"Essentially, he's been a detail man. He's been dealing with the trees and not the forest. And I think that what he is doing is probably right on instinct, but he's failed to sell it to the American people simply because it's not a comprehensive vision. You see, he talks about energy one day and he talks about the Russians the next day and he talks about this and he talks about that. But somehow it's got to all integrate and fit together in a picture that makes sense to the American people and the world. And it hasn't."

That's Andy Young talking.

You remember Andy. Martin Luther King's protege. The South's first elected black congressman since Reconstruction. Our man at the United Nations. Handsome. Smooth. Distinguished. Controversial. The guy who, more than anyone else, delivered the black vote to Jimmy Carter in 1976.

He's sitting in his small, stark office in a fancy new Atlanta skyscraper, a long way from the whirl of his old Cannon House Office Building suite. Further still from the plush officialdom of his U.N. office in New York.

Young is puffy-eyed and drained from several grueling days of lecturing and campaigning for a slew of Democratic candidates, including the president. He sits hunched, elbows resting on his barren wood desk, his wide-lapeled blue pinstripe suit still buttoned, a freshly made cup of coffee clutched close to his face. He is contemplating.

The topic is politics and the question, put to him for the umpteenth time, is his mysterious support for Jimmy Carter. An almost audible sigh, and then . . .

"You see," he says, slowly lowering the coffee to the desk, "I have this funny sort of relationship with the administration. I always did. I mean, I can't sell this administration uncritically."

Indeed. Just a few minutes earlier he had said the president's Olympic boycott was "ridiculous." The week before that he told a church gathering in Philadelphia that he has a "real problem" with the president's increased defense spending. A few days earlier he told a crowd in Milwaukee that the president had risen in the polls because he "started to demogog a little bit."

The month before that he told students at the University of Texas the president was "too far to the right." Next he told a packed house at Georgetown University the president had "overreacted" to the invasion of Afghanistan. Then he told an Atlanta newspaper he disagreed with the ill-fated Iranian rescue mission. And then he told the Cable News Network the president's ban on trvel to Iran was probably unconstitutional and that, like his good friend Ramsey Clark, he wouldn't hesitate a minute to violate it if he thought it might help free the hostages.

All this has left some of his friends confused and confounded.

"Everywhere I go people say: 'Shirley, what's wrong with him?'" says New York Congresswoman Shirley Chisholm. "They ask me: 'Has he got a thing going with Carter? Was a deal made?' They simply do not understand why Andrew Young is backing Jimmy Carter."

"It's an absolute mystery to me, this time and the last," says Georgia State Senator Julian Bond. "I've almost come to believe that even he doesn't know why he supported this man so strongly. It's like once he got his hand stuck in the tar baby, he can't get it out."

And then Natioal Urban League president Vernon Jordan, Young's close friend, tells Bill Moyers on nationwide television: "I disagree with Andy Young. I think the cup is half full and draining fast."

To all of this Young smiles wearily. Yes, he concedes, there have been shortcomings. But on balance the president has done a "phenomenal job."

"When I agree with the administration, I agree with them. When I disagree, I disaree."

Not many people really understand Andy Young, probably because not many people have really tried.

Not that it's easy. The bowtied bureaucrats at State think he's positively dangerous. The conservative columnists think he's a closet Commie. A goodly portion of the American citizenry has him pegged as some sort of deraged, Mau-Mauing revolutionary, while others see him as a pathetically naive minor leaguer who parlayed his Carter connection and his negritude into a chance at the big league game of international diplomacy -- and lost.

Nearly a year after his inglorious fall from power at the United Nations, Young remains to many in the diplomatic community one of the most indiscreet diplomats in recent memory. Despite his much touted role as point man for many of the president's foreign policy initiatives, they argue he was actually more of an unguided missile whose frequent gaffes and free-wheeling diplomatic style offset any accomplishments. He rankled protocol-conscious U.N. diplomats from long-time Western allies and irritated State Department veterans for failing to faithfully speak the administration line.

Still, his reputation in the Third World remains sterling as a result of the attention he generated to the growing bloc of developing countries represented there. And domestically he is one of America's most respected leaders among blacks and, as such, could be a key to the reelection of the president. As he crisscrosses the country these days in his lucrative new job as a public speaker (at a fee of up to $6,000 per lecture), he works relentlessly to get the black vote for the man who once described him as the finest public servant he had ever met.

