President Jimmy Carter

On a warm January afternoon in 1977, as the inaugural procession wound slowly along Pennsylvania Avenue, a new president broke with decades of tradition. Instead of riding in the armored limousine provided for him, he stepped out with his wife Rosalynn, took her hand, and began to walk. The Secret Service bristled in panic; agents flanked him tightly. Spectators surged forward, calling his name, shouting blessings, holding out children for him to touch. Jimmy Carter, the peanut farmer from Plains, Georgia, the Sunday school teacher, the former submarine officer who had somehow vaulted from near anonymity into the White House, walked the long stretch of pavement smiling, almost shyly, as if he himself could hardly believe the path he now traveled. In that simple walk—unguarded, earnest, almost naive—millions of Americans saw what they had responded to: a man who seemed to promise decency after Watergate, humility after Nixon, and moral clarity after a long era of cynicism and political exhaustion.

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