by Sheila Tate
Most of the women reporters covering politics were and are liberals; some seemed to have a visceral dislike for women who didn’t fit that mold. If you weren’t for the Equal Rights Amendment and abortion rights, you were a traitor to your gender. Given her history with the press and their assumptions about her, it’s no wonder she was skeptical of them.
As reporters covering Nancy got to know me, I was surprised by how many of them said something to the effect, “Sheila, you’re different; you are a reasonable person.” They had no idea what my political beliefs were; they just assumed because I was friendly and helpful, I must be at least a moderate if not a liberal Republican. I never disabused them of their characterization; it helped Nancy’s coverage. The truth is that I am a fairly conservative Republican who grew up in a Democratic family. We have differing political views but we love one another. It is possible, even in this highly polarized universe.
I remember early in the Reagan presidency when an AP reporter, Ann Blackman, interviewed Nancy outside on the lawn. Ann was getting nothing in the way of interesting comments until I steered her toward asking about Nancy’s husband’s role as a father. Father’s Day was looming and it seemed like a good opportunity. Nancy really opened up and Ann got herself a decent story. Nancy never liked to talk about herself but, as this instance proved to me, she relaxed and talked freely about people or things she cared about.
I never ceased to be amazed at how many false rumors circulated about the First Lady. Or how some news outlets let politics dominate the tone of their coverage from the beginning.
Deputy Press Secretary Barbara Cook Fabiani handed me a message one spring day in 1982 that was a real doozy. Patricia Avery, US News & World Report, heard from a “good” source that Nancy was having a hysterectomy in June at George Washington University Hospital.
When I called Nancy to make an official inquiry, she roared laughing. Her response, once she could stop laughing, was, “No, I think I want to try for one more pregnancy but don’t tell the press.”
Tish Avery was a good reporter so I am sure she dumped that “good” source.
In the early days of the Reagan administration, Donnie Radcliffe, Washington Post Style reporter, asked for a list of the most frequently asked questions I got about Nancy from the press:
What is she wearing?
How much does that (anything) cost?
Who is paying for it?
Will Frank Sinatra be there?
What kind of bed do the Reagans sleep in?
What brand of jelly beans do the Reagans prefer?
Does the president snore?
What size shirt does the president wear?
Does Nancy wear a bulletproof vest?
What do the Reagans eat?
When do they eat it?
Upon what dishes?
Donnie ended her “Washington Ways” column with this line: “Next week, maybe, the answers.” Not likely. I was much more interested in changing the nature of questions we got. Eventually we succeeded. Over time, people wanted to know more about the Foster Grandparent Program, and about programs to treat youth with drug abuse problems. But they always wanted recipes of the favorite presidential food.
* * *
Early in 1981, Nina Hyde of the Washington Post reported that Nancy’s recent sightings in a fox-collared shrug and a mink coat has spurred an animal rights group to request a meeting with the First Lady to discuss the issue, and that we were ignoring the request.
Nancy called our chief of staff, Peter McCoy, concerned about the “fur people” we’d been fending off. She wondered if we couldn’t explain to them that her mink was a ranch mink, meaning the varmints had been raised on a ranch for this purpose. Peter, who had a wonderful sense of humor, said he thought they were concerned more with the minks’ demise than where they grew up. Peter’s humor helped get us through a lot of stressful days.
It fell to me to hear the concerns of the animal rights advocates. I gingerly raised the question as to whether or not they distinguished “a ranch mink from other fur-bearing animals” to which their representative replied, “That would be racism in the animal kingdom.”
Nancy was never seen wearing the coat in public again during her eight years in the White House. And most important, the fur coat never caught on as a big issue with the press. After I left the White House in 1985 and could afford it, I bought a lovely, warm mink coat. My personal protest.
* * *
I had to Just Say No to Reagan friend Ray Stark, the producer of Annie on Broadway. Nancy was going to the opening at his invitation. She sent me in advance to walk through his plans. And it was a good thing she did. Ray had a “strong” personality, and I knew I needed to be ready for anything.
His plans included having Nancy in a basement elevator that would come from below and open center stage releasing a foggy mist through which Nancy would magically and majestically appear. I said no, she wanted to arrive like everyone else and slide quietly into her seat.
I swear I saw some of that foggy mist coming out of Ray’s ears. He did not buy into my explanation that the media would treat Nancy badly if we gave them any opportunity. She wanted everything low-key.
I explained it all to Nancy and she agreed with my decision and backed me up. I am certain Ray called her within an hour of our meeting to demand I be fired.
In truth, well-meaning friends can cause great embarrassment in circumstances like this. We had to always be alert to this kind of over-the-top plan.
* * *
The single most important person in the First Lady’s press office was Betsy Koons Robertson. She was with the press office the entire eight years, working her way up from our executive assistant to deputy press secretary. She kept everything on schedule. No one worked harder.
Betsy was even Nancy’s stand-in for one memorable event in 1988. The First Lady was scheduled to attend a Just Say No rally for kids during halftime of the Indiana Pacers versus Philadelphia 76ers game to highlight her antidrug education program. Philadelphia’s Charles Barkley and the Pacers Wayman Tisdale were supposed to lift Nancy up to dunk a basketball.
