Last Act

by Craig Shirley

  For Reagan, the mourning and memorializing continued in Tampico, in Dixon, at Eureka, in Washington, in Santa Barbara, at his Library in Simi Valley, at his home in Los Angeles, and at his star on the Walk of Fame in Hollywood. A condolences book was set out at the Nixon Library for Reagan mourners to sign, and Eureka College invited guests to a memorial service on the campus.28 The Peoria Journal Star tracked down some former classmates from Eureka and all had vivid and fond memories of their friend. “He loved Eureka College and wasn’t afraid to say so,” said Aline Schrock. “He never showed any shame in graduating from such a small school.”29

  A year earlier Katherine Ashenburg had written The Mourner’s Dance, and in an interview she said, “There was a reaction against the Victorians, who mourned so extravagantly. Now we’re seeing the pendulum swinging back, and we see it especially with celebrities and public figures . . . It’s ironic, but it’s easier to have some kind of public expression of mourning for strangers than for someone in our own family.” She noted that in people’s own lives, after a death in the family they are expected to be back at work in a short period of time and that public expression for loved ones is “socially unacceptable.”30

  This, though, wasn’t the mourning associated with the tragic deaths of Lincoln, FDR, and JFK. There was mourning for Reagan and plenty of tears but also celebration of a man who had done much for so many over numerous years. The tragedy wasn’t that he was ninety-three years old at his death but that he and Nancy only had several years to themselves after the White House and before the onslaught of Alzheimer’s.

  The weather across the nation, especially in the east, was very hot and humid, well above ninety degrees. The temperature recorded that day at Reagan National Airport was ninety-two degrees—ten degrees above normal31—though it was hotter by far in the city with all the buildings and vehicles and congestion. The evenings were moist and still. No air was stirring. The heat and humidity were such that dozens of people passed out among the hundreds of thousands lining Constitution Avenue, in some places ten or more deep, waiting for the Reagan funeral procession. Fences lined the street all the way to the Capitol for crowd control.

  Thoughtfully, the Capitol police distributed 150,000 bottles of water to the sweltering crowds.32 Also, giant electric fans blew much-needed air onto the onlookers, and there were also cooling tents. Still, more than three dozen were taken by ambulance to local hospitals because of the extreme heat.

  Sixteen blocks away, near the Ellipse that is situated between the White House and the Washington Monument, the mahogany coffin was gently placed on a carriage that had been built in 1918. The riderless black horse, with Reagan’s worn but polished riding boots, was named Sergeant York. The horse was covered with a blanket called a “caparison.”33 When not in service, the horses were stabled nearby at Fort Myer in Arlington.

  At Sixteenth Street and Constitution Avenue—between the White House and the Washington Monument—Mrs. Reagan got out of her black limousine to watch several young, tall, handsome uniformed men gently transfer her husband’s coffin with care and tenderness. These men had been nothing more than children when Ron and Nancy occupied the White House. The crowd applauded her, and she could be seen mouthing a “silent thanks in return,” responding with a wave or a smile.34 As with everything else, the playbook developed over the years for the Reagan funeral planned for a small, ticketed VIP area at the location, so they could watch the movement of the casket from the hearse to the caisson.

  Reagan’s casket was handled by eight men in uniform: two army, two navy, two marines, one air force, and one coast guard. Because of the stifling heat and humidity and the many steps up the west front of the Capitol, a platoon system of several bands of brothers was used.

  Often throughout the week, someone in a crowd yelled, “We love you, Nancy.”35 For the elites, it was yet another revelation. They’d more or less despised her—especially in the early days of the 1980s—when they thought she didn’t measure up to Eleanor, Jackie, Lady Bird, Betty, and Rosalynn. She began to win over the American people after a bumpy first year, mostly because of the bashing she’d unfairly taken in the media. By the second term, she was as popular as any of her predecessors, but the snotty Georgetown society mavens and matrons still were contemptuous. The fact was, Nancy Davis could match them, class for class. She’d grown up in Chicago society and attended the highbrow Smith College, where she majored in English and drama.