But it has been a less than satisfying mission and has left Young, according to his close aides, with a hollow feeling that his efforts are not fully appreciated by the Carter camp.

Perhaps because of his track record for sparking controversy, Young has been kept on the outer fringes of the campaign, although, as one close associate says, "he wants to be in the inner circle setting strategy." And he is also suffering from intense -- although respectful -- criticism from friends and fellow black leaders who view him as a blind supporter for an administration they think has largely betrayed black interests.

This is the burden he must carry for being controversial, although he doesn't view himself that way.

"I don't think I'm controversial. I just think the foreign policy establishment considers me controversial," he remarked somewhat innocently when we talked in the comfort of his U.N. office last summer.

Ah, the irony. For he spoke these words on the very day -- at the very moment -- the State Department was on the line from Washington frantically trying to get the truth about his unauthorized meeting with the Palestine Liberation Organization's U.N. representative.

If he knew he was about to go down the tubes, he didnt show it. He was calm, friendly and fully in control. But it was the beginning of the end; as the tide of criticism inched higher during the ensuing 24 hours, the man who didn't think he was controversial found himself out of a job.

Had he really been serious? Hd this plenipotentiary pasha honestly believed he could get away with predicting the ayatollah would be accepted as "some kind of a saint"? Or that the Brits wouldn't bristle when he suggested they "invented racism"? Or that no one would notice he told a black weekly that sex was one of his favorite outlets? Or did the Very Rev. U.N. sador Ambassador think he was excused from diplomatic deportment when he wondered in a magazine interview "what kind of s--- we would be in now" in Nicaraqua without the Panama Canal Treaty?

Yes sir, Andrew Young had a loose tongue all right. Still does. I mean, he's always putting "I mean" in front of every other sentence, which makes you wonder if even he knows what he means when the words tumble out.

One rainy day this spring at Michigan State University he had just delivered a pentetrating lecture on the Third World when the usual adoring students pressed around, peppering him with questions. "Well, you know," he matter-of-factly replied to one, "I agree with almost everything George Ball says on foreign policy. But when he starts talking about Africa, he sounds like some kind of an idiot."

Oops, he'd done it again. He paused, eyes shifting. And then spying a reporter, he winced, grinned sheephly and half-jokingly implored: "Now don't go saying I said George Ball was an idiot."

It was just another of his teeny little verbal indiscretions. Just like the one a few minutes earlier when he said black folks don't care about Chappaquiddick because they figure Ted Kennedy "was out doing what everybody else did. There's nothing to be upset about. That was just one of those things. Some people have automobile accidents and some people dont."??

And just a few minutes before that he suggested an easy solution to the hostage stalemate: Simply dummy up an apology, ship it over to the ayatollah, and the world would be a happy place again.

Nope, Andy Young hasn't changed a bit. Imagine the tizzy if he were still at the U. N. The screaming headlines: "Young calls ball an IDIOT." Or "YOUNG SAYS CHAPPAQUIDDICK NOTHING TO BE UPSET ABOUT." Or best of all: "YOUNG URGES U.S. APOLOGY TO IRAN."

But, as with so many of his controversial pronouncements, these were all ripped out of context. He had purposely hyperbolized about Ball to make a point: Students should expose themselves to the multitude of views on Africa, for what makes sense to some may be idiocy to others. He had generalized black attitudes towards Chappaquiddick to suggest that "white upper-middle-class Midwest protestants" are too hung up on the incident as "a terrible flaw in character" instead of scrutinizing what Kennedy says and does on the issues.

And Iran? His explanation: "I think the Iranians are wrong to be demanding an apology. But from what I understand, the cultural implications of apology in Persian society are quite different from the implications of apology in our society. For their society, apology is a manly, face-saving way out." So, he suggested the government gather up statements it had already made which were cricitcal of the shah, wrap them up in a package, stamp it "apology" and send it to Tehran. "We could have put together a nice little snow job with an apology that wouldn't have been anything we hadn't already said," he snickered.

Yes, you have to dig below the shoot-from-the-lip pronouncements, past the diplomatic misdemeanors, down to the core of what Andy Young is all about. And once there, what you find are but two fundamental precepts which form the basis for virtually everything he says and does -- religion and civil rights. And they are the underpinning of a sense of mission, a Calvinistic fatalism that propels him through life.

It helps in understanding his resignation, for example. "I realy don't feel a bit sorry for what I've done," he said last August when he stood before reporters and photographers in Washington and solemnly announced his resignation. Time hasn't changed his view.

