My Turn

by Nancy Reagan

  As Ronnie began to speak, the delegates remained on their feet and continued standing until he was finished—the first time this had ever been known to happen. What was even more astonishing was that the immense Kemper Arena had become utterly still. I never knew that so many people could be so quiet, and I’ve never seen anything like it, before or since.

  It was a glorious moment, but I was terrified for Ronnie. Here he was, facing the entire Republican convention—not to mention a television audience of fifty million people. He had had no idea this was coming and had nothing prepared. I prayed he would think of something.

  And of course he did. As he began speaking, I remember wondering, Where did this come from? A minute ago he didn’t know what to say!

  “I had an assignment the other day,” he began. “Somebody asked me to write a letter for a time capsule that is going to be opened in Los Angeles a hundred years from now, on our Tricentennial.

  “It sounded like an easy assignment. They suggested I write about the problems and issues of the day. And I set out to do so, riding down the coast in an automobile, looking at the blue Pacific out on one side and the Santa Ynez Mountains on the other. And I couldn’t help but wonder if it was going to be as beautiful a hundred years from now as it was on that summer day.

  “And then I tried to write—let your own mind turn to that task. You’re going to write for people a hundred years from now who know all about us. We know nothing about them. We don’t know what kind of world they’ll be living in.

  “And suddenly I thought to myself, If I write of problems they’ll be domestic problems, of which the president spoke here tonight, the challenges confronting us, erosion of freedom that has taken place under Democratic rule in this country, the invasion of private rights, the controls and restrictions on the vitality of the great free economy that we enjoy. These are the challenges that we must meet.

  “And then again there is the challenge of which he spoke, that we live in a world in which the great powers have posed and aimed at each other horrible missiles of destruction that can, in a matter of minutes, arrive in each other’s country and destroy virtually the civilized world we live in.

  “And suddenly it dawned on me. Those who would read this letter a hundred years from now will know whether those missiles were fired. They will know whether we met our challenge. Whether they have the freedoms that we have known up until now will depend on what we do here.

  “Will they look back with appreciation and say, ‘Thank God for those people in 1976 who headed off that loss of freedom, who kept our world from nuclear destruction’?

  “And if we fail, they probably won’t get to read the letter at all because it spoke of individual freedom and they won’t be allowed to talk of that or read of it.

  “This is our challenge. And this is why, here in this hall tonight, better than we’ve ever done before, we have got to quit talking to each other and about each other, and go out and communicate to the world that we may be fewer in number than we’ve ever been, but we carry the message they’ve been waiting for. We must go forth from here united, determined that what a great general said a few years ago is true: ‘There is no substitute for victory.’ ”

  When Ronnie was finished, the hall erupted in cheers. We left the stage with the sound of applause and with “California, Here I Come” ringing in our ears.

  The next morning, before we left Kansas City, Ronnie held two final meetings. The first was with the California delegation. “The cause goes on,” he told them. “It’s just one battle in a long war and it will go on as long as we all live. Nancy and I, we aren’t going to go back and sit in our rocking chairs and say that’s all for us.”

  I wasn’t at that meeting, but I’m told that Ronnie finished by quoting from an old English ballad he had learned in school years ago:

  I will lay me down and bleed a while.

  Though I am wounded, I am not slain.

  I shall rise and fight again.

  I joined him for the second meeting, where he thanked all the young people and the volunteers who had worked so hard for him. “Don’t get cynical,” he told them. “Don’t get cynical because look at yourselves and what you were willing to do, and recognize that there are millions and millions of Americans out there that want what you want, that want it to be as we do, who want it to be a shining city on a hill.”

  I remember that scene so well. I looked out on that sea of young faces, and so many of them were crying. I put my head down and tried to turn away so the cameras wouldn’t see that I too was in tears.

  Lyn Nofziger came up and gave me his handkerchief. “Would you like to say a few words?” he asked.

