The Highest Calling

How can you judge a president in the moment, knowing history will revise the verdict? In this book of conversations and profiles, David Rubenstein argues that the modern presidency is a double-edged instrument: the office has grown into unmatched global power, yet its occupant is uniquely exposed to public scrutiny, personal strain, and historical reappraisal. He contends that you cannot understand the office unless you hold two ideas together: the presidency’s institutional might and the president’s individual character. Put differently, the job magnifies the person—and the person refracts the job.

Across portraits from George Washington to Joe Biden, you see how background, temperament, and health shape decision-making; how war, recession, and scandal define legacies; how staff and media amplify strengths or weakness; and how rules of the political game prewire incentives and outcomes. Rubenstein threads these themes to show why your civic choices—especially voting—carry unusually high stakes when a single leader can redirect the nation.

The arc of power—and its personal cost

Start with the office itself. Washington set key precedents—cabinet governance, civilian supremacy, the two-term norm—yet early presidents still walked to inaugurations and lived under the shadow of Congress. By Woodrow Wilson’s 1918 arrival in Paris and Franklin Roosevelt’s wartime leadership, the presidency had become a global colossus. Today, one person oversees a vast administrative state, nuclear weapons, and a sprawling alliance network. That centrality invites consequence and backlash: Lincoln bore the Civil War’s burden; Kennedy was assassinated; Lyndon Johnson was politically broken by Vietnam; Nixon resigned under Watergate; and Donald Trump faced two impeachments and criminal indictments.

Rubenstein’s thesis

“A president is just one person—but that one person can move an entire country.” The office’s expansion raises both the potential for major reforms and the risk of outsized mistakes.

Why the person matters

Rubenstein’s interviews teach you to read the president’s past to forecast the presidency. Washington’s estate management at Mount Vernon (a complex enterprise that produced 11,000 gallons of whiskey annually near the end of his life and relied on the labor of more than 540 enslaved people across his lifetime) mapped onto his public caution and institution-building. Jefferson’s plantation aristocracy and Enlightenment ideals produced both the Declaration and the moral contradictions of the Hemings relationship (DNA evidence supports that he fathered at least four of Sally Hemings’s children). Ulysses S. Grant’s battlefield decisiveness yielded victory for the Union and, later, a conflicted presidency reappraised for its enforcement of Reconstruction. Calvin Coolidge governed by restraint; Woodrow Wilson’s academic legalism inspired institutional ambition and hubris; Franklin D. Roosevelt’s polio forged empathy and iron resolve (Warm Springs as therapy and training ground for service).

Crises that reveal leadership

Moments of decision compress time and clarify character. Abraham Lincoln’s moral clarity preserved the Union; Grant fought the Ku Klux Klan through federal enforcement; James Garfield’s death was less about politics than medical failure; Wilson’s stroke crippled governance; John F. Kennedy’s learning curve from Bay of Pigs to the Cuban Missile Crisis illustrates growth through error and disciplined empathy. Later, Harry Truman’s unpopular choices (atomic bombs, NATO, firing MacArthur) were reassessed as foundational; Dwight Eisenhower’s quiet stewardship yielded the Interstate Highway System and Cold War stability; Richard Nixon’s China opening and SALT were eclipsed by Watergate’s abuses of power.

How staff, media, and rules shape outcomes

Presidents govern through teams and narratives. The quality of a chief of staff and the trust among senior aides determine coherence; leak-prone factions (as under Trump) often correlate with policy whiplash, while disciplined teams (as under Biden) enable steadier execution. Media is both mirror and megaphone: Obama functioned as a “Rorschach test” (Peter Baker’s phrase), while Trump’s Twitter feed rewired the pace and volatility of presidential communication. Structural incentives—Electoral College math, campaign finance rules (post–Citizens United), and polarized primaries—shape who gets to the Oval Office and how they behave once there.

Afterlives that redefine legacy

The presidency does not end at noon. Jimmy Carter’s Carter Center, George W. Bush’s PEPFAR (credited with saving ~25 million lives), Bill Clinton’s global development work, and even Bush’s veteran portraiture show you how former presidents extend policy and shape memory through philanthropy and cultural projects. Presidential libraries and centers curate stories and convene solutions (note Obama’s Chicago center and collaborative programs across libraries).

In sum, Rubenstein’s book equips you with a durable lens: weigh office and individual; examine crises, staff, and systems; and remember that history’s verdict is iterative. That is why your role as a citizen—especially voting, demanding transparency on health and finances, and backing sensible reforms—matters more than you might think. (Note: This framing echoes Robert Caro’s insistence on the “uses of power,” but Rubenstein spreads the inquiry across many voices, pairing biography with practical governance.)

How can you judge a president in the moment, knowing history will revise the verdict? In this book of conversations and profiles, David Rubenstein argues that the modern presidency is a double-edged instrument: the office has grown into unmatched global power, yet its occupant is uniquely exposed to public scrutiny, personal strain, and historical reappraisal. He contends that you cannot understand the office unless you hold two ideas together: the presidency’s institutional might and the president’s individual character. Put differently, the job magnifies the person—and the person refracts the job.

Across portraits from George Washington to Joe Biden, you see how background, temperament, and health shape decision-making; how war, recession, and scandal define legacies; how staff and media amplify strengths or weakness; and how rules of the political game prewire incentives and outcomes. Rubenstein threads these themes to show why your civic choices—especially voting—carry unusually high stakes when a single leader can redirect the nation.

