Bush lost the race. Nonetheless, Baker was given a chance to run President Gerald Ford’s reelection campaign—which he also lost. He tried his hand at running his own campaign for Texas attorney general. Again, he lost. Bush gave his old friend another chance, this time leading his campaign against Ronald Reagan for the Republican nomination for president. Bush lost. Though Baker failed to ever run a winning campaign, he built up a reputation as a shrewd strategist and a talented administrator. After spending so much time trying to defeat Reagan, Baker was surprised when he got a call from the Reagan campaign inviting him to be the president’s chief of staff.
Reagan needed someone who understood Washington and who could get things done. Everyone knew Baker was right for the job, but Reagan had yet to meet him. Deaver arranged for Baker to join Reagan during a flight on his private plane, and Reagan was impressed with what he saw.
Baker was fifty years old when they met. Despite his graying hair and sagging jawline, he looked far younger than his age. Regular games of tennis had kept him trim, enabling him to continue indulging his appetite for tailored, expensive suits. His kept his hair short and slicked back, making him look at once neat and sinister, like Michael Douglas in the movie Wall Street. Everything about his manner and speech and dress conveyed self-possession. He seemed like the type of man who did not ask a question unless he already knew the answer. His meeting with the president-elect was pro forma; he had already won the job, but both men must have known that Reagan needed Baker more than Baker needed Reagan.
After settling the leadership details with Meese, Baker got to work designing the legislative strategy for Reagan’s first hundred days. Assembling a team of talented men and women and using the resources and access available to him as a member of the Troika, Baker focused on achieving Reagan’s two most important campaign promises—a big tax cut and an increase in defense spending. With an untested Republican president and both houses of Congress controlled by the Democrats, Baker was setting an ambitious goal for himself.
Every call that came in from a congressman was returned personally by Baker; he cozied up to the media; and he organized a legislative strategy group comprising the White House legislative office, the Department of the Treasury and the Office of Management and Budget to ensure that no important congressional ring went unkissed. Importantly, he used Deaver and Nancy to keep Meese’s policymaking aspirations in check—so as not to confuse the agenda. By the summer legislative recess of 1981, Baker could sit back and reflect on his extraordinary accomplishments that year. His efforts in those first hundred days helped secure Reagan’s legacy in the minds of some as a great American president. And he had done it all with little direction from Reagan.
Nothing in the childhood or early adult life of Michael Deaver indicated that he was on a path to someday serve in the White House as a chief adviser to the president. Unlike his future colleagues, he would not attend an Ivy League school, serve in the military or earn an advanced degree. But what he did possess was just as valuable to a person committed to a life in politics—a genuine likability and an endearing sense of ease.
Growing up in lower-middle-class Bakersfield, California, Deaver was the son of a local civil servant and politician. After a less than remarkable high school career,he attended San Jose State University, where he briefly studied journalism before shifting to what he hoped would be the less academically challenging field of political science. Following graduation, he joined the IBM executive training program before dropping out to play piano in a San Jose bar. Approaching thirty and running out of options, he eventually tried his hand at politics and enjoyed some success as a campaign organizer before joining Reagan’s 1966 race for governor.
Deaver walked into the headquarters of Ronald Reagan’s campaign unknown to most of the people there. But one of the campaign managers soon recognized his strengths and how to use them. A friendly and pleasant man, Deaver was quick to smile, and, when he did, there was a charming, mischievous sparkle in his eyes. His voice had a beautiful, deep resonance and a calming, folksy cadence. His boyish charm, the campaign manager thought, might win over many voters. But, more importantly, it might win over Nancy Reagan, who was annoying the staff with her frequent meddling and constant nagging phone calls. So Deaver was assigned to “Nancy duty.”