"I really have no regrets either about my term of service at the United Nations, my relationships with the Whtite House and Department of State, nor do I have any regrets about my resignation," he told an audience at Georgetown University early this year. "I really don't think that I violated any, you know, principle of the United States government."

The view is not universally held. "I think it was more a matter of him not telling everthing as opposed to him lying." says a former top-level State Department official. He faults Young for not explaining to him and other administration officials the full circumstrances behind his clandestine meeting with the PLO's U. N. observer, Zehdi Labib Terzi.

Regardless, Young explains his decline in almost religious terms, as he did at a state dinner in his honor in Liberia several weeks after his resignation. aAs the guests dined on smoked ham and filet in an air-conditioned Monrovia hotel that sweltering eventing, the lame duck envoy rose and, in his baritone Congregationalist eloquence, proclaimed: "I am no longer ambassador to the United Nations for the United States essentially because I'm a preacher. It has almost nothing to do with my being a diplomat."

A victim of devine guidance?

"Everything I do, I interpret as a religious experience." he said when we talked six months later. "I pray a lot. Constantltly. And it's a very emotional experience for me in the sense that it's very hard for me to go to church -- any chruch for any reason -- without crying.

"I guess in part it's because I get in touch with so many of my basic feelings and my experiences. And my b asic religious experiences were all around the civil rights movement, and they involved a tremendous amount of death and suffering and risk. I mean, I accept the notion of being killed.

A premonition? Had there been threats.

"No, he said, stretching back in his chair. "I mean as a possibility. Like, I'm very tactically aware. I usually don't take on three or four political battles at the same time. I'm conscious of the number of emenies I'm making.

If there are enemies, they aren't that visible. In fact, when Andy Young left the United Nations last fall, a long line of plutocratic entrepreneurs and corporate headhunters were waiting at the door to give him a quick lift to Easy Street. Instead, he flew back home to Atlanta.

"I'm really just a preacher." he told friends. "I'm gonna do what Martin was doin". . .be a teacher and a prophet."

So, first he prevailed on an assortment of foundations, admirers and contributors to his congressional compaigns to bankroll a new nonprofit venture with the distinctively unimaginative name of Young Ideas, Inc. -- sort of a public interest operation to carry on the various aims of the civil rights movement. He set himself up as its $1-a-year head and his five top U.N. aides took jobs staffing its offices in Atlanta and Washington.

Then he signed with a well-known New York speaker's bureau, New Line Presentations, and hit the lecture circuit, making thousands for speeches expounding the complexities of. . .Eurodollars.

Eurodollars,. And the roots of international inflation and the evils of trade deficits and other economic concepts about as stimulating as poison gas.

Once again, there were puzzled looks as the former ambassador rambled on about sugar pricing and "hot" dollars and OPEC production rates. But since his civil rights days Andy Young had been preaching the "internationization" of the economy as a devine instrument for saving God's impoverished and underprivileged children around the world. When he went to Congress he pursued it with his colleagues -- recommending they read books (Dr. Irving S. Friedman's Inflation: A Worldwide Disaster was a favorite), wangling a seat on the House Banking Committee's International Finance subcommittee, personally lobbying President Ford to beef up trade with Nigeria.

And when he arrived at the United Nations, the press was so busy chronicling his controversial mistatements that a story of astounding significance was virtually overlooked. For Chief Capitalist Andrew Young had converted the U. N. Mission into a virtual free market clearinghouse. Day in and day out, largely hidden from public view, he was joining the unlikeliest of couples -- bloated American multinationals and struggling Third World governments -- with all the wile and finesse of a Yiddish matchmaker.

By the time he left office last fall, Andy Young had become the middleman for literally billions of dollars of trade commitments between U. S. corporations and Third World contries. He had developed more success than any single person in the government in breaking down trade barriers with developing nations. As one of his last duties, he led a 24-member trade delegation on a blitz of seven African nations which resulted in a phenomenal $2 billion in business commitments.

"I came away with an admiration for that man something awful," said Frank Delzio, a Westinghouse Electric Corp. vice president who went along. It was, indeed, quite a performance. Rev. Andy and his Traveling Band and Trade Show.