The arc of power—and its personal cost

Start with the office itself. Washington set key precedents—cabinet governance, civilian supremacy, the two-term norm—yet early presidents still walked to inaugurations and lived under the shadow of Congress. By Woodrow Wilson’s 1918 arrival in Paris and Franklin Roosevelt’s wartime leadership, the presidency had become a global colossus. Today, one person oversees a vast administrative state, nuclear weapons, and a sprawling alliance network. That centrality invites consequence and backlash: Lincoln bore the Civil War’s burden; Kennedy was assassinated; Lyndon Johnson was politically broken by Vietnam; Nixon resigned under Watergate; and Donald Trump faced two impeachments and criminal indictments.

Rubenstein’s thesis

“A president is just one person—but that one person can move an entire country.” The office’s expansion raises both the potential for major reforms and the risk of outsized mistakes.

Why the person matters

Rubenstein’s interviews teach you to read the president’s past to forecast the presidency. Washington’s estate management at Mount Vernon (a complex enterprise that produced 11,000 gallons of whiskey annually near the end of his life and relied on the labor of more than 540 enslaved people across his lifetime) mapped onto his public caution and institution-building. Jefferson’s plantation aristocracy and Enlightenment ideals produced both the Declaration and the moral contradictions of the Hemings relationship (DNA evidence supports that he fathered at least four of Sally Hemings’s children). Ulysses S. Grant’s battlefield decisiveness yielded victory for the Union and, later, a conflicted presidency reappraised for its enforcement of Reconstruction. Calvin Coolidge governed by restraint; Woodrow Wilson’s academic legalism inspired institutional ambition and hubris; Franklin D. Roosevelt’s polio forged empathy and iron resolve (Warm Springs as therapy and training ground for service).

Crises that reveal leadership

Moments of decision compress time and clarify character. Abraham Lincoln’s moral clarity preserved the Union; Grant fought the Ku Klux Klan through federal enforcement; James Garfield’s death was less about politics than medical failure; Wilson’s stroke crippled governance; John F. Kennedy’s learning curve from Bay of Pigs to the Cuban Missile Crisis illustrates growth through error and disciplined empathy. Later, Harry Truman’s unpopular choices (atomic bombs, NATO, firing MacArthur) were reassessed as foundational; Dwight Eisenhower’s quiet stewardship yielded the Interstate Highway System and Cold War stability; Richard Nixon’s China opening and SALT were eclipsed by Watergate’s abuses of power.

How staff, media, and rules shape outcomes

Presidents govern through teams and narratives. The quality of a chief of staff and the trust among senior aides determine coherence; leak-prone factions (as under Trump) often correlate with policy whiplash, while disciplined teams (as under Biden) enable steadier execution. Media is both mirror and megaphone: Obama functioned as a “Rorschach test” (Peter Baker’s phrase), while Trump’s Twitter feed rewired the pace and volatility of presidential communication. Structural incentives—Electoral College math, campaign finance rules (post–Citizens United), and polarized primaries—shape who gets to the Oval Office and how they behave once there.

Afterlives that redefine legacy

The presidency does not end at noon. Jimmy Carter’s Carter Center, George W. Bush’s PEPFAR (credited with saving ~25 million lives), Bill Clinton’s global development work, and even Bush’s veteran portraiture show you how former presidents extend policy and shape memory through philanthropy and cultural projects. Presidential libraries and centers curate stories and convene solutions (note Obama’s Chicago center and collaborative programs across libraries).

In sum, Rubenstein’s book equips you with a durable lens: weigh office and individual; examine crises, staff, and systems; and remember that history’s verdict is iterative. That is why your role as a citizen—especially voting, demanding transparency on health and finances, and backing sensible reforms—matters more than you might think. (Note: This framing echoes Robert Caro’s insistence on the “uses of power,” but Rubenstein spreads the inquiry across many voices, pairing biography with practical governance.)

To grasp the modern presidency, you map a long ascent from republican modesty to global dominance. The early presidency existed as one branch among three; Washington modeled restraint—declining monarchical trappings, creating the cabinet, and stepping down after two terms. Yet over two centuries, wars, technology, and administrative growth amplified the office. The pivot points—Wilson’s leadership at the Paris Peace Conference and FDR’s command through the Depression and World War II—recast the president from domestic executor to global architect.

The office expands: ceremony to command

Thomas Jefferson walked to his inauguration with little fanfare; by 1918, Woodrow Wilson arrived in Paris as a world statesman. That change tracked new responsibilities: the president oversees a vast bureaucracy, intelligence community, and nuclear arsenal. Franklin Roosevelt’s fireside chats and coalition-building shaped public expectations for a caretaker-in-chief during crisis; later presidents—from Truman through Biden—inherit a permanent national security state and a media environment that compresses response times.

Presidential centrality

Rubenstein notes that by Wilson’s tenure, the presidency had become “the most powerful office on the planet,” a status reaffirmed in WWII and the Cold War.

The human price of power

Power’s ascent magnifies personal risk. Consider health and mortality: Lincoln’s assassination, Garfield’s death accelerated by medical error, and Wilson’s incapacitating stroke—each altered national trajectories. Political costs also intensify: LBJ’s Great Society was overshadowed by Vietnam; Nixon’s geopolitical triumphs were undone by Watergate. In our time, Donald Trump’s two impeachments and subsequent indictments illustrate how the office’s visibility multiplies legal and political jeopardy.

How expansion changed expectations

Citizens now expect presidents to fix everything from bank failures to pandemics. During the 2008 financial crisis, George W. Bush accepted unpopular bank rescues (TARP) to avert systemic collapse—an institutional response that presidents before the New Deal lacked tools to execute. Barack Obama’s authorization of the bin Laden raid exemplifies the modern commander-in-chief role: covert action, allied diplomacy, and milliseconds of risk calculus. Joe Biden’s management of coalition aid to Ukraine demonstrates alliance orchestration across Europe and the Indo-Pacific, while the Afghanistan withdrawal displays the peril in unwinding long wars (optically and operationally).