  “I’d like to, Lyn,” I said. “But I can’t. I just can’t.”

  Later that morning, on the way to the airport, we passed a hand-painted sign that said GOODBYE REPUBLICANS. YOU PICKED THE WRONG MAN.

  It took years for the scars of 1976 to heal between the Fords and the Reagans. I can imagine how the Fords must have felt, to have Jerry win the nomination and then to have the delegates make it clear that Ronnie was their emotional favorite. There was so much more applause for Ronnie that it must have been discouraging for Ford. I know it would have bothered me.

  Later, some of the Ford people complained that Ronnie didn’t do enough during the fall campaign to help the president defeat Jimmy Carter. But he did everything he could to support the Republican ticket. When the convention was over, Mike Deaver had asked the Ford campaign to submit their schedule requests as soon as possible. Ronnie had been swamped by speaking requests from Republican candidates for Congress, including a few who had helped him in his campaign. (He also received requests from candidates who had opposed him, and in many cases he spoke for them, too.)

  Deaver had been afraid the Ford people would come to Ronnie at the last minute, and then he would be unable to help them—which was exactly what happened. Ronnie campaigned for the Republican ticket in twenty-five states, but when the Ford campaign made a few late requests near the end, Ronnie just couldn’t accept them without canceling previously scheduled appearances, which he has never been willing to do.

  You can’t work that hard and that long without being frustrated, and Ronnie and I were both deeply disappointed that he didn’t win the nomination in 1976. But we were so moved by the outpouring of love from the delegates that it was impossible to be bitter. Besides, Ronnie has always believed what his mother taught him—that whatever happens, happens for a purpose. As he saw it, he lost the nomination in 1976 because God had other plans for him.

  Four years later, we would learn what they were.

  11

  Victory! 1980

  RONNIE won the 1980 election because he was able to expand on the base of enthusiasm he’d built up during the 1976 campaign and the convention. And this time, as soon as the campaign ran into trouble, he got as angry as I’ve ever known him to be, and took control before too much damage had been done.

  John Sears was again our campaign director. But he made a big mistake right at the start: He kept Ronnie out of the Iowa caucuses, where the campaign began in January. When the seven Republican candidates (Ronnie, John Connally, Howard Baker, George Bush, John Anderson, Philip Crane, and Robert Dole) were invited to participate in a nationally televised debate in Des Moines, John decided that Ronnie shouldn’t be there.

  His plan was to keep Ronnie above the fray. Ronnie was the acknowledged front-runner, and John didn’t want him to seem like just another candidate scrambling for votes.

  But when Ronnie failed to appear at the debate on January 5, all six of his opponents attacked him for not being there. Many Iowans obviously felt that Ronnie was taking them for granted, because his support in the polls dropped from 50 percent to around 25 percent. He made a few brief appearances in the state, but they didn’t amount to much more than dropping in at the airport. George Bush was able to claim that he had spent more days in Iowa than Ronnie had spent hours.

  Maybe John S
ears hadn’t really understood that before Ronnie moved to Hollywood, he had been a radio sports announcer in Iowa, where Dutch Reagan was the radio voice of the Chicago Cubs. Maybe he thought nobody would remember a broadcaster who had left Iowa more than forty years earlier. But even in 1980, after all that time, some Iowans still regarded Ronnie as the hometown boy. There was plenty of good will to build on, if only John had taken advantage of it.

  When the returns came in from Iowa, Ronnie and I were back in California. We were watching a preview of the new film Kramer vs. Kramer at the home of our friends Hal and Martha Wallis, when Dick Wirthlin called with the shocking news that Ronnie had been defeated by George Bush, 33 percent to 30 percent. Although Bush’s margin of victory was only 2,200 votes, here, as in the New Hampshire primary of 1976, Ronnie had been expected to win. When he didn’t, our campaign was suddenly in deep trouble.

  New Hampshire was next, and if we didn’t win there, the whole race might be over.

