A DAY OF PORTENTS : THE MOST MEMORABLE INAUGURATION DAYS HAVE LAUNCHED THE MOST FORGETTABLE - EVEN TRAGIC - PRESIDENCIES.

Byline: Howard Means

WHEN George Washington finally got around to being sworn in in New York on April 30, 1789, he wore rough, American-manufactured clothing to support the nation's textile industry, and he delivered his inaugural address in a nervous voice, with no support from Martha, who sat out the whole affair at Mount Vernon.

Washington's second inaugural address is the shortest on record - a mere 135 words - and it took place in Philadelphia.

In 1801 a very nascent District of Columbia got to stage an inauguration of its own, and it was perhaps the most low-key of all.

Thomas Jefferson, long a widower, took breakfast with his fellow boarders at Conrad & McMunn's boarding house on New Jersey Avenue, walked the few minutes to Capitol Hill, swore at the stroke of noon to do his best for our nation and then walked back to his boardinghouse for lunch.

For minimalism, it was a last gasp.

Jefferson's second inauguration was not so decorous. A party afterward at the new White House got enough out of hand that a British representative could lament: ``There was nothing dignified in the whole affair.''

But it was Dolley Madison, the first First Party lady, who got the ball rolling, literally. Her inaugural bash bored husband James Madison nearly witless, but it ratcheted up the social stakes for presidents who followed.

Andrew Jackson was grieving when he arrived - his wife had been buried the previous Christmas Day. But mourning didn't prevent Jackson's political henchmen from packing the town with populist partisans, and nothing was going to prevent them from having a good time.

When the party finally ended, the White House looked pretty much like a fraternity basement after a midwinter weekend. Even Old Hickory had had to scramble out a window to safety.

Not surprisingly, the size and sobriety - or lack of sobriety - of the inaugural festivities has proved no better a predictor of presidential success than the length of the inaugural oration.

James Buchanan put on a fabulous spread for 5,000 or so of his supporters on March 4, 1857, including 400 gallons of oysters, but it didn't spare him from history.

``Lemonade Lucy'' Hayes, beloved by the Women's Christian Temperance Union but despised by Irishmen, banned strong drink at almost all festivities honoring her newly elected husband, Rutherford B. Hayes.

Rutherford B. Who?

The equally forgotten Franklin Pierce had no festivities in 1853 - he was mourning a son killed in a railroad mishap.

The much-remembered Woodrow Wilson had none either in 1913 - his first wife, Ellen, was fatally ill.

Sometimes the glory of election is tempered by deep sorrow. And sometimes it is tempered by incapacity.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt's fourth inaugural address lasted all of six minutes and was delivered from the South Portico of the White House. FDR was too ill to do more.

The gold medal for oration-stupefying length goes, without question, to William Henry Harrison. On March 4, 1841, Tippecanoe rambled on for some 8,600 words and 90 minutes. He was 68 at the time, anxious to show his vitality and command of classical history, and he was dead within a month.

The gold medal for memorable passages probably gets split between Franklin Roosevelt and John F. Kennedy for ``The only thing we have to fear is fear itself' - delivered in 1933 at the depth of the Great Depression - and ``Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.''

But whether we remember the man for the words or the words for the man is anyone's guess. And in any event, Kennedy's famous passage was pretty much a paraphrase of Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr.

In truth, there has been only one great inaugural address, Lincoln's second, delivered in 1865 as the Civil War was winding to an end.

It closed: ``With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us arrive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan - to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourself, and with all nations.''

The address was short enough to be carved in stone on the interior wall of the Lincoln Memorial, and stirring enough to deserve the effort.

Bill Clinton, please take note.

And then there is the weather.

They say it wasn't the speech that killed William Henry Harrison; it was the weather - overcast skies, an Arctic wind. Pneumonia thereafter.

The thermometer dropped to 16 degrees when Ulysses S. Grant was being sworn in for a second time. That night, roasted turkeys froze on their platters in the unheated hall where Grant's ball was being held and had to be carved with axes.

Overhead, canaries brought in to trill for the revelers lay ice dead at the bottom of their cages.

But that's nothing. A wind-chill factor of minus-16 forced Ronald Reagan to cancel his parade in 1985 and move the swearing-in back indoors.

High school band members were grateful. So was the press corps, which had laid in enough Gore-Tex accessories to backpack in the Yukon.

John F. Kennedy faced 22 degrees, icy streets and more Arctic wind in 1961.

As for symbolism of the weather, here's something that jumps out: Every assassinated president has been sworn in either with rain falling or snow on the ground.

Lincoln got drenched in 1865. Snow fell until 10 a.m., the day James Garfield was inaugurated. Rain began falling during William McKinley's second swearing-in in 1901. And flamethrowers were needed to thaw the ice on Pennsylvania before Kennedy took the oath of office.

Maybe the gods do send warnings.

Lastly, there's the cost of the thing. Jimmy Carter got himself installed for a paltry $3.5 million. Four years later Reagan showed up in town with the Hollywood crowd, and the price tag soared to more than $15 million.

George Bush's party lacked the glitz factor, but Texans like a good feed. Catering provisions for his inaugural festivities included New Zealand mussels, Alabama shrimp, Louisiana crayfish, French truffles, Norwegian salmon, wild boar, quail eggs and 7,000 bottles of wine. No wonder the total tab topped $25 million.

A new Hollywood set showed up in 1993 for the ``American Reunion Starring Bill Clinton'' inaugural - Michael Jackson, Stevie Nicks, that sort - but hipper didn't mean cheaper. By the time the dust had cleared on the five-day bash and Al Gore had boogied for the last time, Clinton's inaugural committee had ponied up $33 million.

There's talk of a more modest affair this time, but inaugurations have a way of getting out of hand. Early estimates put the price tag in the $45 million range, come highballs or high water.

If that's the case, those few days of celebrating would equal the total expenditures of the federal government from 1789 through 1799.

CAPTION(S):

3 Photos

Photo: (1--Color) Standing room only: A worker continues preparations on the presidential inaugural parade reviewing stand in front of the White House. President Clinton will watch the parade from the stand in one of many festivities planned to celebrate his taking the oath of office for his second term Jan. 20.

(2--Color) Inauguration framework: With the Capital in the background, a construction worker helps build the skeleton for a hard-wall tent.

(3) Friends: President Clinton accepts the good wishes of Michael Jackson and Stevie Nicks in 1993.

Associated Press