Why this matters to you

Because the presidency now concentrates extraordinary authority, small differences in the person can produce massive differences in outcome. Eisenhower’s caution yielded highways and stability; Kennedy’s crisis learning arguably prevented nuclear war; Nixon’s paranoia triggered constitutional crisis. Your choices as a voter become leverage on nuclear strategy, economic stability, and civil rights. (Note: Where Arthur Schlesinger Jr. chronicled the “imperial presidency,” Rubenstein complements that with interviews that humanize how specific leaders bore or abused that power.)

Guardrails and recalibrations

The same growth spurred new checks. Congress reasserted power after Watergate; courts demanded Oval Office tapes; press institutions professionalized investigative reporting. Yet the system remains personality-sensitive: a disciplined leader with strong staff can channel power toward public goods (PEPFAR under Bush 43; Camp David Accords under Carter), while a leader who prizes personal loyalty over process risks policy incoherence. The throughline: a supercharged office raises both the ceiling for achievement and the floor for catastrophe, making the individual’s ethics and habits decisive.

Seen this way, the presidency’s journey from Washington’s precedents to Biden’s coalition-wrangling is not just institutional history; it is a civics lesson. The office can marshal resources at a scale no other actor can, but it also exacts a profound personal and political toll. That paradox—power paired with peril—is the backdrop for every chapter in this book and the baseline against which you should evaluate current and future presidents.

To grasp the modern presidency, you map a long ascent from republican modesty to global dominance. The early presidency existed as one branch among three; Washington modeled restraint—declining monarchical trappings, creating the cabinet, and stepping down after two terms. Yet over two centuries, wars, technology, and administrative growth amplified the office. The pivot points—Wilson’s leadership at the Paris Peace Conference and FDR’s command through the Depression and World War II—recast the president from domestic executor to global architect.

The office expands: ceremony to command

Thomas Jefferson walked to his inauguration with little fanfare; by 1918, Woodrow Wilson arrived in Paris as a world statesman. That change tracked new responsibilities: the president oversees a vast bureaucracy, intelligence community, and nuclear arsenal. Franklin Roosevelt’s fireside chats and coalition-building shaped public expectations for a caretaker-in-chief during crisis; later presidents—from Truman through Biden—inherit a permanent national security state and a media environment that compresses response times.

Presidential centrality

Rubenstein notes that by Wilson’s tenure, the presidency had become “the most powerful office on the planet,” a status reaffirmed in WWII and the Cold War.

The human price of power

Power’s ascent magnifies personal risk. Consider health and mortality: Lincoln’s assassination, Garfield’s death accelerated by medical error, and Wilson’s incapacitating stroke—each altered national trajectories. Political costs also intensify: LBJ’s Great Society was overshadowed by Vietnam; Nixon’s geopolitical triumphs were undone by Watergate. In our time, Donald Trump’s two impeachments and subsequent indictments illustrate how the office’s visibility multiplies legal and political jeopardy.

How expansion changed expectations

Citizens now expect presidents to fix everything from bank failures to pandemics. During the 2008 financial crisis, George W. Bush accepted unpopular bank rescues (TARP) to avert systemic collapse—an institutional response that presidents before the New Deal lacked tools to execute. Barack Obama’s authorization of the bin Laden raid exemplifies the modern commander-in-chief role: covert action, allied diplomacy, and milliseconds of risk calculus. Joe Biden’s management of coalition aid to Ukraine demonstrates alliance orchestration across Europe and the Indo-Pacific, while the Afghanistan withdrawal displays the peril in unwinding long wars (optically and operationally).

Why this matters to you

Because the presidency now concentrates extraordinary authority, small differences in the person can produce massive differences in outcome. Eisenhower’s caution yielded highways and stability; Kennedy’s crisis learning arguably prevented nuclear war; Nixon’s paranoia triggered constitutional crisis. Your choices as a voter become leverage on nuclear strategy, economic stability, and civil rights. (Note: Where Arthur Schlesinger Jr. chronicled the “imperial presidency,” Rubenstein complements that with interviews that humanize how specific leaders bore or abused that power.)

Guardrails and recalibrations

The same growth spurred new checks. Congress reasserted power after Watergate; courts demanded Oval Office tapes; press institutions professionalized investigative reporting. Yet the system remains personality-sensitive: a disciplined leader with strong staff can channel power toward public goods (PEPFAR under Bush 43; Camp David Accords under Carter), while a leader who prizes personal loyalty over process risks policy incoherence. The throughline: a supercharged office raises both the ceiling for achievement and the floor for catastrophe, making the individual’s ethics and habits decisive.

Seen this way, the presidency’s journey from Washington’s precedents to Biden’s coalition-wrangling is not just institutional history; it is a civics lesson. The office can marshal resources at a scale no other actor can, but it also exacts a profound personal and political toll. That paradox—power paired with peril—is the backdrop for every chapter in this book and the baseline against which you should evaluate current and future presidents.

Rubenstein’s most practical counsel is simple: if you want to predict a presidency, study the person before the oath. Origins, training, temperament, and trauma combine to set priorities and styles. You can see the pattern from the Founders to the twenty-first century—leaders govern as extensions of their former selves, modified by crisis and the weight of history.

