My Turn

by Nancy Reagan

  When a reporter asked her whether she would enjoy living in the White House, Raisa replied, “It’s an official house. I would say that, humanly speaking, a human being would like to live in a regular house. This is like a museum.”

  It wasn’t a very polite answer, especially from somebody who hadn’t even seen the private living quarters!

  We ended up keeping Ronnie and Gorbachev waiting for fifteen minutes, but there was nothing I could do about it. When we arrived at the Diplomatic Entrance, our husbands were frowning and looking at their watches. But they didn’t mean it; this mock show of impatience had been Ronnie’s idea.

  For me, the main event of the Washington summit was the state dinner for the Gorbachevs, which was my responsibility. State dinners are always grand occasions, but this one promised to be especially exciting, and everyone was clamoring for an invitation.

  The Gorbachevs were understandably tired from their long trip. Because they had specifically requested an early evening, we made several changes in our routine to allow them to leave by ten o’clock, as they had asked. We canceled the private cocktail reception in the Yellow Oval Room. We served coffee at the tables instead of in the Blue Room. We even cut down on the time of the strolling violinists, who always came into the State Dining Room to play three or four numbers during dessert.

  We had asked the renowned pianist Van Cliburn to provide the entertainment, and at our request, he held his program down to just a few minutes. Although he hadn’t played in public for nine years, he agreed to make an exception for this unique occasion. (Cliburn has had a big following in the Soviet Union since 1958, when he won the Tchaikovsky Piano Competition in Moscow.) He was a great hit with our guests, who sang along with him as he played “Moscow Nights” for an encore.

  After making all these changes to ensure an early evening, I was slightly annoyed when the Gorbachevs arrived late for the dinner. But the real holdup came in the receiving line. Maybe it’s a cultural difference and she was merely trying to be polite, but Raisa tried to have a real conversation with practically every guest. “What is your name? How many children do you have?” She seemed very well briefed on who many of our guests were, and she obviously wanted them to know this. But the line was moving like molasses, and I thought I would go crazy. The same thing happened the next day at a State Department luncheon, where the receiving line took so long that the meal didn’t begin until two-thirty.

  Our Soviet guests had informed us in advance that they would not be wearing black tie, although all state dinners are formal affairs. Tuxedos just aren’t worn in Soviet society, where they’re seen as a symbol of bourgeois capitalism. This situation had come up before, with the Chinese and with President Sadat. The Americans wore black tie, and our guests came in business suits. Raisa wore a black brocade gown.

  Dinner consisted of Columbia River salmon with lobster medallions, loin of veal with wild mushrooms, and zucchini boats filled with fresh vegetables. Dessert was honey ice cream with petits fours, and we served a champagne that was made especially for this dinner. The mix of guests was a little unusual, because aside from Raisa, Mrs. Shevardnadze, and Mrs. Dubinin, there were no women in the Soviet party. As a result, we ended up with a number of extra men.

  As always, we invited a number of distinguished Americans from various fields. Joe DiMaggio was there, and Meadowlark Lemon, the basketball star, and Mary Lou Retton, the Olympic gymnast. (DiMaggio brought a baseball, and he asked Maureen to help him get both Ronnie and Gorbachev to autograph it. Now that’s a collector’s item!) Saul Bellow represented the world of letters. Other guests at the Gorbachev dinner included Armand Hammer, David Rockefeller, Billy Graham, Pearl Bailey, Jimmy Stewart, and Claudette Colbert.

  Following protocol, Raisa sat next to Ronnie at his table, while Gorbachev sat with me. On the other side of Raisa we put Vernon Walters, our ambassador to the United Nations. He speaks Russian, and I knew he’d keep the conversation going. And maybe Ronnie would be spared a lecture!

  Next to me I put Richard Perle, the brilliant and controversial assistant secretary of Defense. Richard has very strong views on the Soviet Union, and he isn’t shy about expressing them. Gorbachev seems to enjoy a good give-and-take, and he likes it when people challenge him.