  She was born Anne Frances Robbins but after her mother and father divorced, Edith Luckett Robbins married Dr. Loyal Davis, a highly successful neurosurgeon; he adopted Anne and her name was changed to Nancy. They moved to Chicago in the 1930s, and it was possible that she and Ronald Reagan were in the same town at the time and conceivable that she’d heard him on the radio.

  Incredibly, some in the national media were writing stories about the “New Nancy,”36 as if the past ten years had been some public relations stunt rather than simply a woman taking care of the man she loved the best way she knew how. For the past week, she was deeply moved and impressed at the outpouring for Ronnie.

  Only after the fall of 1994, with Reagan’s announcement of his affliction, did the elites begin to understand what the American people knew. One of the few times Nancy left his side was in 2001 for the christening of the USS Ronald Reagan in Newport News. Carl Cannon, a writer, was there with his father, Lou, who’d covered Reagan for many years, and they saw Nancy. When asked if she was going to spend a few days on the East Coast, she blanched at the thought of being away from Ronnie for one second more than necessary.37 She returned for the commissioning in 2003, but again only for a very short time.

  Reagan was an accomplished horseman and was comfortable in both English and Western saddles. (His love of horses came from the 1930s, when he joined the army’s Calvary Reserve in California.) Of course, horses were trained differently to respond; with English a squeeze of the thighs and knees was needed and with Western a kick of the rider’s heels along with neck reining the horse. For the rider, too, the styles were drastically different. In 1966, a major magazine wanted to do a photo spread on Reagan riding horses at his ranch, getting ready to run for governor. Reagan was delighted and came out in jodhpurs and high boots, carrying an English saddle, looking like he was ready to mount and call “ta hounds.”

  Lyn Nofziger, his new press aide, knew this was all wrong and told him to go back in and change. Americans knew the cowboy Reagan and would be disappointed and maybe even angry to see him transformed into a country squire. Reagan changed and came back out in the proper Stetson, dungarees, cowboy boots, and a saddle with a pommel.38 Later, as president, Americans came to see him as both types of horsemen and they liked it.

  After the “horse episode,” as he called it in 1989, he was touchy about the subject, writing to Lorraine Wagner, with whom he’d been corresponding for forty years. In no uncertain terms, he wrote, “I didn’t fall off. Something spooked him . . . and he erupted. I was bucked off. I’ve some sore bruises but it’s a miracle I broke no bones.”39

  It was those English riding boots, of which Robert Higdon had been given custody, that now adorned the saddle stirrups of “Sergeant York,” the riderless horse that led the caisson. The boots faced backward, in ancient military tradition. Some said it was so the departed commander could see his troops in the afterlife and others said to signify that the commander would never ride again while still others said it was so the departed leader could say good-bye to their families. No one was really sure about the origins.40 The worn boots had been given a light polish with saddle soap by Ahearn. Mrs. Reagan later noted her surprise and mild displeasure to General Jackman over her husband’s cleaned-up boots.41

  “Thus, on a warm June evening before throngs of perspiring citizens, was the former president transported for the last time to Capitol H
ill, along the same streets and to the same sounds as other famed figures in an exquisite American ritual of mourning,” wrote Michael E. Ruane of the Washington Post, in his own singular and exquisite prose.42

  Slowly, the funeral procession made its way to Capitol Hill, past hundreds of thousands of Americans. It was followed by a lone soldier carrying the flag of the commander in chief, a blue field with a circle of fifty stars and the seal of the American president. The silence was astonishing. There was no breeze and little sound from the crowd either. All that could be heard was the “clomp, clomp, clomp” of the horses and the creaking of the wooden wheels on the carriage, the soft sound of drums. Broadcast live on national television, commentators knew it was best to keep their mouths shut and they did so for the most part. The caisson passed the buildings that housed the IRS and the EPA.

  When Warren G. Harding passed away in August 1923, some ten thousand students from DC schools were enlisted to spread the petals of flowers along Pennsylvania Avenue between the White House and the Capitol. It was hot then, too—above 100 degrees—and, according to news reports at the time, two hundred people, including uniformed military, fell victim to the oppressive heat.43

  As the procession approached the west façade of the Capitol, a sad looking Mrs. Reagan was now at the west entrance awaiting her husband’s remains as military pallbearers took 116 steps from the carriage at the foot of the building all the way to the Rotunda. Heard playing was “Ruffles and Flourishes,” “Hail to the Chief,” and a “mournful rendition of ’The Battle Hymn of the Republic.’ ”44 The ground shook and the quietude exploded at the 21-gun salute by the army howitzers. Three 75mm cannons fired seven times at five-second intervals.45 Military commanders could be heard in the background shouting out orders.