Origins shape priorities

George Washington’s world revolved around land, logistics, and legitimacy. At Mount Vernon—8,000 acres by his death with fisheries, mills, and a late-life distillery—he honed management instincts that translated into precedent-setting restraint as president (cabinet formation, civil-military boundaries, the Farewell Address). Thomas Jefferson’s Virginia aristocracy and Enlightenment reading birthed soaring ideals and agrarian policies, but also the contradictions of slavery and the Hemings relationship (Annette Gordon-Reed’s research and DNA evidence revised the record). Ulysses S. Grant’s frontier modesty and military decisiveness shaped a presidency that, despite corruption scandals, vigorously enforced Reconstruction and fought the Klan (Ron Chernow’s rehabilitation underscores this).

Temperament becomes decision style

Personality is policy by other means. Calvin Coolidge governed by subtraction—preferring fiscal prudence and limited action—while Abraham Lincoln fused humility with moral seriousness and rhetorical craft to hold the Union together. Woodrow Wilson’s professorial legalism produced the Federal Reserve and an ambitious internationalism at Versailles, but also rigidity and blindness on race. John F. Kennedy’s charisma masked chronic illness; after the Bay of Pigs, he de-bureaucratized decision-making for the Cuban Missile Crisis, insisting on empathy and disciplined options.

Trauma that remakes leaders

Franklin D. Roosevelt’s polio (contracted in 1921) did more than limit mobility; it deepened empathy and sharpened political choreography. He controlled optics—not hiding his disability but avoiding images of helplessness—rehearsing brace-supported walks with a cane and help from aides (his son Jimmy often at his side). Warm Springs offered therapy and a community of shared struggle, catalyzing a “forgotten man” politics of inclusion. Eleanor Roosevelt’s parallel transformation—from private spouse to public advocate—expanded the First Lady’s role. (Note: This resonates with Doris Kearns Goodwin’s theme that adversity can forge leadership character.)

The choice set you can expect

Lawyers tend to prize institutional design (Jefferson’s university project; Wilson’s administrative state); soldiers prefer clarity of mission and logistics (Washington, Grant, Eisenhower); entrepreneurs attend to systems and incentives (Eisenhower’s durable highway financing). Academics lean toward speech and norms; moral reformers toward human rights (Carter). These aren’t cages, but they are strong gravitational pulls. When you evaluate a candidate, ask: What habits of risk, rhetoric, and reform does this person bring—and how might crisis recalibrate them?

A practical test

Match biography to likely governance: FDR’s polio predicted empathetic mobilization; Eisenhower’s coalitions predicted alliance discipline; Kennedy’s narrative intelligence predicted crisis communication; Nixon’s insecurity predicted clandestine excess alongside diplomatic audacity.

Memory work and moral complexity

How we remember presidents—the museum labels, the school curricula—also reflects biography. Mount Vernon’s Ladies’ Association (purchasing the estate in 1858 for $200,000 with national fundraising) preserves Washington’s world and today educates on the enslaved community (317 people lived there when he died; he uniquely freed his enslaved people in his will, a complicated act within a deeper moral failure). Monticello’s current interpretation integrates the Hemings story into Jefferson’s legacy. These institutions teach you to hold greatness and failure in tandem, a discipline essential for judging current leaders who will also present paradoxes.

Rubenstein’s throughline is liberating: you don’t need to guess blindly about a president. Study what shaped them—their work, wounds, and worldview—and you can anticipate their governing instincts. Then, watch how crisis either confirms those instincts or forces reinvention.

Rubenstein’s most practical counsel is simple: if you want to predict a presidency, study the person before the oath. Origins, training, temperament, and trauma combine to set priorities and styles. You can see the pattern from the Founders to the twenty-first century—leaders govern as extensions of their former selves, modified by crisis and the weight of history.

Origins shape priorities

George Washington’s world revolved around land, logistics, and legitimacy. At Mount Vernon—8,000 acres by his death with fisheries, mills, and a late-life distillery—he honed management instincts that translated into precedent-setting restraint as president (cabinet formation, civil-military boundaries, the Farewell Address). Thomas Jefferson’s Virginia aristocracy and Enlightenment reading birthed soaring ideals and agrarian policies, but also the contradictions of slavery and the Hemings relationship (Annette Gordon-Reed’s research and DNA evidence revised the record). Ulysses S. Grant’s frontier modesty and military decisiveness shaped a presidency that, despite corruption scandals, vigorously enforced Reconstruction and fought the Klan (Ron Chernow’s rehabilitation underscores this).

Temperament becomes decision style

Personality is policy by other means. Calvin Coolidge governed by subtraction—preferring fiscal prudence and limited action—while Abraham Lincoln fused humility with moral seriousness and rhetorical craft to hold the Union together. Woodrow Wilson’s professorial legalism produced the Federal Reserve and an ambitious internationalism at Versailles, but also rigidity and blindness on race. John F. Kennedy’s charisma masked chronic illness; after the Bay of Pigs, he de-bureaucratized decision-making for the Cuban Missile Crisis, insisting on empathy and disciplined options.

Trauma that remakes leaders

Franklin D. Roosevelt’s polio (contracted in 1921) did more than limit mobility; it deepened empathy and sharpened political choreography. He controlled optics—not hiding his disability but avoiding images of helplessness—rehearsing brace-supported walks with a cane and help from aides (his son Jimmy often at his side). Warm Springs offered therapy and a community of shared struggle, catalyzing a “forgotten man” politics of inclusion. Eleanor Roosevelt’s parallel transformation—from private spouse to public advocate—expanded the First Lady’s role. (Note: This resonates with Doris Kearns Goodwin’s theme that adversity can forge leadership character.)