  The other guests at our table were Richard Cheney (who was then a congressman and who sat next to Gorbachev), Nancy Mehta (the wife of Zubin Mehta), Jim Billington (the Librarian of Congress and a top Soviet scholar), Cynthia Helms (the wife of Richard Helms, the former head of the CIA), and Robert Strauss. (On either side of Gorbachev, and a few inches back from the table, sat the interpreters.) There wasn’t much small talk that evening, although Gorbachev did mention that he had never heard the Russian anthem played better than it was by our Marine Corps Band during the arrival ceremony that morning.

  Gorbachev had never met Richard Perle, but he certainly knew who he was. Moreover, he had recently seen a dramatic reconstruction of the Reykjavik meeting, which was produced in England by Granada Television. Perle, who is portly, had been played by a rather slim actor. “Oh, yes,” teased Gorbachev when I introduced them. “When I saw you on television, you were a lot thinner.”

  I didn’t hear all of their conversation, but at one point Perle asked Gorbachev flat-out: “What percentage of the Soviet GNP goes for defense?”

  “That’s a secret,” replied Gorbachev, “and I won’t answer it.”

  “Are you sure you know?” asked Perle.

  “I know everything,” Gorbachev replied. “I’m head of the Defense Council, so you’re dining with a military man.”

  “I think you’re spending twenty percent, and probably more,” said Perle. Gorbachev just looked at him without any expression.

  “If you really want to save money,” said Perle a little later, “we should arrange a reduction of conventional arms. That’s where the real money is spent.”

  “That’s true,” said Gorbachev, “and we should do it. But there are other reasons for reducing nuclear weapons.”

  “Such as?”

  “For one thing, there’s always the danger of a war starting by accident.”

  “You’re right,” said Perle. “And that’s why we want SDI.”

  “Okay,” said Gorbachev, who seemed to be conceding the point. “But let’s not talk about that tonight.”

  It was a lively and unusual conversation. Later, when Cynthia Helms told her husband that Gorbachev had briefly discussed decision-making in the Politburo, Dick Helms sighed and shook his head. “When I was intelligence chief,” he said with a wry smile, “I would have killed for that kind of information.”

  Before he left Washington, Mikhail Gorbachev held an extended press conference, which Ronnie and I watched on television. His opening statement went on forever, and I kept waiting for the questions. Even the Washington Post, which was very hospitable to the Gorbachevs, called it an “interminable monologue.”

  When Gorbachev finally took questions, there was time for only three or four. And when he heard a question he didn’t like, he simply said, “I’m not going to answer that.” Gee, I thought, that’s a way to handle the press!

  Most of the networks gave up in the middle, but CNN showed the entire press conference. When Gorbachev was finally finished, Bernard Shaw of CNN said, “I’d like to say something about Nancy Reagan. She has had a very tough two months. She had breast cancer. Her mother died. Then she had to come back and face the summit, organize a state dinner, and take care of her husband. She did it all with grace and dignity and I think she deserves a lot of credit.” I was very touched.

  If someone had told me when Ronnie and I were first married that we would eventually travel to Moscow as president and first lady and would be the honored guests of the Soviet leadership, I would have suggested that he get his head examined. And yet, in May of 1988, that amazing prophecy came true.

  It doesn’t take much to make me nervous, but I was especially tense before going to Moscow. Although Ronnie and Gor
bachev had built up a good and constructive relationship, I was terrified that I might say or do the wrong thing and find myself accidentally starting World War III. It’s so easy to make a mistake when practically every word you utter is taken down by the press, especially when you’re operating in an entirely different culture, with its own rules and customs—not to mention the language problem. In Washington, when Raisa had said that the White House was more of a museum than a home, I’m sure she hadn’t intended to be rude; the comment just slipped out. Now the shoe would be on the other foot.

