Franklin D. Roosevelt once defined great presidents as those who were "leaders of thought at times when certain ideas in the life of the nation had to be clarified." By that reckoning and most others, Roosevelt himself earned a place on the list of greats for rallying the nation in the Depression and leading it to the brink of victory in World War II. Washington, who bent to the hard work of nation-building; Lincoln, who saved the union; and Jefferson, who codified some of its ideals, are other universal choices. Not by coincidence, all four have monuments in Washington.
But what of Ronald Reagan, whose weeklong farewell ceremonies, culminating on Friday in a funeral at the National Cathedral and burial in California, have stirred such emotion and such largely laudatory comment? What will history, with its privileged vantage point far from the heat of partisan battles, conclude about him? Clearly, Mr. Reagan died a respected, perhaps even a beloved man, although the affection was far from universal, as is true for any public figure. In office, his popularity, though dented, survived the Iran-contra affair, but popularity is never a reliable test of greatness. Harry S. Truman, now counted among the near-greats if not the greats, retrospectively admired for his prosecution of the cold war, left office with an approval rating of only 23 percent. Warren G. Harding, now disdained, whose stated ambition was to be remembered as the country's "best-loved president," came close to that goal after his sudden death in 1923.
It could be argued that Mr. Reagan's greatest triumphs came in his role as chief of state rather than as chief of government. He was often ignorant of or impatient with the policy minutiae that preoccupy most occupants of the Oval Office, sometimes with unfortunate consequences (as when Oliver North ran amok in the Iran-contra affair, for instance). But his extraordinary political gifts carried him through — his talents as a communicator, his intuitive understanding of the average American, his unfailing geniality even after being hit by a would-be assassin's bullet, his ability to build and sustain friendships across partisan lines (as with Tip O'Neill, for instance). Those gifts — and his conviction that words counted for far more in politics than mere deeds — enabled him to convince large majorities that as long as he was in charge, it would remain "Morning in America." They made it possible for him to redraw the nation's political map, moving the center so abruptly to the right that even Bill Clinton would proclaim the end of "big government," and to remold his party in his own image. They gave him the eloquence to lead the country in mourning after the Challenger disaster and to celebrate "the boys of Pointe du Hoc" near Omaha Beach on the 40th anniversary of D-Day.
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"But he was not a great president," said Sean Wilentz, professor of history at Princeton University. "He was master at projecting a mood; he could certainly rally the country. He would have made a great king, a great constitutional monarch, but we do not have that form of government."
http://www.nytimes.com/2004/06/11/politics/11REAG.html?hp