Winning her trust became Deaver’s route to understanding and befriending her husband. With Nancy’s help, Deaver learned Reagan’s moods so well that by the end of the campaign, he could read Reagan as well as anyone on his staff. After Reagan won the governorship, Deaver took a job helping run his Sacramento office and eventually became one of Reagan’s liaisons to the Republican Party. The job required Deaver to join the governor regularly during his frequent trips around the state on behalf of the party—raising money and supporting candidates. Spending so much time alone with Reagan further deepened Deaver’s understanding of the man and strengthened their relationship. Through the years, as Reagan’s personal “staff whisperer,” Deaver grew to be indispensable to the Reagans, performing important social functions for them. If there was a family crisis or a problem with an employee, Deaver played a leading role in resolving it.
When the Reagans entered the White House in 1980, Deaver strongly considered leaving them to pursue a career in lobbying, but Baker encouraged him to stay on. Baker, although he had just been appointed White House chief of staff, had yet to develop a personal relationship with the new president and hoped Deaver would serve as his liaison to the Reagan family. Baker and Deaver first met during Reagan’s unsuccessful 1976 campaign for the Republican nomination for president—Deaver was backing Reagan, and Baker was running the campaign of his rival, George H. W. Bush. Deaver was impressed; Baker, less so. When they met again a few years later, Deaver had changed little.
His mousy brown hair had receded a bit further and his frame had filled out a little more, but his narrow shoulders still gave him the profile of a person who, even in his early forties, looked as though he still had some growing to do. He was still wearing the same baggy suits that probably once belonged to his big brother, and his public comments still displayed the same careless disregard for facts that pegged him as the sort of man who was used to bobbing and weaving through life. But Baker needed Deaver, and so did the Reagans, so Deaver moved his family to DC.
When Baker, Deaver and Meese decided to join forces, Deaver never expected to be an equal, but, being so close to the Reagans, he became essential for the role he played in managing Reagan’s relationship with members of the staff. It was a role Reagan himself might have played had he been a stronger manager and more tolerant of the sometimes uncomfortable interpersonal dealings that were necessary. One particularly difficult relationship involved Secretary of State Alexander Haig, who had become an annoyance to Reagan soon after taking office. Reagan wanted him out but could not manage it on his own. The Troika, led by Deaver, took charge, doing for Reagan what most presidents do with great reluctance—pushing out a cabinet officer.
III
To Play the King
Alexander Haig was an intemperate and reckless presence in an administration that prized teamwork, restraint and serenity. Seeming to ignore experience gained over more than a decade of service at the white-hot center of Washington power, he developed a reputation in the Reagan White House for being egocentric and self-indulgent. His actions over the course of his less than two years as secretary of state would do lasting damage to what had been an extraordinary career.
After graduating from West Point, Haig served during the Korean War under General Douglas MacArthur. Later he attended both the Army and the Naval War Colleges and briefly Columbia University before going on to receive a master’s degree in international relations from Georgetown. He was a battalion commander in the Vietnam War and received the Distinguished Service Cross, the Silver Star, the Bronze Star and the Purple Heart. Before serving as a four-star general and the seventh Supreme Allied Commander of Europe, he was White House chief of staf
f to President Nixon. And, if anyone needed further evidence of his mettle, he needed only to remind them that he had been deputy national security adviser to the legendarily difficult Henry Kissinger.
At fifty-seven, Haig had the bearing of a man used to being in charge. He had mastered the duality of seeming both relaxed and intense at the same time. Piercing eyes gave his face a stern, no-nonsense urgency, and even at ease he had an air of authority. He dressed with the careful, deliberate elegance of a man who was probably self-conscious about being short, and he spoke with an affected accent that was designed, perhaps, to convey gravity. He gave the impression of calm insouciance, but in times of stress he buzzed with the coiled energy of a clenched fist.