  Although Jim Billington helped me study up on Soviet art and culture and taught me a few Russian phrases, I didn’t really know what to expect on this trip—or even what to pack. The only thing I was sure of was that I wouldn’t be needing a formal evening dress. I also decided to play it safe and not wear anything red. Although red is my favorite color, I thought that my wearing red in the Soviet Union might somehow be perceived as inappropriate or offensive. (I was wrong about that. At dinner at their dacha, Gorbachev assured me that red would have been perfectly acceptable.)

  We arrived in Moscow on Sunday, May 25, after spending the weekend in Helsinki to adjust to the time change. We didn’t know how we would be received, so we were delighted to see all the people lining the streets as we came in from the airport. They seemed genuinely happy to see us, which pleased us enormously.

  Following the arrival ceremony at the Kremlin, Ronnie and Gorbachev went off to a meeting while Raisa took me on a brief tour of the Kremlin. Here again, it didn’t take long before the old tensions broke through. We were touring the fifteenth-century Assumption Cathedral, which had served as the coronation church for all the czars before the revolution. There was a powerful spiritual feeling in that church, and I asked Raisa a few questions about the icons, with their obvious religious significance. I was also curious to know whether religious services were ever held here—especially in 1988, which marked a thousand years of Christianity in the Soviet Union.

  “Nyet,” she replied curtly. No services had been held there since the revolution, and the church was now a museum.

  I had expected to see some of the other sights in the area, but as soon as we left the church we were ushered back into the Kremlin to wait for our husbands. I’m still not sure if my tour had been cut short because of my question, but I suspect it was. To me, the question was an obvious one, and I hadn’t meant to be insulting. But that may have been how it was interpreted.

  As we waited for the men to finish their meeting, Raisa and I tried valiantly to keep up a conversation. I was hoping that our husbands would be there soon, and I’m sure she felt the same way. Recalling the Washington summit, when our husbands had conspicuously looked at their watches when we were late, I suggested to Raisa that we might return the favor. She liked the idea, and when Ronnie and Gorbachev finally showed up, we all had a good laugh.

  Two days later, Raisa and I had another encounter about religion. I had asked to see some of the famous icons at the Tretyakov Gallery, which has the finest collection of Russian art in the world. Raisa and I were supposed to meet there and tour it together. This time, she arrived a few minutes early. “Our guests are late,” she told the press, “so I’ll tell you about the gallery.”

  She then moved them upstairs and proceeded to hold a little press conference. I arrived at the gallery right on schedule to find that the plans had been changed. I went upstairs, and when Raisa saw me, she turned away from the press and started to escort me into the gallery. Just then, Bill Greenwood of ABC News called out, “Mrs. Reagan, Mrs. Gorbachev has been talking with us, and we all think you should have equal time. She said there was no religious significance to the icons.”

  “I don’t know how you can neglect the religious implications,” I replied. “I mean, they’re there for everybody to see.”

  It wasn’t exactly headline news, but the press was waiting for us to disagree about something, and this evidently did the trick. It seems so minor in retrospect, but at the time, the news media covered our little exchange in great detail.

  Religion was very much on my mind during our visit. Every time Ronnie met with Gorbachev, he brought up the issue of religious freedom in general, and the rights of Jews in particular to leave the country. On several occasions Ronnie gave Gorbachev a list of people who, in our view, deserved to be allowed to leave. “Do what you can,” Ronnie would say. “I’ll never mention these names to the press, and I’ll never take credit for it if you let them go.” Many of these people were subsequently released.

  During our visit to the Soviet Union, Ronnie spoke forcefully and often about human rights and religious freedom. He was criticized by the American press when he said that the problem lay in the Soviet bureaucracy, but his critics missed the point. Ronnie wanted to be as clear and as strong on this issue as he possibly could, but he also didn’t want to embarrass our hosts. I still don’t understand why so many commentators failed to understand this simple point.

  Originally, we had planned to visit the apartment of Yuri and Tatyana Zieman, a Jewish couple in Moscow who had applied to emigrate in 1977. Yuri had been a computer specialist, but he lost his job when he applied for an exit visa, and he had been working as a plumber ever since. A few months before our trip he developed a mysterious brain ailment, and even the Soviet doctors told him that he should seek medical help abroad.

