by Nancy Reagan
Our final two months were emotionally and physically draining. So much happened, and I have so many memories to hold on to. The Senate honored Ronnie, and Bob Dole, not normally a sentimental man, gave him such a moving tribute that Bob was as teary as everyone else. At the end of the Kennedy Center Honors, Walter Cronkite called the cast back on stage and said, “It’s a special time as we salute two people who have sat in that box for the past eight years,” whereupon the orchestra played “Auld Lang Syne” and the audience stood and sang to us. When it was over there was a pause, and Ronnie called out, “This is better than an Oscar!”
There was Ronnie’s final appearance with the press, when Tom Brokaw said, “So Ronald Wilson Reagan ends his last press conference. He’s seventy-eight years old and has never looked better.” The Children’s Hospital named a room after me because of all my visits there. And we had our last Christmas weekend at Camp David, where Eddie Serrano and the boys had decorated our cabin more beautifully than ever and put in a lovely tree and poinsettias all over. After dinner the enlisted men—most of them so young—came by to serenade us with Christmas carols. The last Christmas at the White House had an old-fashioned theme, and the kids from Second Genesis, a drug rehabilitation program, came to help us decorate, as usual.
The press was there for the party, and Sam Donaldson came up to me and said, “I know reporters aren’t supposed to show emotion, but now that you’re leaving I want you to know that I was the first to say that Ronald Reagan would go down in history and would leave this place even more popular than when he came in. We’ll miss you.” I’ll miss Sam, too. This may come as a shock, but I always liked him. I think Sam carved out a character for himself and played to that, but underneath there was a soft, sentimental side. I didn’t always appreciate the questions he asked, but he’s a hardworking journalist who really does his homework.
So many goodbyes! The military aides gave us a tracing of a John Adams saying that is carved on the mantel in the State Dining Room: “May only good and wise men inhabit this house.” They said, “As far as we’re concerned, that’s been true for the past eight years.”
Ronnie went to the park police stables to have his picture taken with the men who taught the Secret Service agents how to ride. They said they’d never before had such a warm relationship with a president.
During the many Christmas receptions, there were tears all around and Linda Faulkner had to keep handing me tissues. There was Ronnie’s farewell address to the nation on television, and the military tribute to Ronnie. I had a bad cold that day and no voice, so they wouldn’t let me go, which I’ll always regret. I watched it on television, and when Ronnie inspected the troops, and they turned, faced him, saluted, and sang “Auld Lang Syne,” I saw him bend his head. He whispered to the man next to him, “I think I’m going to cry.”
At the final Reagan Library dinner in the original family dining room, everything looked so pretty. I remembered when that room was just a pass-through to the kitchen: I had it converted to a place where Ronnie could have lunch with state leaders, in a warm atmosphere, in front of the fire. Sitting there, I thought of all the changes I’d made on the second and third floors, and outside, too—getting them to peel thirty-two coats of paint off the White House even though nobody else wanted to put up with all that inconvenience. I put a lot of myself into that house, and I was leaving a lot of me there.
Ronnie wanted to make one last overnight visit to Camp David, and we did. I had lunch with some of the women from the press who covered me; they all wore red and brought me autographed pictures of themselves, and a fishbowl to symbolize the life I had led. There were so many pictures taken with so many people. And in the East Room farewell ceremony for six hundred members of the White House staff, I had never seen so many people crying. As we left the room and headed for the elevator, John Bourgeois, the leader of the Marine Band, stopped us and said to Ronnie, “We’ll miss you. We were always proud to be called the president’s band while you were here. We want to give you this harmonica. Even though you won’t be here, we want you to play ‘Hail to the Chief’ every morning.”
Our last White House event was the Medal of Freedom luncheon, where we presented awards to Mike Mansfield and George Shultz. We spent the final night quietly with Maureen, Dennis, and Ted Graber, in Ronnie’s study with the fire going. The kitchen staff prepared a special dinner, which began with caviar served in a boat with Ronnie’s initials on it. Alfredo, the butler, brought in a bottle of champagne as a gift from the staff.
Then the day finally came—the day I had both hoped for and dreaded. It was gray and cold. We ate breakfast early and went downstairs to say goodbye to the household staff in the State Dining Room. Then out to welcome the Bushes and the Quayles. A few other guests had already arrived—Jim Wright, Bob Michel, Tom Foley, Senator George Mitchell, and Senator Ted Stevens, who gave me a pin and Ronnie a pair of cufflinks with a dove motif because, he said, we’d done so much for peace.
