Sure, the Georgia peanut farmer in the White House is responsible for this revisit to FDR's Georgia haunts--Lippman, a native son, says as much: when ""we were outside the mainstream. . . he made our Americanness whole."" He also says (2) that back-country Georgia gave Roosevelt ""first-hand knowledge of depressed rural life""; (3) that his Warm Springs' informality shows up the Imperial Presidency; (4) that he was uniquely a spokesman for the disabled; (5) that press consideration for both his disability and his personal-charitable-public entanglements contrasts favorably with present-day snooping and sniping. And, however suspect a book written for such motley ""reasons,"" Lippman has gotten some interesting results from raking over this peculiar patch of ground. He's able to cite incidents demonstrating Roosevelt's curiosity about his Georgia neighbors, and relate them to New Deal programs; he draws provocative parallels between Roosevelt's use of language (economic ""paralysis,"" weak nations) and his disability, as well as reviving his publicized recovery as a universal inspiration; and he details the many stratagems by which--with press co-operation--he concealed his crippled condition from the public. For the rest, there's the carpetbagger President vs. the courtly Senator, FDR's unsuccessful attempt to unseat Walter George; the origin of the National Foundation for Infantile Paralysis in the Birthday Balls, and its expansion via the March of Dimes; the precarious but prophetic fortunes of Roosevelt Farms--everything, in short, linking FDR and the state of Georgia, with ample evidence of the Roosevelt wit and charm to season the Brunswick Stew.