In 1981, an unprecedented tax cut capped a highly successful first year in office for Reagan, and that success helped lift him—in the eyes of conservatives, at least—into the upper ranks of postwar presidents. But the Ronald Reagan most Americans remember today would not have been possible without the Troika.
The legend of Ronald Reagan was almost extinguished even before it had a chance to fully ignite when, on March 30, 1981, the Troika’s greatest test and finest hour converged in the face of a major crisis. Less than three months into his first term, Reagan was shot coming out of a side entrance of the Washington Hilton Hotel by a deranged twenty-something who thought the act would somehow charm actress Jodie Foster into acknowledging his love letters. The incident would throw the White House into chaos and test the bond of Reagan’s new team of advisers…
James Baker, Reagan’s chief of staff, was the oldest member of the team. Largely distrusted by the “Reaganauts” for having spent much of his political career trying to defeat Reagan, Baker was a master political strategist whose personal power grew with each passing day in the White House…
Ed Meese, counselor to the president, whose broad and sweeping authorities made him—on paper at least—the Troika’s most powerful member, was essential to the team in the early days, but as time progressed, it became clear that he was out of his depth…
And Deputy Chief of Staff Michael Deaver, “body man to the president,” who served as liaison and interpreter for the Reagans, was so close to the president that he was treated like a member of the family. Deaver became what all presidents must have—a hatchet man, someone to thin the herd by cutting out staffers who proved ineffective or were no longer useful.
Together, these three men of no great distinction or accomplishment carved up the planet and divided the pieces among themselves in the name of Ronald Reagan. Nothing like the Troika had ever existed before and perhaps never will again.
I
Child Monarch
When former Speaker of the House Tip O’Neill once accused Reagan of being lazy, he was not referring to his administration. The large tax cut and Pentagon budget increase the Reagan Administration achieved in its first year in office is considered extraordinary even by today’s standards. Another success, the administration’s election victories, helped reshape the national political landscape for more than a generation. And this is to say nothing of Reagan’s historic foreign-policy endeavors. What is important to note, however, is that most of these accomplishments occurred without Reagan’s direction and often with only his minimal knowledge.
Reagan’s widely acknowledged passive management style was due largely to the fact that he lacked the interest, and perhaps the energy, to be more engaged. It was not simply a matter of being unprepared. After all, the presidency is not a job for which one can ever really be sufficiently prepared. Nothing in President Woodrow Wilson’s experience, for example, suggested that he possessed the knowledge or skills to lead the Paris peace accords. And yet, there he was, sitting at the big table, making deals and literally writing history. The same might be said of President Lyndon Johnson, the small-town Texas politician who found himself calling in airstrikes from the White House as the Vietnam War raged half a world away. Most presidents have simply thrown themselves into the work whether or not they felt they were ready. As President Harry Truman famously observed, the buck stops with them. Reagan had a different approach.
On the morning of August 19, 1981, in the skies above the Gulf of Sidra in the southern Mediterranean, two American F-14 fighter jets were fired upon by two Libyan warplanes. The American pilots immediately returned fire. In the span of a minute, the battle was over. As the F-14s returned to their aircraft carrier, USS Nimitz, two Libyan parachutes could be seen floating downward into the gulf—one of them aflame. Soon after, the US secretary of defense called the Century Plaza Hotel in Los Angeles, where Reagan was staying, to inform the president of the incident. It was 11:00 p.m. in Los Angeles, and Reagan was asleep. Ed Meese took the call. He saw no reason to wake the president.
As the commander in chief lay slumbering in the next room, Meese dealt with the immediate aftermath of what would become the first violent act committed by the US armed forces during Reagan’s presidency. He determined when and how the American people should be informed of the incident, and he determined when to brief Reagan—around four in the morning, after which the president promptly returned to the warmth of his bed.
The media had a field day when it discovered how disconnected Reagan was from the affair. Reagan just laughed it off, yet it was a prophetic indicator of just how disengaged he would be in the years ahead.
Why did Meese wait so long to inform the president? Former Washington Post reporter and Reagan biographer Lou Cannon’s assessment of Meese and the rest of the Troika was that “no one in the presidential entourage had confidence in the judgment or capacities of the president. Pragmatists and conservatives alike treated Reagan as if he were a child monarch in need of constant protection. They paid homage to him, but gave him no respect.”2 President Reagan was not informed about this international incident because, in the eyes of his closest advisers, he did not need to be informed. For Reagan, the presidency was a nine-to-five job.
In 1964, two decades before the Libyan incident, Reagan was staring down sixty and living a comfortable, though unsatisfying, life in suburban Los Angeles. He had enjoyed some success as an actor, but his career had sputtered, and he now found himself struggling to break the chains of the middle ranks of Hollywood stardom. A couple years before, he had been fired from his longtime job as a pitchman for General Electric for sharing his controversial views about the growth of the federal government. He had once been a strong supporter of the Democratic Party, but, if the legend is true, it was while traveling the country on behalf of GE that he experienced an ideological conversion, transforming him from a stalwart stump-man for the Democrats into the conservative “true believer” that we know today. By the end of the decade, he would ride that newfound conservatism into the California governor’s mansion.
