffy heads of our youthful charges. Often we try to outdo each other's dumb student stories. Perhaps less common are special efforts to make things better. It is, after all, easy to complain about the product the high schools send us, but far more difficult to improve it.

This is particularly true of student writing ability. Grading papers and essay exams takes time which few of us have. Besides, it can be awfully depressing to confront the mangled sentences of all too many students. It's better, or at least more comforting, to pretend the problem isn't there. At large institutions with credible graduate programs, teaching assistants often allow professors to remain blissfully ignorant of bad undergraduate writing. At smaller, less prestigious schools, there is an analogous temptation to live and die by the multiple guess/short answer format. The students certainly won't complain, and colleagues and administrators are usually busy with problems of their own.