He was the dutiful son of Grand Rapids, remembering to a fault the basic decencies in which he had been reared. His manners were not from Emily Post, nor was his style out of the Washington salons. Jerry Ford's politeness and concern for his Asian hosts were pure prairie, the stuff that was nurtured on the Elm Streets by people who had to get along with each other.
The big, comfortable American galumphed over the red carpets as if he were out rabbit hunting, unconcerned about his too-short pants, searching the eyes of...
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