The choice set you can expect

Lawyers tend to prize institutional design (Jefferson’s university project; Wilson’s administrative state); soldiers prefer clarity of mission and logistics (Washington, Grant, Eisenhower); entrepreneurs attend to systems and incentives (Eisenhower’s durable highway financing). Academics lean toward speech and norms; moral reformers toward human rights (Carter). These aren’t cages, but they are strong gravitational pulls. When you evaluate a candidate, ask: What habits of risk, rhetoric, and reform does this person bring—and how might crisis recalibrate them?

A practical test

Match biography to likely governance: FDR’s polio predicted empathetic mobilization; Eisenhower’s coalitions predicted alliance discipline; Kennedy’s narrative intelligence predicted crisis communication; Nixon’s insecurity predicted clandestine excess alongside diplomatic audacity.

Memory work and moral complexity

How we remember presidents—the museum labels, the school curricula—also reflects biography. Mount Vernon’s Ladies’ Association (purchasing the estate in 1858 for $200,000 with national fundraising) preserves Washington’s world and today educates on the enslaved community (317 people lived there when he died; he uniquely freed his enslaved people in his will, a complicated act within a deeper moral failure). Monticello’s current interpretation integrates the Hemings story into Jefferson’s legacy. These institutions teach you to hold greatness and failure in tandem, a discipline essential for judging current leaders who will also present paradoxes.

Rubenstein’s throughline is liberating: you don’t need to guess blindly about a president. Study what shaped them—their work, wounds, and worldview—and you can anticipate their governing instincts. Then, watch how crisis either confirms those instincts or forces reinvention.

Crises expose a president’s operating system—how they gather facts, weigh risks, and shoulder blame—while time regrades the exam. Rubenstein’s interviews assemble a field guide to crisis leadership and a reminder that historical verdicts evolve as evidence and values change.

Classic cases: clarity, courage, and consequence

Abraham Lincoln’s resolute pursuit of Union and emancipation showcases moral clarity fused with strategic patience. Ulysses S. Grant, long maligned for scandals, now receives credit for enforcing Reconstruction and prosecuting the Klan, even as his administration struggled with corruption (Chernow’s work reframes him as a defender of Black citizenship). James Garfield’s assassination, as Candice Millard shows, turned on medical error: invasive probing and rejection of antiseptics likely doomed him—reminding you that nonpolitical systems (medicine) can dictate political outcomes.

Illness as forge or fracture

Franklin D. Roosevelt’s polio forged empathy and stamina for the Depression and WWII; Warm Springs elevated service over self. By contrast, Woodrow Wilson’s 1919 stroke paralyzed governance and altered the League of Nations fight—an event shrouded in secrecy that still shapes debates about transparency and continuity. These paired stories teach you to ask not only what illness does to a leader but what institutions do to buffer illness.

Learning curves in real time

John F. Kennedy’s arc from the Bay of Pigs fiasco to the Cuban Missile Crisis is a case study in growth. After delegating too much to inherited CIA plans, he revamped process, invited dissent (EXCOMM), and insisted on empathetic perspective-taking—imagining Khrushchev’s domestic pressures. The result: a naval quarantine, secret diplomacy (removing Jupiter missiles from Turkey), and nuclear de-escalation. He publicly accepted responsibility for Bay of Pigs, paradoxically gaining credibility; you learn that owning failure can restore trust.

Unpopular decisions that age well

Harry Truman’s ledger is instructive. He used atomic weapons to end the Pacific war (a choice he never regretted), recognized Israel against establishment advice (Eddie Jacobson’s role mattered), architected the Marshall Plan and NATO, and fired General Douglas MacArthur to defend civilian control. He exited with 32% approval; decades later, historians recast him as decisive and principled. Dwight D. Eisenhower’s quiet leadership—Interstate Highways, Little Rock enforcement of Brown v. Board, investment in science that seeded NASA—similarly earned delayed appreciation for restraint and institution-building.

When means poison ends

Richard Nixon’s foreign-policy imagination—opening China, détente with the USSR, environmental milestones like the EPA—was undone by a corrosive political method. Watergate’s burglary, cover-up, and tapes produced a constitutional reckoning. The “smoking gun” tape, a unanimous Supreme Court order, and looming impeachment forced resignation. Ford’s pardon traded accountability optics for institutional healing, a choice that likely cost him the 1976 election yet stabilized governance.

History’s moving target

“History’s an argument without an end,” Ron Chernow notes. New archives, shifting norms, and longer horizons reorder reputations—Grant rises; Wilson falls for racial policies; Truman rebounds.

What to watch in future crises

Look for five signals: preparation (scenario planning like Obama’s bin Laden deliberations), process (inviting dissent vs. echo chambers), empathy (perspective-taking to avoid miscalculation), ownership (public accountability after failure), and institutional respect (civilian control, rule of law). Crises will vary—bank runs, pandemics, cyberattacks—but these fundamentals travel well. (Note: The 2008 TARP choice under George W. Bush and the 2021 Afghanistan exit under Biden illustrate that even “right” strategic calls can be punished if communication and execution falter.)

If you remember one thing, remember this: crises don’t create character; they disclose it, then history edits the footage. Your job as a citizen is to discern the habits that survive the edit.

Crises expose a president’s operating system—how they gather facts, weigh risks, and shoulder blame—while time regrades the exam. Rubenstein’s interviews assemble a field guide to crisis leadership and a reminder that historical verdicts evolve as evidence and values change.

Classic cases: clarity, courage, and consequence

Abraham Lincoln’s resolute pursuit of Union and emancipation showcases moral clarity fused with strategic patience. Ulysses S. Grant, long maligned for scandals, now receives credit for enforcing Reconstruction and prosecuting the Klan, even as his administration struggled with corruption (Chernow’s work reframes him as a defender of Black citizenship). James Garfield’s assassination, as Candice Millard shows, turned on medical error: invasive probing and rejection of antiseptics likely doomed him—reminding you that nonpolitical systems (medicine) can dictate political outcomes.

