These madcap campaigns were not for the faint of heart or connoisseurs of gourmet food. Staff subsisted on bad airplane food, greasy hamburgers, old coffee, and nicotine, and the evenings were fueled with too much alcohol. Most candidates avoided drinking on the road. Reagan had an occasional glass of wine; Bush, a martini; and Jimmy Carter, of course, was a near-teetotaler. Ted Kennedy, it appeared, was holding on to the wagon.
Reagan's favorite dessert was carrot cake, but he would devour any dessert put before him. Bush enjoyed granola and yogurt in the morning, while snacking on potato chips or popcorn on the campaign plane at other times. Jerry Brown nibbled on whole-wheat noodles and raw cauliflower. Bush ran each morning and Reagan worked out in his hotel room with an exercise wheel. Kennedy exercised infrequently because of his bad back, and he had to avoid ice cream and other rich foods, as he gained weight easily.
Food and drink in politics could be a delicate matter. George Wallace, stereotypically, filled his plane with MoonPies and Dr Peppers. John Kennedy and Bobby Kennedy more sensibly stocked their planes with cartons of Campbell's tomato soup. In 1968 Nelson Rockefeller thoughtfully provided oysters and a man to shuck them for the traveling press. In 1972 Sargent Shriver, stumping in New Hampshire, went into a blue-collar drinking establishment in Nashua with a throng of media. Shriver sidled up to the bar and ordered a round of beer for the house, earning cheers—until he asked for a snifter of Courvoisier for himself.
Later that year, George McGovern was campaigning in a Jewish section of New York, where he ordered a kosher hotdog and “a glass of milk.”18
THE DAY AFTER THE big win in New Hampshire, Governor and Mrs. Reagan flew by commercial plane to Vermont, site of a primary in one week. Standing before the media, Reagan was asked about the departed aides. He refused to say they'd been fired. Indeed, he praised each, calling them “good men.”19 His campaign was doing all it could to avoid provoking Sears, Black, and Lake.
Reagan also took responsibility for Sears's profligate spending: “I went along with them too.” But the fact was that his campaign's finances were in shambles. The FEC allowed candidates to spend approximately $17 million over the thirty-odd primaries, but Reagan's campaign had already spent more than $12 million. Bush, on the other hand, had spent only $6.3 million to date and had plenty in reserve. Reagan's campaign had been spending more than $500,000 a month just on salaries.20
Dealing with this financial crisis was Casey's first task. This unlikely Reaganite—a product of the East Coast moneyed elites, who were supporting candidates like Bush or Connally but not populists like Reagan—set about paring the campaign to a bare-bones operation in order to save the Gipper's chances for the nomination. Under Casey, the payroll was cut in half, from $500,000 per month down to $250,000. Fully half of the campaign staff of 275 was laid off.21
While Casey worked to get the operations in order, Reagan continued campaigning fiercely. He knocked the president hard on the hostage crisis, saying that Carter had “botched” it. He also said that by holding Americans, Iran was engaging in an “act of war.”22 Reagan hammered Ted Kennedy on Iran, too. Referring to Kennedy's proposal to set up an international tribunal to investigate Iran's complaints against Washington in exchange for release of the hostages, Reagan railed in his stump speech, “It's nice to be liked, but it's more important to be respected.”23
With Reagan suddenly back in front, Bush's campaign eyed a new strategy. Stung by the criticisms that Bush had been too “vague” on the issues, his team debated whether he should make a major speech on foreign policy. The staff also wrestled with taking the gloves off on Reagan's age, but the idea of an advertising assault was set aside. It could backfire by making Bush look mean; it would certainly make Reagan and Mrs. Reagan more angry at Bush than they already were; and it would doom any chance whatsoever for Bush to go on the ticket with Reagan in Detroit if the governor won the nomination.
But Bush could not resist toying with the age issue. At a press conference in Florida, Bush denied that he was attacking Reagan for being sixty-nine years old but then said, “People are going to want a person who can be a president for eight years.”24
The dynamics in Florida for Bush changed immediately following New Hampshire. Bush's office in Miami had been inundated with phone calls in the days leading up to New Hampshire. The day after, the phones went dead. “I think,” admitted Bill Schuette, the Bush director in the state, “that this [New Hampshire] will slow that momentum.” It was an understatement.25
Reagan's offices, which had been a lethargic operation, suddenly burst with new volunteers and contributors, according to his regional fieldman, Herb Harmon.26 Reagan had been in trouble in Florida for months. One of the few state leaders for Reagan from 1976 who had survived the purges in preparation for 1980 was Tommy Thomas, a car dealer from Panama City. Thomas had the build and tact of a bull—without the etiquette. Thomas said whatever he was thinking. He had one piece of advice for Reagan, which he naturally gave in public: “Quit being such a nice guy.”27
As Reagan's campaign began to take off, Bush's campaign struggled more and more. In Florida Bush was being dogged by newspaper ads, sponsored by the Florida Conservative Union and its chairman, Mike Thompson, detailing Bush's involvement with the Council on Foreign Relations, a right-wing bogeyman similar to the Trilateral Commission. Both—conservatives said—were bent on one-world government. The ads went after Bush and those members of his staff who had some sort of association with either organization.
