Almost overnight, General Wesley Clark has emerged as the Democratic front-runner. In our age of insta-polls and quicksilver political judgments, Clark is the flavor of the month. Telegenic and articulate, he could be, and has been, an effective television commentator, a Walter Cronkite for the twenty-first century. Calm and courageous, he could be, and has been, a war hero, positioning him as a new age Dwight Eisenhower. In our media-obsessed, and terrorized times, who could ask for anything more?

Of course, with over a year remaining before the poll that counts - the national presidential election - Clark, and his Democratic rivals, will face many media booms and busts. To see if his parachute-jump into the race can become a smooth White House landing, Clark will have to learn how to soar on his own. Right now, his candidacy is floating on three traditional American tropes: the weakness for a candidate in uniform; the yearning for a king-like figure floating about the fray; and the perennial search for salvation.

Most media discussions in the last few weeks have concentrated on the fact that American voters have proven themselves suckers for a man in green repeatedly. Despite longstanding fears of losing civilian control over the military, despite the importance of fitting a modern ex-major general who wishes to be president into a well-tailored suit, Americans often have relied on the military as a training school for presidential leadership.

Even today, when Americans doubt so many institutions, many retain great faith in the military. And especially today, when the war against terror demands effective leadership, many would love to deputize a military superhero to hunt down the bad guys and protect hearth and home. Great generals have the qualities we desire in a president - the élan of a George Washington, the determination of an Andrew Jackson, the creativity of a Ulysses S. Grant, the vision of a Dwight Eisenhower. Moreover, many winning generals plunge into politics because they can cash in the fame they earned winning wars and receive the people's favor in return. Thus, William Henry Harrison ran in the 1840 campaign under the slogan of "Tippecanoe and [John] Tyler too," - his nickname being name of his greatest victory. Similarly, Zachary Taylor, who had never voted before 1848, ran as the "Hero of Buena Vista."

Such fame is particularly alluring - and potent -- because it is not political and non-controversial. More than two centuries into their grand republican experiment, Americans still disdain politicians and yearn for a king. Military heroes offer the next best thing. A great general, like a good king, appears blessed with superhuman qualities. The rational side of our beings, and the democratic impulse in our ideology, tells us that these people are not different from anybody else. But our mystical side, our longstanding romantic impulse, prays that they are better. We have had trimmers and prevaricators galore, we often feel. Doesn't a nation so blessed with so much deserve a leader who is not motivated by ambition, who will not simply do what works but do what is right?

Again and again, Americans have been disappointed in their leaders, and have sought deliverance from a new guy. In the nineteenth century, deadlocked conventions often turned to "a dark horse," an outsider, often unknown, who might be able to save the Republic from ruin. In the twentieth century, non-political political candidacies have often succeeded. Dwight Eisenhower's emergence as "the Man from Abilene" offered the classic military promise of salvation. But Jimmy Carter and Bill Clinton played the "I'm not a Washington-insider" card most effectively, while Ronald Reagan and George W. Bush played the role of the citizen candidate reluctantly entering the fray, but dreaming of the ranch - despite the fact that both served as governor of a major state, suggesting neither was the political novice many voters chose to believe they were supporting.

Much of this started with George Washington. Washington, lionized for winning the American Revolution, often positioned himself above the political fray - and often spoke of his longing to return to his Mount Vernon farm and sit under his Biblical vine and fig tree. This reluctance - which comported with the republican ideology of the time - reassured Americans and intensified their desire to have Washington save them.

Ultimately, however, such a coquettish mating dance could not work in a robust, growing democracy. Washington's successor as a general-turned-President, Andrew Jackson offered a more aggressive, more substantive, more democratic model of leadership. Yet, he too, was buttressed by his fame as the Hero of New Orleans - the extraneous battle at the end of the War of 1812, which took place a decade-and-a-half before he entered the White House. And Jackson had learned enough from Washington, and from his years as a general and as an American celebrity, to position himself as a larger-than-life figure, whose battles for the American people were not only selfless, but virtuous.

Americans have yet to resolve this symbolic conflict between Washington's republican passivity and Jackson's liberal-democratic intensity - and herein lies ex-General Clark's challenge. Wesley Clark has to fill in the blanks. He has to demonstrate that he is competent to operate in the civilian arena, that he can handle the inquiring press and his sniping rivals. He has to make his candidacy more real, more resonant, more relevant to the needs of today - which will inevitably threaten him with the kinds of controversies and miscues that plague mere mortals. In doing so, in paying obeisance to the demands of the Jacksonian presidency, Clark risks losing the Washingtonesque aura that has set him up as the man to beat.

It is a difficult task - but not an impossible one. Not only have 12 other generals made the move successfully from the command bunker to the White House, but Arnold Schwarzenegger may be parachuting into the California governorship from an even less likely profession. Of course, millions of Americans have witnessed Arnold's "heroics." When Clark rappelled down a mountain trying to save colleagues whose convoy careened off a mountain in Balkans, when he charged up a hill in Vietnam despite being shot four times, no cameras recorded these real heroics. Clark's challenge, then, is to let Americans be seduced by the romance of his life story as a traditional American tale, even as he demonstrates his ability to master the complexities of modern-day America. It is not an easy task. Then again, neither is being a general - or being a president.