On the night of Reagan’s first inauguration, even before Meese had a chance to step out of his tuxedo trousers, Haig handed him a memo identifying himself as the administration’s principal voice on international matters—even in those areas that overlapped with the domestic. Haig remembered how annoyed Secretaries of State Vance and Rogers had been by the constant poaching of National Security Advisers Brzezinski and Kissinger and wanted to prevent anything similar from occurring on his watch. In other hands, the memo might have been received as an earnest and helpful attempt to hit the ground running. But coming from Haig, who was quickly gaining a reputation for being difficult, Meese, Deaver and Baker interpreted it as a power grab.
Having been a chief of staff, Haig was undoubtedly experienced enough to understand how his memo might be misinterpreted, and his instincts must have warned him to tread carefully around the Troika, but something deep within him prevented him from doing so. It was as if he expected them to bend to his needs without his having to return the favor.
Haig’s first serious conflict with the Troika was over the leadership of the White House Crisis Management Team. His infamous memo to Meese envisioned his leadership of the body. Haig had received personal assurances from Reagan that he would be in charge, but as he started seeing signs that Vice President Bush might actually get the post, he complained—first privately, then during a congressional hearing. Deaver was incensed that Haig would go public with what he thought was an internal matter and commented to Reagan soon after the hearing that Haig was a cancer that would have to be cut out.11
In Haig’s eyes, Deaver was the most frustrating member of the Troika. During the administration’s first official visit to Europe, Haig, as secretary of state, expected to be seated close to the president on their airplane flights, but Deaver, who was in charge of protocol and logistics on the trip, saw to it that he rarely was. During ceremonial functions with Queen Elizabeth II and Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, Deaver never positioned Haig close enough to the center of attention for his liking. Each time Haig perceived a slight, he threw a tantrum. Deaver claimed later (in his memoirs) to have been one of Haig’s biggest supporters, but his actions, especially during the European trip, seem to suggest otherwise.
Haig was unaware that Reagan had grown tired of him and that he and the Troika had begun openly discussing his exit. Among his colleagues, Deaver appears to have played the most active role in orchestrating the secretary of state’s departure. At first, his actions seemed more intended to urge Haig to get his ego in check, but later, Deaver’s behavior became more aggressive.
Hoping to send a clear message, Deaver decided there needed to be a stronger voice in the West Wing on foreign-policy issues in order to compete with Haig’s bluster and complaint. Deaver saw to it that Richard Allen, Reagan’s weak national security adviser, was replaced with William Clark, who was an old friend of the president’s and who had once served as his chief of staff in California. Deaver knew from experience that unlike Allen, Clark was capable of standing up to Haig. At first, Haig and Clark seemed to get along, but their working relationship began to fray once Clark started to make recommendations to Reagan that competed with the advice he was getting from Haig. After that, it was only a matter of time until genuine tensions developed between the national security adviser and the secretary of state.
By the time Haig had begun to add Clark to his list of complaints, Reagan ad had enough. When the ax finally fell, the secretary of state seemed to be the only person caught by surprise.
Haig’s ultimate removal took place over a couple of days in late June 1982. The combative secretary of state had a habit of threatening to resign during his complaint sessions with Reagan, and the Troika suggested that the president accept Haig’s next offer to do so. They did not have to wait long. They arranged for Haig to meet with the president in the Oval Office, where it was expected that Haig would use the opportunity to lodge his usual list of grievances. As anticipated, during a rant about Clark, Haig again threatened to resign. The president’s usual approach was to talk Haig back from the ledge, but this time he appeared to let the matter pass.
Then, the next day, following a reception in the West Wing, Reagan asked Haig to join him in his office. Haig was dumbfounded when Reagan unceremoniously handed him a letter accepting his offer of resignation from the day before.
Haig tried to convince the president that his threat to resign had not been serious, but Reagan would hear none of it. In the president’s mind, the scene was over. The Troika had written the script and set the stage, and, as directed, Reagan hit his mark, delivered his lines and took his exit.
Haig was left standing alone as Reagan walked immediately into the press room where Baker and Deaver were waiting, having arranged a press conference. With the tone of a man who had just lost his best friend, Reagan announced Haig’s resignation. Then, looking to his left, he introduced the public to his new secretary of state, George Schultz.