"We know how to do almost anything in the United States," he intoned with only a trace of modesty at a luncheon given by Cameroon's economic minister. "And we think we can do anything better than anybody. Nowhere do so many have so much so cheaply as in the United States." And then, noting a delegation member had just paid $25 for two pairs of undershorts in a local store, he turned to Cameroon officials and proclaimed: "Now in the United States, Jockey shorts are three pairs for $4.99. We're convinced that we can make Jockey shorts for you."

Everywhere the blunt message was the same: They had an obligation -- to use U.S. trade to improve their people's standard of living.

"He was able to tell them things that if you and I said the same thing we would have been speared," said Delzio.

As he tours the country these days as a self-described ambassador-at-large," the sermon from private citizen Andrew Young is of impending doom. The world is headed for economic chaos, he warns, unless the evil inflation is driven out.

Yet there is salvation, he proclaims, if we will only follow his word: Inflation can be reduced by cutting the trade deficit. The trade deficit can be cut by trading with the Third World. And the only way to trade with the Third World is to strike down cultural and racial barriers and deal with developing countries as equals.

When he isn't spreading his economic gospel to the public, he can be found sitting in stately board rooms advising executives of corporate giants like Moran Guaranty and Citicorp who have asked his help on how to do business in the less-developed world.

He's the darling of the corporate chiefs. They listen. They respect. And best of all, they respond. There will be more food for Nigeria. More jobs for Cameroon. Religion and civil rights will prevail. He is optimistic. He is happy. But more than anything else, he is . . . restless. o

"I think to get myself together," Andy Young half mumbled, almost to himself, as he sat in his office in Atlanta several months ago. He was in a deep think, his unblinking eyes riveted on a yellow pencil which he pinched and slowly turned with his fingers. He finally looked up across the desk.

"Personally," he said. "I mean, I need to get a vision of where this country needs to go in the next 20 years."

He placed the pencil down and folded his hands on the desk like a shrink ready to diagnose symptoms of inner torment.

"I've been in government now for seven years with an agenda put on me either by a congressional district, or by the president and secretary of state and the pressure of the world at the U.N.," he said, "and my experience with all those operations is that nobody relly knows much about where we're going and what we're doing. I mean, I really want a chance to sort things out . . . It will be sometime after the Democratic convention. I just need some time to think."

Not that the nation's most influential balck leader -- the man who could be King -- is at loose ends. Despite its abrupt end, the U.N. experience left no scars. Life has been rewarding, both personally and financially, since he resigned. He's been back in his old black middle-class Atlanta neighborhood with his old friends, including his brother Walter, a prosperous denist who lives nearby. There is more time for his wife Jean and their young 7-year-old son Bo. And for the first time in his life he's been making money, big money, to secure a financial base precariously strained while he was a diplomat and Jean had stopped working and he had two daughters (he has three, ages 24, 23 and 19) in college. This year alone he will gross at least $200,000 and could easily double that if he didn't turn down so many paid speaking engagements. Instead, he devotes time to promote political candidates or special causes.

If he had resigned six months earlier, he "almost certainly" would have entered the race to unseat Georgia's curmudgeon Democratic Sen. Herman Talmadge. Maybe he will run against conservative Georgia Sen. Sam Nunn in 1982, although he concedes, "That would be a tough race."

But of all the options he discusses, the most likely seems a race next year to follow Maynard Jackson as mayor of Atlanta. Jackson, who cannot succeed himself, has been pushing Young to run, as have others in the city's liberal Democratic estalblishment.

"Running for mayor is really no challenge," Young said when we talked. "I may be wrong, but I think I could get elected. I mean, there's no challenge in running, but there's a heckuva challenge in the job."

Many of his friends think being mayor would be beneath his abilities. John Lewis, for example, the one-time fire-brand leader of the old Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee who recently left a high-level post in ACTION, believes his friend Young is the one person capable of heading an umbrella organization of black groups -- like Jesse Jackson's Operation PUSH or the Urban League --without bruising the considerable egos of their respective leaders.

But Young flatly rejects the notion that he could -- or should -- become the black leader. "I don't think it's good to have a single black leader," he said. "It's more important to have a broad base of black leadership. I think we have it now in the civil rights leadership -- Vernon and Coretta and Jesse and Joe Lowery -- and we have it in the black mayors."

There's a touch of irony in this, that the one man who could achieve preeminence among black leaders simply doesn't want to. But oddly, Young is convinced that Martin Luther King Jr. never wanted to be a leader either, that he was pushed into it by others who recognized his extraordinary force and talent.