Illness as forge or fracture

Franklin D. Roosevelt’s polio forged empathy and stamina for the Depression and WWII; Warm Springs elevated service over self. By contrast, Woodrow Wilson’s 1919 stroke paralyzed governance and altered the League of Nations fight—an event shrouded in secrecy that still shapes debates about transparency and continuity. These paired stories teach you to ask not only what illness does to a leader but what institutions do to buffer illness.

Learning curves in real time

John F. Kennedy’s arc from the Bay of Pigs fiasco to the Cuban Missile Crisis is a case study in growth. After delegating too much to inherited CIA plans, he revamped process, invited dissent (EXCOMM), and insisted on empathetic perspective-taking—imagining Khrushchev’s domestic pressures. The result: a naval quarantine, secret diplomacy (removing Jupiter missiles from Turkey), and nuclear de-escalation. He publicly accepted responsibility for Bay of Pigs, paradoxically gaining credibility; you learn that owning failure can restore trust.

Unpopular decisions that age well

Harry Truman’s ledger is instructive. He used atomic weapons to end the Pacific war (a choice he never regretted), recognized Israel against establishment advice (Eddie Jacobson’s role mattered), architected the Marshall Plan and NATO, and fired General Douglas MacArthur to defend civilian control. He exited with 32% approval; decades later, historians recast him as decisive and principled. Dwight D. Eisenhower’s quiet leadership—Interstate Highways, Little Rock enforcement of Brown v. Board, investment in science that seeded NASA—similarly earned delayed appreciation for restraint and institution-building.

When means poison ends

Richard Nixon’s foreign-policy imagination—opening China, détente with the USSR, environmental milestones like the EPA—was undone by a corrosive political method. Watergate’s burglary, cover-up, and tapes produced a constitutional reckoning. The “smoking gun” tape, a unanimous Supreme Court order, and looming impeachment forced resignation. Ford’s pardon traded accountability optics for institutional healing, a choice that likely cost him the 1976 election yet stabilized governance.

History’s moving target

“History’s an argument without an end,” Ron Chernow notes. New archives, shifting norms, and longer horizons reorder reputations—Grant rises; Wilson falls for racial policies; Truman rebounds.

What to watch in future crises

Look for five signals: preparation (scenario planning like Obama’s bin Laden deliberations), process (inviting dissent vs. echo chambers), empathy (perspective-taking to avoid miscalculation), ownership (public accountability after failure), and institutional respect (civilian control, rule of law). Crises will vary—bank runs, pandemics, cyberattacks—but these fundamentals travel well. (Note: The 2008 TARP choice under George W. Bush and the 2021 Afghanistan exit under Biden illustrate that even “right” strategic calls can be punished if communication and execution falter.)

If you remember one thing, remember this: crises don’t create character; they disclose it, then history edits the footage. Your job as a citizen is to discern the habits that survive the edit.

The presidency may be one office, but it functions as a team sport played in a very small room. Rubenstein’s interviews show you that a president’s style, choice of lieutenants, and relationship to media and information flow often determine policy quality as much as ideology does. The White House is also lonely; how a president copes with that solitude affects judgment and trust.

People: chiefs, councils, and trust

Personnel is policy. George W. Bush leaned on a powerful vice president in Dick Cheney and on respected cabinet members like Colin Powell; Barack Obama chose Rahm Emanuel to bully deals through Congress and leaned on a technocratic economic team (Geithner, Bernanke) in crisis; Joe Biden has relied on institutionalists—Ron Klain, Jeff Zients, Mike Donilon—for message and management discipline. Donald Trump cycled through chiefs of staff (Priebus, Kelly, Meadows) and fostered multiple power centers (Bannon, Jared and Ivanka), producing factionalism and erratic process. The lesson: stable, experienced teams raise the floor for competent governance.

Process: deliberation vs. instinct

Obama is deliberative—“no problem another meeting won’t address” (Peter Baker’s quip)—using extensive memos and red-teaming but risking delay. Biden is verbal and iterative, talking decisions through with long-time aides. Bush 43 is decisive in crisis, comfortable delegating detail to trusted deputies. Trump’s style is improvisational and media-centric, with policy sometimes announced via tweet before agencies align. Each style has tradeoffs: deliberation curbs error but can slow response; instinct speeds action but invites inconsistency.

Media: narrative as operating environment

Maggie Haberman explains Trump’s paradoxical relationship with the New York Times—seeking validation from an outlet he attacked—while documenting unprecedented leaks that signaled internal warfare. Peter Baker frames Obama as a “Rorschach test,” onto whom supporters and critics projected hopes and fears. Social media supercharges this: Trump’s Twitter feed bypassed filters, set news cycles (“covfefe”), and often disrupted message discipline. Rubenstein argues for regular, substantive press engagement—debates and press conferences as democratic habits that ground accountability (think of Kennedy’s frequent sessions and their educational function).

Leaks, factions, and administrative health

Leak volume is a barometer. High-leak environments (Trump) often indicate factional knife fights and low internal trust; low-leak shops (Biden) reflect longstanding relationships and message discipline. Neither guarantees truth; disciplined teams can also withhold needed transparency. For you as an observer, patterns of anonymous sourcing hint at whether policy is being made through process or palace intrigue.