As it happened, Bill Casey was also a member of the Council on Foreign Relations, but Reagan's new campaign manager was never attacked over this matter the way Bush was.
The pressures and frustrations seemed to be getting to Bush. At one Florida campaign appearance, pro-life demonstrators were heckling him. Bush walked over to their leader, a respected physician named Bart Heffernan, and whispered in his ear, “Go fuck yourself.” Rather than doing that, Heffernan instead put Bush's anatomical observations in his newsletter and it got into the hands of the national media.28
Dave Keene prided himself on never lying to his friends in the media. He could spin with the best of them, so when reporters asked him whether Bush had really said this to Dr. Heffernan, Keene replied, “Now, does that sound like something George would say?” The ploy worked and the media moved on.29
TEDDY KENNEDY LIMPED INTO the South. He went to Alabama, where two dozen protesters heckled him at a speech at a steel mill in Birmingham. It was ugly. A handmade sign read, “How Can You Save the Country When You Couldn't Save Mary Jo?” Another steelworker yelled, “You're a murderer,” and a medical student taunted Kennedy, “You cheated on a test!”—a reference to Kennedy's expulsion from Harvard.30
Kennedy did his best to ignore them and finished his speech, in which he promised to fight for gun-control legislation. Because of such statements, the National Rifle Association had only accelerated its “If Kennedy Wins, You Lose” campaign as the primary season moved south.31
Although the president could claim only fifty-five delegates to Kennedy's thirty-six, Carter's team wondered how much more pounding Kennedy was willing to take. The national media had all but completely turned against Kennedy. They referred to his campaign as “The Bozo Zone,” a send-up of The Twilight Zone. Reporters got on the public-address system of the plane to broadcast bogus news reports about the stumbles of the candidate and the comic story that Teddy's campaign had become.
Carter had walloped Kennedy in Iowa and New Hampshire, and now the White House aimed for a knockout. Carter didn't just want to beat Kennedy, he wanted to crush him, humiliate him. It would be Carter's revenge against the smarmy liberals from Georgetown who made fun of him and his clan. Carter wasn't just using the hostage crisis to maximum effect; the full force of his campaign and the government were brought to bear on poor, unsuspecting Teddy. Early on, Carter's team had worried that a bandwagon effect would take place, that terrified Democrats would quickly endorse Kennedy and run away from
Carter's reelection campaign. So the president's operatives had organized assiduously for months in the early states, especially in lining up early endorsements. First they went after the big-city mayors, reminding them of the federal largesse given them over the past three years. The mayors, with their machines to consider, reluctantly signed up. Other sheepish Democratic politicians quickly fell in line behind the president, albeit with tails between their legs. Carter poured it on.
The president didn't need to worry about Jerry Brown by this point. Brown's campaign had devolved into a sad joke. Thousands of his petitions in New York were disqualified because two-thirds of the signers were not registered to vote. Brown's name was thrown off the ballot. His manager resigned, noting the difficulty of “working without salary.”32
JOHN CONNALLY'S CAMPAIGN WAS a mess as well. He was now on his third campaign manager: his son, John Connally III. Connally's newest spokesman, Bill Rhatican, quipped, “I would say right now John Connally is his own campaign manager.”33 Despite the whipping administered to him so far, Big John said, “I could turn this country around in the first 24 hours if I was in office.”34 The words “humility” and “Connally” had never collided in the same sentence.
Connally decided to make South Carolina his last stand with Reagan. He had won the support of both Senator Strom Thurmond—who had played footsie with Reagan in 1976 but had never come out for him—and Governor Jim Edwards, who had supported Reagan in 1976.
When Bush found out that Connally was making a big effort there to stop Reagan, he changed the agreed-upon strategy, which had been to stay out of the Gamecock State. Bush overruled the vigorous protestations of his campaign and paid the $1,500 filing fee. Jim Baker told reporters that Bush was going to South Carolina because Howard Baker was there, but the candidate was really going in because he hated Connally.
Bush had won the endorsement of Harry Dent of South Carolina, a former Nixon and Ford aide who made a big footprint in the GOP South. Dent despised Reagan and told Bush that he could win South Carolina, since he surmised that Reagan and Connally would divide the conservative vote. Dent immediately began to spread rumors that Connally's campaign was being run by blacks and homosexuals.
Connally replied by calling Dent “the original dirty tricks man.”35 Yet another of his temporary spokesmen, Jim McAvoy, told the media that Connally would not quit, even if he lost South Carolina, and that his goal was to hold Reagan to under 40 percent.36 They were whistling past the kudzu.
BILL BROCK'S REPUBLICAN NATIONAL Committee was gearing up for the November elections. Brock had transformed the organization in just a few short years. The Republicans' house file list had grown to more than 650,000 names of proven givers—bigger, even, than it was after the 1964 Goldwater campaign—with an average return of $26 per name. The year before, the committee had spent $3.5 million on direct mail, which had impressively netted more than $9.5 million.37 The RNC had fourteen trained regional political directors whose experience in running campaigns was put to use by sending them constantly on the road to give ideas, support, and advice to GOP candidates, managers, and committees.