We were supposed to have coffee, but I don’t remember anybody drinking any. Then it was time to leave for the inauguration. I hugged the butlers and we walked outside; Ronnie and George Bush got into one car with Jim Wright and Tom Foley; Barbara Bush and I got into another with George Mitchell and Bob Michel. The conversation was a little easier than it had been eight years before, and I managed to say, “I hope the magnolia trees I planted will do well. Maybe my grandchildren will see them one day.” But my heart ached as I looked at those beautiful grounds that I was unlikely to see again.
The inaugural ceremony was held on the West Front of the Capitol, and it was a peculiar feeling looking down at the monument where Ronnie had taken his oath that first time, and trying to recall my emotions then. Sandra Day O’Connor looked over at me and I mouthed, “How are you feeling?”—she’d had a mastectomy soon after I did. She swore in Dan Quayle, and William Rehnquist swore in George Bush.
The whole day was like a dream, and then suddenly this part, too, was over. The Bushes and the Quayles walked down the steps with us to see us off in the helicopter. As we started walking toward the helicopter I saw a lone figure standing to one side—George Opfer, from the Secret Service, who was there to say goodbye. I broke away from Ronnie and ran over to give him a big hug. At the steps of the helicopter, Ronnie turned and saluted, which caused a lump in everyone’s throat. When we took off, the pilots circled the White House so we could see it once more, and Ronnie leaned over to me and said, “Look, dear, there’s our bungalow.” This was really goodbye to Washington, and eight wonderful, exciting, frustrating, and sometimes frightening years.
On Air Force One, the pilot, who was flying his last trip too, came back to give us a beautiful picture of the White House and a lovely inscription from the crew. Ronnie and I went back to see the press, including Sam Donaldson, Bill Plante, and Lou Cannon, and the crew served cake and champagne.
When we landed in Los Angeles there was a welcome ceremony; the University of Southern California band played, and one of the musicians threw his helmet to Ronnie. As we left the platform to get into the car, Sam Donaldson gave Ronnie a final salute. See what I mean about Sam?
When we got to our house, John Hutton, Ken and Sydney Duberstein, and Tim McCarthy came in to see it, and then we all started to cry. They finally had to leave, and it was just Ronnie and me alone, surrounded by all those boxes—and no support team to help us. It seemed unreal and overwhelming. Ron came over and helped his Dad start to unpack.
A few days earlier, Kay Graham and Meg Greenfield had suggested that we have people over that night, but Ronnie and I were so exhausted that I don’t think it would have worked. When we finally fell into bed, I lay there and wondered: If there hadn’t been a Twenty-second Amendment, would we still be in Washington? Ronnie had worked as hard as he could to get George Bush elected—harder than any president had ever worked for his successor. But I knew there were things Ronnie would still have liked to accomplish.
George and Barbara have an eno
rmous job ahead of them, and Ronnie and I wish them all the luck in the world. But still, it’s sometimes difficult to watch anyone else in Ronnie’s old job. The truth is that I didn’t know George all that well while Ronnie was president. People may have the impression that the president and the vice president and their wives spend a lot of time together, but in fact the system rarely allows that. The two couples almost invariably attend separate events, and for the most part, we had completely different schedules. During our first year in Washington, the Bushes came to the White House alone for dinner with us, and they had us to their house as well. But after that we were on separate tracks, except for state dinners.
As painful as leaving was for me, I did feel it was time. We’d had twenty years of public life, and I thought we needed to spend more time with family and friends—and with each other.
And so as one door closes and another opens, we enter another phase of our lives. We’re both busy giving speeches. I’m still involved with the drug program through the Nancy Reagan Foundation and the Just Say No clubs. Ronnie is busy with his memoirs, and we’re getting reacquainted with California.
Ronnie and I were privileged to have an opportunity that is given to very few—to be a part of history, and the shaping of it. We have so many memories of those years. We still feel a tremendous warmth from the public, and we hope our children are proud of us.
Being first lady has taught me so much. Over those eight years in Washington, amid the exaggerated ups and downs of life at the White House, I found out what was really important to me. I learned how to serve. I grew, and I learned how, despite intense scrutiny and criticism, just to go on being myself—to let Nancy be Nancy. And for this, and for so many other things, I’ll always be grateful.
PHOTO CREDITS
11.1 Author’s collection
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11.17 © 1951 Loew’s Inc. Renewed 1979 Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Inc.