Whatever Reagan’s motivation for leaving the movie business, he must have soon realized he was not quite cut out for a life in politics. His communication skills were outstanding, but government was possibly the least appropriate career choice for a man of his temperament.
Reagan was interested into politics only in the general sense, and he was not “political.” A friend once described him as not the kind of person who sat around at the end of the day discussing politics over cocktails like FDR. Even at the apex of his political power, he was oddly indifferent to the process of governing. During the 1980 presidential transition, outgoing president Jimmy Carter arranged a detailed presentation for Reagan describing and explaining at length the particular issues and obligations a president has to deal with. Carter noted in his memoirs how utterly disinterested Reagan seemed in even the most urgent matters of the office. Reagan sat quietly and listened as Carter spoke, asking no questions and taking no notes. When Carter offered him a pen, Reagan declined. “I will remember,” he said.3
He was even less motivated by policymaking. Reagan preferred to be the “pitchman,” leaving the management of the pesky policy details to others. In his memoirs, General Colin Powell, Reagan’s national security adviser during his second term, expressed the frustration that was commonplace among Reagan’s closest advisers: “The President’s passive management style placed a tremendous burden on us. Until we got used to it, we felt uneasy implementing our recommendations without a clear decision (from Reagan).”4
For a politician, Reagan was also unsettlingly aloof. Not just with strangers, but with everyone. Reagan’s own children spoke of an impenetrable wall around him.5 He could be charming and engaging in social settings, and he had the interpersonal skills suited to short, casual encounters, but he seemed to have little interest in anything deeper. His wife, Nancy, once said of him, “Although he loves people, he often seems remote, and he doesn’t let anybody too c
lose.”6 His longtime friend Charles Wick observed, “No matter how close anybody was to him, maybe with the exception of Nancy, his openness is such that there still is a very slight wall that you don’t get past.”7 Reagan’s distance made it impossible for him to attend to the delicate interpersonal matters that are an unavoidable part of effective management.
Some have suggested that his emotional distance was the consequence of a long career in the public eye. Others, including Nancy Reagan, have pointed to his childhood.
Ronald Reagan was raised by a deeply religious mother and a frustrated, alcoholic father whose difficulty holding down a job required the family to move more times than any child should. Ron attended four different schools in as many years. Even after the family finally settled in Dixon, Illinois, they lived in five different homes, making it difficult for Ron to build lasting friendships. He spent hours reading by himself, playing with toys, or alone in the woods nearby. Biographers believe he emerged from this period of his life completely self-contained and independent, seemingly without a need for close companionship. He liked people and enjoyed their company, but he was not dependent on them.
In 1964, as Reagan contemplated a career in politics, he must have known enough about the profession even then to realize that, on paper, he was not suited to it. He must have known that his detachment and his indifference to the process of policymaking might pose problems for him down the road. But his experience as president of the Screen Actors Guild and working for GE must have convinced him that, with help, he might succeed. So, he began to assemble a team of men and women whose qualities and skills helped him overcome his deficiencies as a policymaker and as a leader. Three men in particular would become vital to his success. Each of them had challenges of his own, but, together with Reagan, they would scale great heights.
II
The Privy Council
On a brisk autumn morning in 1981, Ed Meese sat alone on the small stage in the Old Executive Office Building, waiting for each of the thirty high school students to take their seats. They knew they had been granted a special privilege in getting to spend an hour with the counselor to the president of the United States, but the impressionable young men and women must have been disappointed when they realized that the man smiling back at them from the stage was the featured speaker.
Those expecting to see an impressive figure were greeted instead by an ordinary-looking man of middle age, with slumped shoulders and a slightly disheveled aspect. His blotchy and bloated face, ample midsection and meaty hands gave him the appearance of a neighborhood butcher. He might have reminded them of a favorite uncle or even their grandfather. Then, he started to speak, and they understood immediately why he was there.
As counselor to the president, Meese was responsible for helping shape Reagan’s policymaking in all areas—domestic and international. Reagan’s chief of staff, James Baker, and Meese had decided early on to share the responsibilities of running the White House, with Baker overseeing relations with Congress and the media and with Meese managing the Domestic Policy and National Security Councils. The sweep of Meese’s responsibilities was immense, requiring more than a working knowledge of every imaginable subject that the president might encounter: interest-rate fluctuations, Supreme Court deliberations, crop prices, Soviet leadership turnover. As Meese spoke and responded authoritatively to questions on a myriad of subjects, the students recognized there was more to Meese than met the eye.
Raised in Oakland, California, in the last years of the Great Depression, Edwin Meese grew up the eldest of four boys in a strict Lutheran middle-class household. He attended Yale on scholarship before studying law at Berkeley. His first job after law school was in the office of the Alameda County District Attorney. It was while lobbying for the State Association of District Attorneys in the early 1960s that Meese first came to Reagan’s attention. In 1966, after winning the California governorship, Reagan needed someone to handle judicial issues for him, and Meese came highly recommended. On the spot, Reagan offered him a job running the extraditions department, where he quickly gained a reputation for steady and reliable leadership.