IV
The Troika: Partner to Power
Much is made of Andrew Jackson’s “Kitchen Cabinet” and Abraham Lincoln’s “Team of Rivals” as examples of successful White House partnerships. Perhaps it was one of these models that Baker was thinking of when he conceived the idea for the Troika. The difficulties he and his colleagues experienced trying to sustain their three-way partnership demonstrates just how challenging it can be to do so.
The role of the president’s right hand may be too personal and demanding for the team approach to work. For a brief period, Baker, Deaver and Meese functioned as Reagan’s right hand as well as might be expected of three strong personalities trying to fill a role traditionally held by one person. The team eventually disintegrated when Meese, frustrated by his frequent conflicts with Baker, disengaged. Soon afterward, Deaver regained his interest in working in the public sector, and Baker started putting out signals that he wanted to move to the Treasury Department.
There have been other such right-hand partnerships that, at least briefly, were effective, but none quite captured public attention like the Troika. Two partnerships during previous administrations are worthy of note: Haldeman and Ehrlichman, under Nixon, and Rumsfeld and Cheney, under Ford.
When H. R. Haldeman was chief of staff to President Nixon, he liked to refer to himself as the “president’s son of a bitch.” He worked closely with John Ehrlichman, an old college buddy who was Nixon’s counsel and domestic policy adviser. Their control of access to President Nixon was so complete that White House aides referred to them as the “Berlin Wall.” If Haldeman was Nixon’s hammer, then Ehrlichman was his “extinguisher” for the way he put out political and bureaucratic blazes. The purpose of their partnership was to protect Nixon not only from outsiders, but also from himself.
The president was so socially awkward that he made even those with whom he had frequent contact uncomfortable. To offset the tension, Haldeman and Ehrlichman would tightly script his social interactions. Equally challenging for the pair was the president’s tendency toward capricious decision-making. To prevent Nixon from doing unintended harm, they worked together to slow down the White House working process to ensure that the decisions Nixon made were indeed what he intended. Their briefly successful partnership came to an end when both men resigned because of th
eir roles in the Watergate scandal.
Nixon’s successor, Gerald Ford, initially functioned as his own chief of staff, but when he realized how impossible that would be to sustain, he hired Donald Rumsfeld, with Richard “Dick” Cheney as deputy chief of staff. Cheney and Rumsfeld inherited a disorganized White House distracted by bitter rivalries between Ford’s staff and the Nixon holdovers. To protect Ford from disputes, Rumsfeld instituted a hierarchical system whereby only nine aides reported directly to the president—and Rumsfeld controlled even their access to Ford. According to historian and presidential scholar Fred Greenstein, Ford’s management style was to “steer clear of jurisdictional rivalries, avoid having confidants within his cabinet, have private sources of advice outside the cabinet, and to leave ‘management and program implementation to the department heads.’”12
Such a leadership approach strengthened the coordination function that Rumsfeld and Cheney performed. With his prickly, demanding personality, Rumsfeld assumed the role of Ford’s hammer. Cheney’s less challenging disposition complemented Rumsfeld’s as they managed the White House together.
The forming of coalitions is a common feature of politics and policymaking, and it is no different at the White House. Reagan’s personality and unique management style are the main reasons such an arrangement was necessary, but the willingness of Baker, Deaver and Meese to work closely together and to subsume their individual needs to those of the team contributed to their success. Given the nature of politics and the competitiveness of Washington, it is not difficult to understand why coalitions like the Troika are so rare.
That the Troika survived at all was as much a credit to the commitment of those involved as it was about the public’s willingness to tolerate such an arrangement. Historians like Lou Cannon and Hedrick Smith helped make the American public aware of the Troika and its influence, and the public seemed, in light of the obvious shortcomings of the president, generally accepting of its existence.13
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