  The week and this event were dripping with ritual. Myth had it the 21-gun salute came from the total of the numbers 1, 7, 7, and 6; and “Hail to the Chief ” from James Monroe, because he was so short that when he entered a room no one knew it. But the Military District of Washington said it was not clear where the 21-gun salute originated because in the 1840s the practice was for the number of reports to correspond with the number of states and America had twenty-six states, but the fire was cut back to twenty-one though it was not formalized until 1875.46 There was symbolism and tradition everywhere.

  Overhead flew twenty-one F-15 Eagle jet fighters from the air force. A single plane led the way, and it was followed by four formations of five planes—except the last, which had the familiar missing plane that symbolized the loss of Reagan. Military brass was everywhere and the rich and the famous were spotted occasionally among normal Americans. Margaret Thatcher was there, of course, as was George Shultz, Al Haig, and others; although the ticketing was controlled mostly by Congress, said Linda Bond, an attractive Washingtonian who had been “volunteered” by Robert Higdon to work on the impossible jobs of handling both the Rotunda ceremony and the National Cathedral funeral on Friday.47 Higdon was low-key but a close, close friend of Nancy Reagan and Thatcher.

  Finally, the U.S. Army Quintet played “Amazing Grace.”48

  “In the Rotunda, Reagan rested below the ’Apotheosis of Washington,’ an 1865 painting [by Constantino Brumidi], designed to illustrate Washington’s ascension into Heaven. The head of his casket faced East and was placed squarely in the Rotunda’s center so the sunlight would illuminate it Thursday.”49 From the polished sandstone floor to the ceiling was 180 feet. The circular room, 96 feet in diameter,50 was silent, and the statues of Washington and Hamilton and Jefferson looked on. The statue of Lincoln sculpted by Vinnie Ream was there too. Ream was a woman, and Lincoln posed for her, making her the first woman to create a watchful statue in the Capitol. The television cameras along the wall accompanied by lights mounted on tall posts were also watching.

  Reagan would lie in state for more than thirty-four hours.

  The last time Reagan had been in the Rotunda was his last day as president—and first day as a private citizen—on January 20, 1989. This was eight years after his last day as a private citizen and first day as president, following his unprecedented win over Jimmy Carter. He’d been reelected in a huge landslide, the second biggest in American history, exceeding his 1980 election, which was considered the third-biggest landslide in American history. The inaugural of January 1981 was downright balmy but the inaugural of 1985 was so cold—the wind chill was ten degrees below zero—the outdoor events were cancelled, including the parade, and Reagan was sworn into office in the Rotunda, the first president to do so. Still, his inaugural address was eloquent.

  In the Rotunda nineteen years later, Cheney was uncharacteristically eloquent, even moving. “In this national vigil of mourning, we show how much America loved this good man and how greatly we will miss him.” “ ‘There’s no question I am an idealist, which is another way of saying I am an American,’ ” he quoted Reagan as saying. He called Reagan’s arrival on the international scene “providential” and closed by telling the assembled and the millions watching on television, “Fellow Americans, here lies a graceful and a gallant man.”51 Mrs. Reagan was spotted near tears several times during Cheney’s remarks.

  Fellow Illinoisan house speaker Denny Hastert also spoke well. “Ronald Reagan’s long journey has finally drawn to a close.”52 Senator Ted Stevens, the president Pro Tempore of the Senate, was equally up to the task. Maybe it was because it was for Reagan, but for whatever reason, three generally low-key public speakers were articulate and even soaring at times in describing the fallen president. Significantly, none of the three men injected themselves into their eulogies. Each placed a wreath before the casket, one saying “Senate,” another “House of Representatives,” and the third “Executive Branch.” The House chaplain Daniel Coughlin opened with a prayer, and the Senate’s chaplain Barry Black concluded the service with a eulogy.