  After the Iowa defeat, Ronnie decided he’d better take over the campaign. “We’re going to change our tactics,” he told John. “We’re going to take that bus into every village and town in the state. We’re going to live in New Hampshire until election day. Last time, you took me out of there too early. This time, we’re staying until it’s over.”

  After Iowa, New Hampshire would not be easy. I remember George Bush getting off the plane in New Hampshire and bragging that he had the “Big Mo”—momentum. It was true: Bush had scored a big upset in Iowa, and now his New Hampshire campaign had a glow about it. Two weeks before election day, Dick Wirthlin’s poll showed that Bush was ahead of Ronnie by nine points.

  Ronnie campaigned harder in New Hampshire than he had ever campaigned in his life. The press could barely keep up with him. From the crack of dawn until late at night, Ronnie kept meeting the people. He talked about the economy, about abortion, about gun control, the Soviets, the Equal Rights Amendment. Ronnie is very competitive and runs best when he’s behind, and I have never seen him work harder than he did that month.

  Although he was in fine spirits, there were big problems just below the surface of the campaign. At the center of the conflict were John Sears and his two lieutenants, Jim Lake and Charlie Black. I don’t know what made John change in the years between 1976 and 1980, but I thought he had become arrogant and aloof. Maybe he just didn’t like that Ronnie took over, but whatever the reason, he seemed to resent anyone else in the campaign who was close to the candidate.

  Before we even arrived in New Hampshire, John had eliminated his main rivals from the team, including Lyn Nofziger, Martin Anderson, and Michael Deaver. Mike had quit in a dramatic showdown with John at our house in Pacific Palisades, on the Sunday after Thanksgiving. John and Mike had been fighting for weeks, and Ronnie had called a meeting to see if they could work out their differences. But John wasn’t interested in reconciliation. He went through a whole list of complaints against Mike and claimed that Mike’s PR firm was overcharging Ronnie. John announced that he, Lake, and Black would quit the campaign unless Deaver was out.

  I didn’t envy Ronnie’s predicament. Mike Deaver was an old, trusted friend and adviser, and it was difficult to imagine Ronnie continuing in politics without him. But John Sears was the wonder boy of 1976, and at the time he seemed like the best man to lead us to victory in 1980.

  “Honey,” I told Ronnie, “it looks as if you’ve got to make a choice.”

  “No, Governor,” said Mike. “You don’t have to, because I’m leaving.”

  And with that, Mike walked out of the room.

  Ronnie went after Mike and tried to get him to change his mind, but Mike was too angry at the things John had said. When Ronnie returned, equally angry, he said, “The biggest man here has just left the room.”

  Ronnie made a big mistake when he let Mike go, and I think he realized it at the time. I’ve never known Ronnie to carry a grudge, but after that day I think he resented John Sears. The chemistry between the two of them wasn’t good to begin with, and now it was worse. Ronnie prefers a relaxed environment, but John was anxious and tense, especially after the Iowa defeat. In New Hampshire, he avoided the other members of the campaign staff and spent most of his time alone in his room or talking with Jim and Charlie. Sometimes he would simply disappear for a couple of days, and we had no idea where he was.

  Instead of the unified campaign staff that we had in 1976, we now had a team with low morale that was split between Ronnie’s people and John’s. Every night when we returned to the hotel, Ronnie would get ready for bed, but I would go from one room to another, meeting in corridors and corners with John and the others, trying everything I could think of to bring people together and smooth things over. When I finally got to bed, Ronnie would ask me where I had been, and I would make up various excuses. For as long as possible, I delayed telling him how much tension there was; I wanted to protect him from these undercurrents so he could concentrate on campaigning. For a while I succeeded. But I soon realized that we were merely putting a Band-Aid over a serious problem.

  One night, about a week before the end of the New Hampshire campaign, Ronnie and John really went at it. It was about two in the morning, after another long day of campaigning, and John started talking against Ed Meese for allegedly leaking stories to the press. He also claimed he had overheard Ed (through a bathroom wall!) telling somebody on the phone that he, John, would soon have to leave the campaign.