Health, age, and transparency

The West Wing’s effectiveness also turns on the president’s health and the public’s trust in disclosures. FDR’s era normalized secrecy around disability; Wilson’s stroke shrouded by gatekeepers distorted governance; in our age, Trump’s COVID hospitalization (later revealed as more severe than first acknowledged) and Biden’s age debate raise calls for independent medical evaluations and standardized disclosures. Rubenstein proposes stronger, nonpartisan health reporting and robust financial transparency (tax returns, conflicts screening), balancing privacy with national security and continuity.

A quiet truth

“You’re all by yourself up there,” George W. Bush notes. Presidents compensate by building inner circles that can challenge and comfort—a choice that often predicts success or scandal.

Taken together, the inner-game rules are clear: hire deeply competent people; set decision rules that welcome dissent; communicate often and honestly; and disclose enough about health and finances to sustain trust. When you evaluate a presidency, start not with the speeches but with the org chart and the meeting agenda—those are the levers that turn ideals into outcomes.

The presidency may be one office, but it functions as a team sport played in a very small room. Rubenstein’s interviews show you that a president’s style, choice of lieutenants, and relationship to media and information flow often determine policy quality as much as ideology does. The White House is also lonely; how a president copes with that solitude affects judgment and trust.

People: chiefs, councils, and trust

Personnel is policy. George W. Bush leaned on a powerful vice president in Dick Cheney and on respected cabinet members like Colin Powell; Barack Obama chose Rahm Emanuel to bully deals through Congress and leaned on a technocratic economic team (Geithner, Bernanke) in crisis; Joe Biden has relied on institutionalists—Ron Klain, Jeff Zients, Mike Donilon—for message and management discipline. Donald Trump cycled through chiefs of staff (Priebus, Kelly, Meadows) and fostered multiple power centers (Bannon, Jared and Ivanka), producing factionalism and erratic process. The lesson: stable, experienced teams raise the floor for competent governance.

Process: deliberation vs. instinct

Obama is deliberative—“no problem another meeting won’t address” (Peter Baker’s quip)—using extensive memos and red-teaming but risking delay. Biden is verbal and iterative, talking decisions through with long-time aides. Bush 43 is decisive in crisis, comfortable delegating detail to trusted deputies. Trump’s style is improvisational and media-centric, with policy sometimes announced via tweet before agencies align. Each style has tradeoffs: deliberation curbs error but can slow response; instinct speeds action but invites inconsistency.

Media: narrative as operating environment

Maggie Haberman explains Trump’s paradoxical relationship with the New York Times—seeking validation from an outlet he attacked—while documenting unprecedented leaks that signaled internal warfare. Peter Baker frames Obama as a “Rorschach test,” onto whom supporters and critics projected hopes and fears. Social media supercharges this: Trump’s Twitter feed bypassed filters, set news cycles (“covfefe”), and often disrupted message discipline. Rubenstein argues for regular, substantive press engagement—debates and press conferences as democratic habits that ground accountability (think of Kennedy’s frequent sessions and their educational function).

Leaks, factions, and administrative health

Leak volume is a barometer. High-leak environments (Trump) often indicate factional knife fights and low internal trust; low-leak shops (Biden) reflect longstanding relationships and message discipline. Neither guarantees truth; disciplined teams can also withhold needed transparency. For you as an observer, patterns of anonymous sourcing hint at whether policy is being made through process or palace intrigue.

Health, age, and transparency

The West Wing’s effectiveness also turns on the president’s health and the public’s trust in disclosures. FDR’s era normalized secrecy around disability; Wilson’s stroke shrouded by gatekeepers distorted governance; in our age, Trump’s COVID hospitalization (later revealed as more severe than first acknowledged) and Biden’s age debate raise calls for independent medical evaluations and standardized disclosures. Rubenstein proposes stronger, nonpartisan health reporting and robust financial transparency (tax returns, conflicts screening), balancing privacy with national security and continuity.

A quiet truth

“You’re all by yourself up there,” George W. Bush notes. Presidents compensate by building inner circles that can challenge and comfort—a choice that often predicts success or scandal.

Taken together, the inner-game rules are clear: hire deeply competent people; set decision rules that welcome dissent; communicate often and honestly; and disclose enough about health and finances to sustain trust. When you evaluate a presidency, start not with the speeches but with the org chart and the meeting agenda—those are the levers that turn ideals into outcomes.

Presidents live at the junction of geopolitics, domestic rules, and post-presidential influence. Rubenstein’s final throughline connects strategic choices (Russia, Ukraine, China), the “operating system” of American elections, and the surprising second acts that can define a legacy more than a term in office.

Deterrence and alliances in a multipolar world

Interviews with Bill and Hillary Clinton, George W. Bush, Barack Obama, and Joe Biden converge on a principle: deterrence requires credibility. Hillary Clinton argues Ukrainians must gain battlefield leverage before negotiating with Putin; Bill Clinton warns that abandoning Ukraine would embolden China over Taiwan. Biden’s team rallied European allies for sanctions and military aid to Kyiv. In Asia, the administration deepened alliances through AUKUS (nuclear-powered submarines for Australia) and the Quad (with Japan, India, and Australia), while reinforcing ties with South Korea and the Philippines. The lesson is classic diplomacy: back partners, enhance capacity, and keep channels open for shared problems like climate and pandemics. (Note: This is a pivot from tariff-heavy unilateralism toward alliance-first strategy.)

Crisis execution under uncertainty

Operational decisions dramatize the presidency’s risk math. The Abbottabad raid shows rigorous planning paying off despite a helicopter crash; destroying the downed aircraft avoided sensitive tech compromise. The 2008 TARP rescue shows a president choosing an unpopular bailout to avert depression; markets punished early missteps, but stabilization followed. The Afghanistan withdrawal shows a strategically defensible end with flawed execution and tragic loss, reminding you that timelines can collapse faster than analytic consensus.