  Nancy Pelosi kicked up a fuss that she and Democrats had not spoken at the Rotunda event even when it was explained to her it was not a political event. The government was in the hands of Republicans, and so they represented the government in the seat of government.

  At the end, an army band played “God Bless America” and Mrs. Reagan stood alone at her husband’s coffin and then knelt in silent prayer. As she rose, she ran her hand lengthwise along the American flag, as if smoothing it out a bit for Ronnie, making sure he was presentable, as she’d done for him for fifty years. She was dressed simply but elegantly in a two-piece black ensemble that buttoned on her right shoulder. Her wan smile would emerge very occasionally and mostly she remained silent, breaking only when she whispered to daughter Patti or son Ron or to her military escort, Major General Galen Jackman, the commander of the Military District of Washington.

  Jackman, fifty-two years old, was six feet, two inches tall and stood ramrod straight, as did all the military this week. Jackman’s career was anything but ceremonial, having spent much of his life in harm’s way serving with the Special Forces, pursuing Colombian drug lords in the jungles of South America, commanding a Delta Squadron, and heading up tactics at the U.S. Army Infantry School, before assuming command of the Military District of Washington.53

  Dick Cheney escorted Nancy Reagan slowly out of the Rotunda at the conclusion of the forty-minute memorial after she stole a few moments alone at the casket, again smoothing the flag, but this time she seemed to be saying something to Ronnie.

  Departing, Margaret Thatcher curtsied in front of the bier and she, too, gently touched the flag. Again, all was televised and millions watched but the anchors and commentators let long moments go without saying a word, although there was the occasional inanity.

  The planning for the Reagan funeral had begun more or less in 1981, changed and embellished over the years, much under the watchful gaze of Nancy Reagan. As Jim Hooley had been in charge of much of the advance and exec
ution of the California end of things, his friend and fellow former Reagan White House advance man, Rick Ahearn, was in charge of many of the events in Washington. Like Hooley, Ahearn was also a large Irishman with an often pleasant demeanor doing his best for another large Irishman who had a pleasant demeanor.

  Nancy Reagan did not control everything, however. The National Cathedral seated four thousand people but Congress controlled three thousand of the seats for the Friday funeral at the large, old church. The allocation of the three thousand seats was for foreign dignitaries, the Joint Chiefs, the Supreme Court, the Diplomatic Corps, and the like. Mrs. Reagan had to make do with the other one thousand to accommodate a lifetime of aides and friends and family.54 For the normal American family, one thousand tickets to a funeral would have been hundreds more than enough, but for the Reagans it was a stretch.

  There were people and friends and family from Chicago, Eureka, Dixon, Tampico, Des Moines, and Los Angeles; from Sacramento, Santa Barbara, Washington, London, Ottawa, Mexico City, and Grenada; from Moscow, Prague, Warsaw, Israel, and dozens of other places. Not to mention the staff and aides who were loyal to the couple at the beginning and at the end. Between the two of them, they had accumulated ten lifetimes of friends and associates. Her relatively small allotment of seats meant some Reaganites would sadly not be invited to the Cathedral. A couple of Reagan alumni groups made plans to have watching ceremonies.

  After the services in the National Cathedral, at the Reagan Building in downtown Washington, the surviving members of the Reagan cabinet would hold one last meeting. Almost every former Reagan cabinet official gladly appeared. It was a warm and poignant event sponsored by Lou Cordia, head of the Reagan Alumni Association.

  Ahearn was supervising dozens, including Linda Bond, who was supervising the ticket allocation and a thousand other details from the Mayflower Hotel, where thirty years earlier—in 1973—Reagan had spoken to the very first Conservative Political Action Conference organized by two young conservatives, Frank Donatelli, twenty-four years old, and Jim Roberts, twenty-seven years old, two of the most original of the original foot soldiers in the Reagan Revolution. They’d done so at the direction of Stan Evans and Tom Winter, two conservative writers, activists, and leaders. The star attraction at the very first CPAC was outgoing California governor Ronald Reagan. Demoralized by Richard Nixon’s policies and then, for some, Watergate, conservatives needed something to be hopeful about again.