"I refuse to be pushed by anybody to do antything," Young told me. "I feel it's got to come from within, like, I don't think the president could have gotten my resignation without a fight if he had asked for it. I mean, I really felt on my own that I needed to resign. The whole circumstance was pointing toward this being the time for me to get out. And so I offered my resignation on my own, and he accepted it."

This brings us back to Andy Young's support for Jimmy Carter. And even to some of his dearest and closest political allies, it's a stumper.

"What we have here is a totally rational man coming to a totally irrational conclusion," says an old Atlanta friend.

"The way the press writes it, you'd figure they were bosom buddies. But they ain't even hardly friends."

"So far as I know they are not intimate friends," says Julian Bond. "I recall that when Andy ran for Congress, Carter did, I think, attend a fundraiser for him. But if that counts as friendship, then Andy Young and I are engaged to be married."

"They never played tennis together, jogged together, chewed tobacco together, chased women together," says Young's long-time aide Stoney Cooks. "They never did nothin' together."

"We're friends," Young says, "but my relationship with President Carter is not personal."

Perhaps the best guage is Young's role in the president's reelection effort. He is not, for instance, an inside strategist and intimate counselor. eInstead, he has campaigned almost free-lance, has rarely been consulted and has even occasionally been victimized by benign neglect.

True, his solo role was much the same in 1976. That year he went to Florida early and campaigned on his own for Carter solely as a means of knocking George Wallace out of the race. But when he took a closer look at the former Georgia governor, he says he liked what he saw and decided to stick with him. (Those close to him are more cynical, however, and suggest Young stayed with Carter because he was winning primaries.)

Much has changed in the intervening four years. Young has been Jimmy Carter's highest ranking ambassador, a cabinet-level member of his foreign policy hierarchy and still is the strongest magnet for drawing the big black vote Carter needs again. Yet when we talked in Atlanta, Young could count on one hand the times he and Carter had met or talked in the six months following his resignation. Two were White House meetings where Young was merely one of a group, he said, and the rest were telephone calls he initiated.

He will attend next month's Democratic convention where he plans to privately promote the president among delegates. But he will not have an official role, said his spokesman, Tom Offenburger.

Carter campaign staffers deny Young has been shunned. No formal "strategy team" even existed for the most of the primary season, said deputy campaign manager Malcolm Dade. And besides, he said, Young has made appearances on behalf of the president "whenever we have asked him."

But Young wanted more than to be on call, and his excllusion from the formal planning process obviously ranked. By spring he was speaking openly of being slighted. He had wanted to campaign heavily prior to the New York and Florida primaries. "But I had the feeling, although no one ever said it, that there were some people in the campaign who were afraid that my presence too aggressively -- especially in New York -- would antagonize the Jewish vote. And so I low-keyed it in New York." And the president lost by 175,000 votes.

Even Dade acknowledged some concern within the campaign that Young's controversial image might have a "negative impact."

So evident was Young's noninvolvement that it became the object of some dark humor among top Carter campaign officials. Shortly before the New York primary, for example, several high-ranking aides were huddled in a room reviewing ad scripts when they noted one claiming Carter helped bring about a peaceful transition of power in Zmibabwe. Might that resurrect the visage of The Mouth That Roared, wondered one. Then another offered a substitute accomplishment: "We got rid of Andy Young." Laughter all around.

And so with this shabby treatment, why is he supporting Jimmy Carter?

Even before he left the U.N., Young was quietly disagreeing with the president on a wide range of international issues. As we sat in his U.N. office that fateful day last August, wven as it was dawning on him that he was sinking into hot water, he remained suprisingly composed while he quietly -- respectfully -- itemized his differences with his boss: He disagreed with the ban on trade with Cuba, opposed plans to boost Pentagon spending, objected to funding for the MX missile, had a "basic philosphical difference" over the refusal to restore relations with Vietnam.

And in the past year he has grown increasingly disturbed by the president's hard-line foreign policy.

"It's this newfound mandate of the presidnet's that Andy has trouble with," Stoney Cooks said. "I mean whatever popularity the president has gained has essentially come from hard-lining it. Andy just has no stomach for that."

Young acknowledged as much when we talked several months after the invasion of Afghanistan. "The only thing I quarrel with the president about is his dealing with the Russians," he said.

Which takes in a lot of ground consiering Zbigniew Brezinski and the foreign policy people's fears of Russian expansionism.

