Other citizens have better reasons for opinions of presidents alive in their own lifetime. My choices lack both logic and knowledge. My choices are self-centered.
Dwight D. Eisenhower was my parent’s president. His sternishness and cheery little wife Mamie made him trustworthy, and ho-humish.
John F. Kennedy was so distant, so young, so present, he was a wonder, in a faraway way.
Lyndon Johnson reminded me of a relative; not any particular relative, just somebody who showed up at family events without funny stories.
Richard M. Nixon seemed to be out of it, kinda loopy, even before Watergate when he turned into a lightening rod so the rest of us could wise-off about corruption.
Gerald Ford plodded but he did it well. I thought he did a good job, for a plodder.
I identified with Jimmy Carter because, I too, have been dismissed as a dumpkoff for being nice, instead of rolling like a powerball.
I thought Ronald Reagan was my parent’s president, too, like Eisenhower, except he seemed to enjoy his wife better.
The elder George Bush remains blurry, since I was pretty busy during his presidency. Maybe that is good.
Bill and Hillary Clinton made a good team.
George W. Bush should have done something else with his life.
I worry for Barack Obama. I don’t worry about his fitness for the office. I worry about him. He is the first president I felt this protectiveness about.