The rules of the political game

Electoral structures filter who becomes president and how they govern. Rubenstein reviews the Electoral College’s distortion (five presidents have won while losing the popular vote, including 2000’s George W. Bush and 2016’s Donald Trump). The National Popular Vote Interstate Compact has 205 electoral votes from 16 states plus DC committed—triggering only once 270 are reached. Meanwhile, money and time reshape campaigns: 2020 spending soared past $5 billion across support structures, and Supreme Court rulings (Buckley, Citizens United) turbocharged “independent” expenditures. Lengthy, expensive races push candidates toward big donors and base-pleasing primaries, deepening polarization. Add foreign interference (Russia in 2016) and disinformation, and you see why democratic trust requires both technical defenses and civic norms (post-2020 and January 6th loom here).

Reform ideas

Rubenstein backs incremental moves: independent health assessments, robust tax and financial disclosures, stronger transition rules, healthier debate norms, and state-level popular-vote compacts where feasible.

Afterlives that move the needle

Former presidents can wield moral authority and mobilize resources at scale. George W. Bush’s PEPFAR—accelerated by FDA approval of generics and diplomatic pressure—helped save roughly 25 million lives in Africa. Jimmy Carter’s post-presidency focused on disease eradication (Guinea worm) and election monitoring, redefining elder-statecraft. Bill Clinton’s global partnerships and disaster relief extended a problem-solving brand. Obama’s Presidential Center and cross-library programs signal a future of convening and leadership pipelines. Even cultural projects matter: Bush’s veteran portraits reframed public empathy for “invisible wounds.”

Your role in the system

Because geopolitics tests resolve and domestic rules tilt outcomes, your citizenship is leverage. Support alliances that deter war; insist on transparent health and finance disclosures; back electoral reforms that increase legitimacy; and evaluate ex-presidential projects by measurable impact, not celebrity. Remember Rubenstein’s core message: with an office this powerful and a person this consequential, the inputs you control—votes, norms, and attention—shape the outputs you will live with.

Presidents live at the junction of geopolitics, domestic rules, and post-presidential influence. Rubenstein’s final throughline connects strategic choices (Russia, Ukraine, China), the “operating system” of American elections, and the surprising second acts that can define a legacy more than a term in office.

Deterrence and alliances in a multipolar world

Interviews with Bill and Hillary Clinton, George W. Bush, Barack Obama, and Joe Biden converge on a principle: deterrence requires credibility. Hillary Clinton argues Ukrainians must gain battlefield leverage before negotiating with Putin; Bill Clinton warns that abandoning Ukraine would embolden China over Taiwan. Biden’s team rallied European allies for sanctions and military aid to Kyiv. In Asia, the administration deepened alliances through AUKUS (nuclear-powered submarines for Australia) and the Quad (with Japan, India, and Australia), while reinforcing ties with South Korea and the Philippines. The lesson is classic diplomacy: back partners, enhance capacity, and keep channels open for shared problems like climate and pandemics. (Note: This is a pivot from tariff-heavy unilateralism toward alliance-first strategy.)

Crisis execution under uncertainty

Operational decisions dramatize the presidency’s risk math. The Abbottabad raid shows rigorous planning paying off despite a helicopter crash; destroying the downed aircraft avoided sensitive tech compromise. The 2008 TARP rescue shows a president choosing an unpopular bailout to avert depression; markets punished early missteps, but stabilization followed. The Afghanistan withdrawal shows a strategically defensible end with flawed execution and tragic loss, reminding you that timelines can collapse faster than analytic consensus.

The rules of the political game

Electoral structures filter who becomes president and how they govern. Rubenstein reviews the Electoral College’s distortion (five presidents have won while losing the popular vote, including 2000’s George W. Bush and 2016’s Donald Trump). The National Popular Vote Interstate Compact has 205 electoral votes from 16 states plus DC committed—triggering only once 270 are reached. Meanwhile, money and time reshape campaigns: 2020 spending soared past $5 billion across support structures, and Supreme Court rulings (Buckley, Citizens United) turbocharged “independent” expenditures. Lengthy, expensive races push candidates toward big donors and base-pleasing primaries, deepening polarization. Add foreign interference (Russia in 2016) and disinformation, and you see why democratic trust requires both technical defenses and civic norms (post-2020 and January 6th loom here).

Reform ideas

Rubenstein backs incremental moves: independent health assessments, robust tax and financial disclosures, stronger transition rules, healthier debate norms, and state-level popular-vote compacts where feasible.

Afterlives that move the needle

Former presidents can wield moral authority and mobilize resources at scale. George W. Bush’s PEPFAR—accelerated by FDA approval of generics and diplomatic pressure—helped save roughly 25 million lives in Africa. Jimmy Carter’s post-presidency focused on disease eradication (Guinea worm) and election monitoring, redefining elder-statecraft. Bill Clinton’s global partnerships and disaster relief extended a problem-solving brand. Obama’s Presidential Center and cross-library programs signal a future of convening and leadership pipelines. Even cultural projects matter: Bush’s veteran portraits reframed public empathy for “invisible wounds.”

Your role in the system

Because geopolitics tests resolve and domestic rules tilt outcomes, your citizenship is leverage. Support alliances that deter war; insist on transparent health and finance disclosures; back electoral reforms that increase legitimacy; and evaluate ex-presidential projects by measurable impact, not celebrity. Remember Rubenstein’s core message: with an office this powerful and a person this consequential, the inputs you control—votes, norms, and attention—shape the outputs you will live with.