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October 22, 2002, 9:00 a.m. The Crises of October A familiar feeling. By John J. Pitney Jr.

ar changes things, especially when civilians think that they could become casualties.

On October 22, 1962, Americans looked at President Kennedy as if their whole world depended on him, because it did. Right after he went on the air to tell of the Cuban Missile Crisis, Americans stocked up on canned goods and hoped that cinderblock basements could shield them from radioactive fallout. More than that, they prayed that he could end the crisis and let them go on with their lives.

During the worst days of the Cold War, Americans saw the chief executive as the Man Who Kept the Missiles Away. Constantly aware of a military threat, they were willing to rally behind him. Even when they didn't agree with all of his policies, they paid him a certain level of respect.

After Kennedy, the threat of imminent attack seemed to fade. The new Soviet leaders were still tyrants, but unlike Nikita Khrushchev, they didn't bang their shoes at the U.N. and promise to bury us. The Test-Ban Treaty and the installation of the "hotline" suggested that the superpowers were willing to bargain in peace.

Americans never lost the sense that the Soviet Union might become dangerous, which is why President Reagan's famous "bear in the woods" ad had such resonance. But the danger was hypothetical, not immediate. While we conservatives cheered Red Dawn, the 1984 movie about American teenagers fighting a Communist invasion, few in the audience really considered it a likely scenario.

In 1986, President Reagan asked Americans to back the anti-Marxist rebels in Nicaragua. Their defeat, he said, "would mean a second Cuba on the mainland" and "consolidation of a privileged sanctuary for terrorists and subversives just two days' driving time from Harlingen, Texas." This appeal fell short. Americans did not sense the kind of menace that had loomed in Cuba 24 years before. Catching the trend in public opinion, Congress voted against military aid.

In 1991, the Soviet Union dissolved. In 1995, President Clinton said, "not a single Russian missile is pointed at the children of America." That statement was misleading, since the Russians could instantly reprogram their missiles for U.S. cities. Nevertheless, it reassured Americans that foreign threats were more remote than ever.

Not coincidentally, the presidency seemed less awesome than ever. The president was no longer the First Protector. At best he was chief magistrate and at worst — about 1998 — he was a dirty joke. When President Clinton took military action, he favored low-risk, remote-control operations. He lacked the stature to ask Americans for anything more.

During this period, George F. Will offered words of caution: "When at peace the nation should always assume that it may be living in what subsequent historians will call `interwar years.'" Needless to say, the interwar years ended on September 11, 2001.

Forty years after the Cuban Missile Crisis, and a year after 9/11, the prospect of an attack once again seems very real. Terrorists could hit anywhere, anytime. And whereas Khrushchev was blustery, Saddam Hussein is bloodthirsty. Nobody seriously doubts that he could use weapons of mass destruction against Americans.

Now, as in October 1962, we know that we are all potential targets. Once again, we all know that decisions in the White House could help determine whether we live or die.

At such a time, Americans look with renewed respect at the commander in chief, particularly when he faces threats openly and squarely. President Bush might very well repeat what President Kennedy told Americans in October 1962:

My fellow citizens: let no one doubt that this is a difficult and dangerous effort on which we have set out. No one can see precisely what course it will take or what costs or casualties will be incurred. Many months of sacrifice and self-discipline lie ahead — months in which our patience and our will will be tested — months in which many threats and denunciations will keep us aware of our dangers. But the greatest danger of all would be to do nothing.

— John J. Pitney Jr. is professor of government at Claremont McKenna College and author of The Art of Political Warfare.