But retreat to the Texas vernacular, so useful in cases of terror or war, only served, after Hurricane Katrina, to underscore the government's incompetence. A nation's worth of pundits roared, days after the storm, when Bush told not-yet-deposed FEMA chief Michael Brown, ''Brownie, you're doing a heck of a job." The polls spoke even more loudly.
Now, ''Brownie" is gone and the White House has realized, some two weeks into the crisis, that contrition is in order. So Bush read uncomfortably from his Teleprompter last night, without any sign of swagger. It wasn't a portrait of sympathy; Bush doesn't do pain-sharing, the way Bill Clinton did so glibly and so often. This was president as general contractor. It was president as telethon chairman, repeating a 1-800 number.
Appearing in New Orleans was surely meant as a gesture of confidence -- especially since Bush spoke from the relatively unscathed heart of the French Quarter, as opposed to one of the storm-ravaged neighborhoods we've seen so much. But the eerie stillness around him spoke volumes. Under normal circumstances, Jackson Square is never empty, quiet, or controlled.
Maybe that's fitting; out in the open air, Bush wasn't able to remain completely formal, anyway. He couldn't stop himself from dropping ''g's," as in, ''agricultural shipments are movin' down the Mississippi River." And he seemed most at ease when he slipped away from formality altogether, quoting a man from Biloxi, Miss., who had lost much in the storm: ''I still got my family, and I still got my spirit."
Compared to crisis speeches past, though, Bush was holding back; he introduced no simple catchphrases, appropriated no ''Let's Roll's." And he didn't quote Professor Longhair or Dr. John or slip into New Orleans romanticism. His speechwriters chose their metaphors carefully, settling on the second-line, the joyful trademark dance of a jazz funeral. It was as hopeful, and dark, as the circumstances demanded.
Joanna Weiss can be reached at weiss@globe.com.