  Ronnie rarely loses his temper, but he certainly was angry that night. “You got Deaver,” he told John, “but, by God, you’re not going to get Ed Meese! You guys have forced me to the wall.” I was sure he was going to hit John, so I took his arm and said, “It’s late, and I think we should all get some sleep.”

  It was impossible to work under these conditions. I didn’t think Ronnie could take many more days of campaigning all day and then staying up until two or three in the morning, dealing with problems among the staff—and frankly, I couldn’t either. Finally, with my encouragement, Ronnie decided that Sears and his two deputies would have to go. There was no way to avoid it.

  It was Ronnie’s idea to let them go on the day of the New Hampshire primary, before the returns were in. In case we lost, he didn’t want John to think that was the reason he was fired. And if we won, he didn’t want John to think he was ungrateful.

  On February 26, John, Jim, and Charlie had lunch with a few reporters and then came to our third-floor suite in the Manchester Holiday Inn for a brief meeting. Ronnie explained that he appreciated all they had done for the campaign, but that he needed to make some changes. Then he handed each of them a statement saying that Sears had decided to return to his law practice, and that Black and Lake were leaving with him. Ronnie thought this was the least embarrassing way to do it.

  This time there were no raised voices. I guess John already knew this moment was inevitable.

  During the meeting, John’s expression never changed. When it was over, I went with him into another room. “I’m sorry this happened,” I said, “but I hope we can still be friends.” To the end, John and I had remained on good terms. At least I hope so.

  I don’t recall what he said, but I haven’t seen him since that day, except on television, where he sometimes provides political commentary. I’ve often wondered what he thought during those eight years of Ronnie’s presidency. John Sears was one of the brightest and most talented men I have ever known, but in 1980 he just couldn’t work as part of our team.

  I was also sorry to see Charlie and Jim leave. Later, after Ronnie became president, Jim’s son worked for us as an advance man.

  Once Sears left, it wasn’t long before Deaver, Nofziger, and Anderson all came back into the campaign.

  Our new campaign director, William Casey, had been chairman of the Securities and Exchange Commission. His immediate priority was to raise money for us, and to cut expenses. We were just about broke after the loss in Iowa, and John had spent money rather freely during the early weeks of the
campaign. Casey quickly reduced the staff in both our Los Angeles and Washington offices by nearly half.

  Despite what people have said, Ronnie was never the rich man’s candidate. If he had been, we wouldn’t have been so short of money in both 1976 and 1980. The Republican candidate with the support of big business was not Ronald Reagan but John Connally. When Connally dropped out, the corporate givers went for Bush. Most of Ronnie’s support came from small businessmen and entrepreneurs.

  The key moment of the New Hampshire campaign came on the Saturday night before election day, just before a scheduled debate between Ronnie and George Bush in the town of Nashua. I’ve always thought of it as the night Ronnie got furious in public, and I was so glad he did!

  The debate, which was held in a high-school gymnasium, was originally sponsored by the Nashua Telegraph. But the paper had to withdraw its financial support at the last moment when Robert Dole, one of the five candidates who hadn’t been invited, complained to the Federal Elections Commission that this constituted an illegal corporate contribution to the Reagan and Bush campaigns. Our people offered to split the cost with the Bush camp, but the Bush people refused. Finally, we said we’d pay for the whole thing. Although the newspaper was no longer underwriting the debate, both sides agreed that they would continue to run it.

  The other Republican candidates were angry about being excluded, and Ronnie thought they had a good case. But the executives of the newspaper, which seemed to be supporting George Bush, still preferred a two-man debate. So did the Bush camp. After his victory in Iowa, George Bush was the only Republican with a good chance to beat Ronnie in New Hampshire. If he could face Ronnie alone, it would further enhance his position.