11.18 Author’s collection
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11.21 Author’s collection
11.22 Walt Zeboski, Associated Press/Wide World
11.23 Robert C. Ferguson
11.24 Stanley Tretick/Look magazine
11.25 Walt Zeboski, Associated Press/Wide World
11.26 Bill Fitz-Patrick, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
11.27 Michael Evans, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
11.28 Michael Evans, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
11.29 Michael Evans, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
11.30 Michael Evans, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
11.31 Associated Press/Wide World
11.32 Michael Evans, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
11.33 Jack Kightlinger, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
11.34 Michael Evans, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
11.35 Mary Anne Fackel man-Miner, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
11.36 Mary Anne Fackel man-Miner, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
11.37 Michael Evans, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
11.38 Pete Souza, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
11.39 Bill Fitz-Patrick, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.1 Bill Fitz-Patrick, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.2 Mary Anne Fackelman-Miner, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.3 Bill Fitz-Patrick, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.4 Pete Souza, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.5 Pete Souza, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.6 Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.7 Michael Evans, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.8 Diana Walker/Time magazine
14.9 Pete Souza, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.10 Fotografia Felici
14.11 Courtesy Office of the Prime Minister, Japan
14.12 Mary Anne Fackelman-Miner, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.13 Pete Souza, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.14 Mary Anne Fackel man-Miner, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.15 Diana Walker/Time magazine
14.16 Bill Fitz-Patrick, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.17 Pete Souza, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.18 Bill Fitz-Patrick, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.19 Pete Souza, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.20 Pete Souza, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.21 Bill Fitz-Patrick, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.22 David Johnson, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.23 Pete Souza, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.24 Mary Anne Fackelman-Miner, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.25 Mary Anne Fackelman-Miner, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.26 Bill Fitz-Patrick, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.27 Mary Anne Fackelman-Miner, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.28 Mary Anne Fackelman-Miner, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.29 Mary Anne Fackelman-Miner, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.30 David Valdez, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.31 Pete Souza, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.32 Bill Fitz-Patrick, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.33 Mary Anne Fackelman-Miner, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.34 Bill Fitz-Patrick, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.35 Bill Fitz-Patrick, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.36 Mary Anne Fackelman-Miner, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.37 Bill Fitz-Patrick, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.38 Michael Evans, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.39 Michael Evans, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.40 Pete Souza, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.41 Mary Anne Fackelman-Miner, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.42 Susan Biddle, Courtesy Ronald Reagan Presidential Library
14.43 © Dirck Halstead
To Ronnie, who always understood
And to my children, who I hope will understand
Acknowledgments
How do I begin to thank everyone I should for helping me to write a book I never intended to write? I think I should start with my husband, for his patience, support, and suggestions. Then comes the man who really persuaded me and gave me the final push—Mort Janklow, my agent. It was he who pointed out that people would be interested in my story (we’ll see!), and that the first lady is often controversial—as I certainly was.
Thank you to Bill Novak, my collaborator, who kept pushing me patiently to go farther when I was reluctant, and to his wife, Linda, who urged him to “Just Say Yes” when he was first approached to help. Thanks, too, to Bill’s agent, Steve Axelrod.
Bill interviewed many people who were especially helpful, including my son, Ron, and Maureen Reagan, who ha
s the best memory of anyone I’ve ever known, as well as Martin Anderson, Joe Canzeri, Linda Faulkner, Peter Hannaford, Richard and Cynthia Helms, John Hutton, Jim Kuhn, Nancy Reynolds, Mark Weinberg, and Barbara Wyden. Also, David Abshire, Letitia Baldrige, Jim Billington, Mike Deaver, Kay Graham, Meg Greenfield, Peter McCoy, Lyn Nofziger, Richard Perle, Stu Spencer, Bob Strauss, Sheila Tate, Mike Wallace, Mary Jane Wick, and Richard Wirthlin.
Thank you to Kathy Osborne, who spent hours transcribing tapes, and to Mary Anne Fackelman-Miner, who was relentless in helping us track down pictures.
Also, the White House staff: dear Rex Scouten, Gary Walters, and Chris Emery, and my own East Wing staff, especially Jane Erkenbeck and Elaine Crispen, who saw me through some pretty tough times, but whom I could always rely on and trust. And most recently, Lisa Cavelier and my present staff.
I kept a lot of people at Random House busy, starting with Joni Evans, the publisher, and including publicity director Carol Schneider and her department; copy editor Virginia Avery; and editorial assistants Jonathan Karp, Amy Roberts, and Olga Tarnowski. Donald Altschiller and Colleen Mohyde helped with research.
I especially want to thank Kate Medina, my editor. Kate was there for me from the beginning, day after day, helping me tell my story my way. Kate helped me in so many ways … far more than I can ever put into words. And Associate Publisher Peter Osnos, who really went above and beyond the call of duty. I hope they know how enormously grateful I am.
Thank you, everyone. I hope I haven’t forgotten anyone, but you’ll all be deep in my heart, always.