Brock had instituted an impressive outreach program to minorities, women, labor, professionals, farmers, and other interest groups. He produced several widely read publications that not only boosted morale but also spread the Republican message. In addition, Brock was making plans to run a multimillion-dollar “institutional” campaign to further spread Republican cheer while taking it to the Democrats. His overall budget for 1980 was more than $20 million, up 200 percent in just four years.
Brock also rolled out one of the funniest and most effective commercials of the season. An actor who looked suspiciously like House Speaker Tip O'Neill was accompanied in a Lincoln Continental by a nervous young aide. “The Speaker” was depicted weaving down the highway, oblivious to his predicament as he ignored the aide's pleas to look at the gas gauge. Finally, as the car died on the side of the road, the comic faux O'Neill shrieked, “Hey, we're out of gas!” A voiceover intoned, “The Democrats are out of gas.”38
The commercial (which later won a Clio Award for excellence in advertising) was a brilliant indictment of a Democratic Party that many believed hadn't had an original initiative in years, had poor energy policies, and was led in Congress by a man who was trapped in a New Deal past.
WITH THE DEPARTURE OF Sears from the Reagan campaign, all the old Reaganites began to come back into the fold. Lyn Nofziger, Marty Anderson, Mike Deaver, and others eventually returned to Reagan. The band was back together. A triumvirate of Meese, Casey, and Wirthlin was running the operation. The Californians, along with honorary new member Casey, were back. For the first time in a long time, Reagan was having fun again and there was joy in Mudville.
But Sears, Lake, and Black would not remain silent long. After their firing they had holed up in a Boston hotel to steer clear of reporters who were inundating them with interview requests, but they soon returned to Washington. Two days later they held a ninety-minute press conference at the National Press Club. The trio wanted to make it clear that they had not resigned. “I was fired,” Black said, and the others concurred.39
The three avoided any personal criticism of the Gipper, but they portrayed the Reagan campaign as “an operation plagued with incompetence, internal rivalries and an indecisive candidate, unprepared on the issues and insulated from the problems on his staff.”40 Sears, of course, had been in charge of that operation. He and Black had hired much of the staff they now suggested was incompetent. And Reagan didn't look very indecisive when he participated in the scheme to fire them in New Hampshire.
Sears and Black both nervously smoked cigarettes as they sat during the press conference. Sears admitted that the financial mess was entirely of his doing, but he blamed Nofziger, Meese, and Deaver for sundry misdeeds. He also said Reagan had been poorly briefed, which is why he did not participate in the Iowa debates, a decision that Sears said was Reagan's decision, not his own.41 This was true—in a way. Sears had recommended that Reagan not go and Reagan had acceded to the recommendation of the man in whose hands he'd put his career.
Bitterness sometimes crept into their comments. Black said, “If this [press conference] gets Gov. Reagan bad publicity, then I'm sorry. But we will not sit here and fail to tell you the truth.”42
In character, Nofziger fired a salvo back from Los Angeles, saying that Sears was “paranoid, has been for a long time. He can't stand to have anybody disagree with him.”43
The experience was terribly hard on the three men, as they had invested more than five years of their lives in Ronald Reagan, going back to 1975 as part of Citizens for Reagan. They had many friends there, and each had spent untold hours with Reagan on planes, in cars, in hotels, and over meals. It was clear that this was hardest on Black, the young conservative. For him, the campaign had been an ideological mission, much more so than for Lake and Sears. Reagan later told reporters that Black didn't have to resign.
When it came to Sears, Charlie Black put it best: “Reagan would never have become president had he not hired John in 1975 … and fired John in 1980.”44 There was wisdom in this observation. Sears was the only national GOP political operative in 1974 and 1975 who thought Reagan had what it took to be president. The other major GOP players—especially Easterners and moderates—thought Reagan was a certified yahoo, a shallow former B-movie actor who was the George Wallace of the Republican Party. To a person, by the time of Reagan's death in 2004, they would profess their love and devotion to Reagan and claim they were there from the beginning in 1974, which was a load of horse manure. The only one there was Sears, leading a small group of Californians, conservatives, and junior-varsity operators willing to take on the GOP establishment and Gerald Ford.
It was Sears who talked the Reagans into challenging the incumbent Ford. It was also Sears who came up with the idea of selecting Senator Dick Schweiker as Reagan's running mate before the 1976 convention, which kept Reagan's chances alive g
oing into Kansas City. If Reagan hadn't run in 1976, he never would have run in 1980; he would have lived out his last years giving an occasional speech and spending his days at his ranch with Nancy and the horses.
Sears also understood better than almost anybody what was at stake in 1980: “I can tell you this particular election is more important than any I've seen before.”45
The firings of Sears, Black, and Lake created bitterness on all sides. But over time, some of those wounds healed. Indeed, Black and Lake eventually became fixtures in the Reagan White House and on the 1984 campaign team.
Rendezvous with Destiny: Ronald Reagan and the Campaign that Changed America Page 26