Reagan was drawn to Meese’s upbeat, easygoing personality and appreciated the patience he displayed when explaining complicated matters. Reagan grew to trust his judgment and his leadership, and Meese quickly rose through the ranks to become the governor’s chief of staff.
When Reagan won the White House, he shocked and disappointed Meese with his decision to appoint James Baker chief of staff. For more than a decade, Meese had been Reagan’s right-hand man, and Meese could claim a healthy portion of the credit for his election as president. As post-election DC watched the White House leadership chips fall into place, most observers shared Meese’s expectation that he would be tapped for chief of staff. But, unbeknown to all but a handful of insiders, there was a secret effort underway, led by Michael Deaver, to prevent Reagan from giving Meese the job.
Deaver respected Meese’s command of policy but thought he lacked the experience and organization skills to manage the White House.8 He discussed the issue with Reagan’s campaign chairman, Stuart Spencer, and together they decided that James Baker was the better candidate for the post. After Deaver convinced Nancy Reagan, together with Spencer, he and Nancy went to work on Reagan. Well acquainted with Meese’s flaws, and understanding the need for an experienced Washington hand to manage his team, Reagan agreed to give Baker the post, but he insisted that Baker find a way to share the job with Meese.
As in Sacramento, Meese played a vital role for Reagan in the White House by stepping in to compensate for Reagan’s flaws as a manager of the policy process. The problem with Reagan was that he delegated easily, but he never followed up with staff on issues he assigned them. He expected staffers to manage themselves. Additionally, his trust in staff, and his disinterest in the details, made him vulnerable to exploitation. It was dangerous to leave Reagan alone with a staffer. The viewpoint of the last person to speak to him on any given issue often prevailed. Meese understood this about Reagan and took over the supervision of the staff for him. To an eye untrained in the ways of Washington, Meese’s broad portfolio may have appeared to make him the center of power in the White House—even Meese thought so for a while, but the real power center in the West Wing was James Baker.
Ronald Reagan might very well owe the success of his presidency, his reelection and perhaps even his lasting legacy to Baker’s legislative accomplishments in the president’s first two years in office. Reagan may have provided the vision, but he lacked the skills and the interest to translate that vision into actual policy accomplishments. Baker is widely considered one of the greatest White House chiefs of staff in history for his control over its internal affairs and his nuanced and agile handling of the policymaking process. As a member of the Troika, he was first among equals. He played Deaver and Meese like the master manipulator that he was. It has been said about Baker that you sometimes do not know he has played you until the game is over.
Despite Reagan’s insistence, Baker had no intention of sharing power equally with Meese. He invited Meese to lunch on the first day to discuss staff organization and presented him with a rough contract he had drawn up that divided the leading White House duties between the two of them:9 Baker would manage relations with the world outside of the White House, and Meese would manage relations within. Baker would retain the title of chief of staff, and Meese would be named counselor to the president. Meese would oversee policy, while Baker would be in charge of politics. As a cherry on top, Baker suggested that Meese have cabinet rank, which pleased Meese because he thought it meant he had parity with Baker. It would not take long for him to realize that cabinet rank was not all it was cracked up to be.
Baker gave up nothing of great value in his bargain with Meese. Meese had cabinet rank and control over White House policymaking, but Baker controlled all the real levers of power. As chief of staff, Baker had final say in who was hired and fired; Baker retained the tra
ditional chief of staff office next to Reagan’s, giving him immediate access to the president; Baker retained control of the flow of paper to and from the Oval Office, thereby controlling what Reagan saw and what was said to him; Baker could sit in any of Reagan’s meetings, ensuring that he had a say in any decision; and Baker would be the White House liaison to Congress. This last responsibility was perhaps the most important. While Meese controlled the policymaking organs within the White House, Baker controlled the congressional ones—where Meese’s policies went to grow up. The agreement between the two guaranteed Meese access and influence, but the real power lay with Baker.
Born into a wealthy family of Houston lawyers in 1930, James Baker came from a long line of master negotiators. He was named after his famous grandfather and family patriarch, James Addison Baker, who established a law practice that endures to this day and was a successful banker and a founding father of Rice University. Baker was taught early that he had a major legacy to live up to, but his mother and father gave him a good head start.
He attended the exclusive Hill School in Pennsylvania and received an undergraduate degree from Princeton before returning home to attend law school at the University of Texas–Austin. He served briefly in the Marine Corps in the early 1950s before accepting a job at a competing Houston law firm. Hoping to make it on his own, he chose not to work at the family firm. He married, started a family and began building a successful career helping make rich Houston oilmen richer. Then, tragedy struck.
His wife developed an aggressive form of breast cancer that quickly took her life, leaving Baker alone with four young boys to raise. By his own admission, during this difficult period he drank heavily.10 He described returning home at the end of each day to a sad house where he had to maintain the semblance of hope as he tried to raise his boys without their mother. Each night, after putting them to bed, he would go to his room with a bottle of scotch tucked under his arm. This was his life until he got a call from his good friend George H. W. Bush asking him to run his campaign for the US Senate.
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