"zbig has, to my knowledge, one particular blind spot, and that's the Cubans and the Russians," he says. "I mean, I quarrel with him because I think he gives the Russians and the Cubans credit for everything in the world, and I don't think they deserve it. I don't think they're doing that much. I don't think they have that much influence. I don't think they're that powerful."

But on the whole, he insists to audiences everywhere, Jimmy Carter is getting a bum rap on foreign affairs. "I mean, on the things he's gotten around to dealing with -- like Africa, like our relationship with the Middle East -- it's really going well," he says.

And domestically?

Although the inflation rate under Carter quadrupled and interest rates soared to their highest in American history, he tells crowds that "in terms of balancing out the priorities of the nation and the needs of the people, I think he's done, frankly, a phenomenal job."

Carter has appointed more blacks and women to the federal bench than all the nation's presidents combined, he says, and blacks in the federal government control a larger portion of the budget than in any past administration. He has created millions of new jobs, he continues, "and many of them went to blacks."

Using unemployment as a means to control the inflation rate is "unconscionable," Young concedes, but the jobless can survive on food stamps, unemployment compensation and medicaid. Inflation is the real evil, he says, and "if we can reduce inflation, that will stimulate the economy to produce more investment and more jobs. And after all, what people want, by and large, are jobs in the private sector. Nobody wants to be on a make-work project."

His black friends are skeptical. "Andy may say that Carter has created X number of jobs, but the fact is that many more black people are getting laid off," says Shirley Chisholm. "The bottom line is that there has been no appreciable diminution of the fantastic unemployment figures in the black community in this country."

Yes, Young agreed, black leaders have some basis for complaint. But how would they like things under President Ronald Reagan? "A second-term Jimmy Carter is better than a first-term anything else."

But what of the alternative, I ask? Taking everything into consideration, isn't he more philosophically in tune with Kennedy than Carter? He smiles mischievously: "Yeah, very much so."

Well then, why in the world is he supporting Carter?

"I would support Kennedy in '84 or '88 without hesitation. But in the first place, I think Jimmy Carter is more electable in 1980 than Ted Kennedy. For one, he's a seated president with all the powers of the office. The other thing is that he . . . I mean, Jimmy Carter's philosophy is very conservative, but his instincts are very liberal."

How's that?

"Well, on race, for instance. Let's put it this way. Jimmy Carter has a tough mind and a tender heart, you see? He has a sense of compassion and a sensitivity to the poor, but it's no ideology. He's not a liberal in the classic sense. That kind of bleeding-heart do-goodism isn't a part of him. He's a hard-headed farmer-businessman and when he talks he usually talks out of his intellect, which is basically as conservative as his background."

Huh?

"I mean, when I talk to him I can reach that other side, whenever I think it's really important to. And I mean, while Ted Kennedy has a liberal ideology. I have not seen yet that he really feels it. Now, there was a difference between John Kennedy and Robert Kennedy. Now Robert Kennedy, after John Kennedy's assassination, really began to feel. He had a vision of what America could be, and it was filled with passion."

And you don't see that in Teddy?

"Well, I don't see it yet. I mean, Ted Kennedy, I think, has the liberal language . . . but it's a cold, intellectual liberalism which is another version of the best and the brightest and which, without compassion and personal commitment and sympathy, can be as dangerous as it was in Vietnam."

As dangerous as it was in Vietnam?

"I mean, he grew up a privileged kid in Hyannis Port. And yet there is a capacity in his experience to really suffer and bleed. But I have not seen yet that he's got the gut to do it, personally. And I realize he's had three brothers killed and that his son's got cancer and he's been near death twice -- first in that plane crash and then at Chappaquiddick. But it's almost as though his life has been so filled with tragedy and suffering that he's been afraid to open himself to it and learn from it."

And Jimmy Carter has?

"Well, I mean, Jimmy Carter's life has not been filled with suffering and tragedy. I'll grant you. His life has been fairly easy by standards of comparison. But the suffering that came to him was the suffering of others: the poor people on the farm next door. For him, it has not been quite the existential trauma that it's had to be for Kennedy."

Existential trauma?

"I mean . . ." CAPTION: Cover Photo, Andrew Young, by Dennis Brack/Black Star.; Pictures 1 ad 2, Much in demand as a speaker, Andy Young today commands fees of up to $6,000 per lecture. Young with President Carter at the U.N. in October 1977. By Bill Grimes/Black Star/Inset by Owen Franken/Sygma