  After it was announced that we would visit the Ziemans, their apartment building was painted and their street was repaved. But we canceled our plans when a Russian official called Ambassador Matlock to say that if we went to see them, they would never be allowed to leave. Was this a bluff? Nobody could say, but we didn’t want to take any chances. No promises were made, but it was hinted that if we left the Ziemans alone, they would be allowed to leave the country. Two months later they were given their visas—but only after Ronnie called the Soviet ambassador and reminded him of the implied agreement.

  We did see the Ziemans—not at their apartment, but at a reception we hosted for a hundred dissidents and refuseniks at Spaso House, the residence of the American ambassador. This was an event I’ll never forget. It’s one thing to read and hear about these brave individuals who risk beatings, exile, and long prison sentences in their fight for human rights, but to sit in the same room with them was a moving and unforgettable experience. I sat next to a man who has devoted his life to photographing old churches. “We’re still trying,” I told him. “Please don’t give up.” He has since emigrated to the United States.

  Some of our guests had been threatened by the KGB and warned not to come, but they came anyway. Two of the refuseniks were in the midst of a hunger strike, while a third man, a Ukrainian dissident, had been released from a labor camp only a week earlier. Before we left Washington, I had told Vladimir Feltsman, the pianist and former refusenik, that I didn’t want to make things even more difficult for the dissidents and refuseniks we hoped to see. “Don’t worry about that,” he assured me. “These people have nothing more to lose.”

  Three of our guests spoke, and then Ronnie got up and said: “I came here hoping to do what I could to give you strength. Yet I already know that it is you who have strengthened me, you who have given me a message to carry back. While we press for human rights through diplomatic channels, you press with your very lives, day in, day out, year after year, risking your jobs, your homes, your all. You have the prayers and support of the American people, indeed of people throughout the world.”

  Our Russian hosts were clearly unhappy about this meeting, and a few hours later, at the state dinner in the Kremlin, Gorbachev showed his anger when he said in his remarks that nations should get along “without interfering in domestic affairs.” The Soviets may not have appreciated Ronnie’s bold approach on this issue, but there’s no question that they paid attention to his message. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that by the time Ronnie left office, there had been a major improvement in Soviet human rights. Much of the credit belongs to Mik
hail Gorbachev, but it didn’t hurt the cause of freedom for Ronnie to speak out as forcefully as he did on that visit.

  The Soviet state dinner was held in the Kremlin’s Hall of Facets, with its high ceilings and, yes, religious paintings. The tables were decorated with tall white tapers in silver candlesticks, so I found it surprising that the chandeliers were turned up full and the room was so brightly lit.

  Soviet dinners go on much longer than ours, and include many more courses. I wasn’t crazy about everything they served, but then, we hadn’t come to Moscow for the food. And I was delighted to find that both the caviar and the ice cream were every bit as wonderful as I had been told. It’s what came between the two that I had trouble with. (Ron had warned me about it: “Mom,” he said, “don’t be surprised if it looks like used food.”)

  During the dinner, Gorbachev turned to me and said, “You know, your husband and I have a certain …” and here he was obviously groping for the right word.

  “Let me help you,” I said. “Chemistry?”

  “Yes, chemistry.”

  “I know you do. I’m very aware of it, and so is my husband.”

  “It’s very rare,” said Gorbachev.

  “I know that, too,” I replied.

  Then Gorbachev made a remarkable statement: “I am familiar with your Constitution, but I wish your husband could stay on for another four years.”

  It was fascinating to hear this from Mikhail Gorbachev in the Kremlin. While it’s possible that he was simply being polite, I believe he was sincere. After four meetings, he and Ronnie had developed a mutual respect and affection. Each of them understood and accepted that there were still major differences between them, that there were limits beyond which they should not press each other. But I also believe that each is profoundly grateful that the other was in power during those years, and that they were able to work together to reduce the threat of nuclear war.