Our perfectionist advance man insisted on a rehearsal using Betsy as Nancy’s stand-in. Betsy found herself being lifted by her heels up to the imaginary net by these two huge fellows; she performed perfectly. Even though she admits she was a nervous wreck.
Nancy performed perfectly later that day when the well-rehearsed basketball players lifted her exactly as planned. The creative way Nancy brought attention to Just Say No drew a great deal of media attention that night. As I always preached to my clients, a picture really is worth a thousand words.
Betsy was typically sweet and soft-spoken, but I remember one time when she ripped into our Chinese counterparts when we were at the Children’s Palace in Shanghai watching a children’s performance. Unbeknownst to us, during the dance, the American press bus was moved by our hosts from its assigned spot at the end of the motorcade. As a result, the press missed the motorcade and we had some very unhappy scribes. To make matters worse, Betsy was literally running around the property trying to find the bus. The Chinese got an earful after that.
These are the kinds of snafus Nancy never knew about. Unless we regaled her with stories about all the behind-the-scenes drama of these events much later. She loved hearing these tales—after the fact when they were no longer a problem.
I never told her about one memorable incident. In the early ’80s, White House staffers carried very heavy pagers wherever they went. They buzzed at first, quickly followed by a voice calling out your last name. Imagine having your purse call out “Tate, Tate” while you were standing in the checkout line at Safeway one night after work. When it happened to me one particular night, I raced out of the store, found the pay phone, inserted my quarter, and called in to find Nancy wanted to ask me several questions about so
mething I had proposed. It took quite a while to bring the call to an end. Nancy had no idea I was standing outside in the pouring rain. I never told her. And, in hindsight, one might ask why I didn’t tell her I was standing in the rain and would go home and call her right back. Duty, honor, country.
Speaking of country, on July 5, 1986, Nancy, accompanied by one hundred French and American schoolchildren, participated in the official reopening of the Statue of Liberty to the public. Hordes of media from around the world were in attendance.
As Betsy tells the story, “Nancy put her foot down and overruled her Secret Service agents when they opposed her plan to go all the way up to the crown with two of the children to officially reopen the iconic statue.”
Nancy put great credence in the recommendations of her agents and she trusted them entirely. In this rare case, she knew how symbolically important the picture of America’s First Lady with one French and one American child was. It sent a powerful message that reminded the people of our two nations of their historic bonds of friendship. Not to mention, the press photographers loved her for doing it.
* * *
It’s easy to forget how much gossip made its way into the news during that period. In those days, every daily newspaper had a gossip columnist and the weekly newsmagazines had a gossip page. One of the aspects of my job that I disliked was my obligation to feed tidbits to these columnists.
The Queen of Gossip in the ’80s was Diana McLellan. Her column, “The Ear,” was very popular. It became a staple of the Washington Post after the Washington Star closed up shop. I once asked her, with exasperation in my voice, why she didn’t come to me for verification of an item before she published incorrect stories. Diana readily and cheerily admitted that she didn’t want the facts to get in the way of a good story. She was such a character it was hard to stay mad at her.
Betty Beale was the queen of Washington society reporters. She and her column reigned supreme from the ’50s through the ’80s. She expected, and she got, a good deal of special treatment to keep her writing favorable pieces. I even had to make sure she had a special parking space when she came to cover state dinners. Those days, when private dinners were peopled by the Washington elite, Betty took discreet notes and wrote flattering items about the hostess. I took good care of Betty because she always took good care of Nancy, at least as long as Betty felt she was getting the attention she deserved.
One of my favorite “social” reporters was Susan Watters. She wrote for Women’s Wear Daily, the bible of the American fashion industry. She didn’t cover politics, as you can imagine. One evening, after a state dinner, she and I walked out the front doors onto the iconic North Portico at the same time as one of the guests. Susan, looking for more social gossip, looked at him and asked, “Who are you?” It was Henry Cabot Lodge, former US senator from Massachusetts, US ambassador to the United Nations, to South Vietnam, and to West Germany. Not to mention he was the Republican candidate for vice president in 1960. He was “Mr. Republican.” I tried to pretend I didn’t know Susan at that moment. In truth, I loved her. She was great company. And an excellent writer.
A very tricky moment for me involved Bob Hope. He was a White House guest of the Reagans at a time that coincided with his eightieth birthday. Unbeknownst to Nancy, Bob had arranged (presumably through his publicists) to be interviewed by one of the networks while staying at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. When Nancy heard about it she called me in a tizzy. There is a long-standing tradition that no one was allowed to be interviewed by broadcasters in the White House except the president and First Lady. She told me to please help her, to “handle” it.
I called the network and we negotiated a deal whereby they would interview Bob in my office, which was technically in the White House, but they agreed not to identify the location during the interview nor were they to ask him any questions about where he was celebrating his birthday. The network agreed; Bob did the interview and the questions led him to reminisce about his life. Everyone was happy. I remember setting up the exact frame for the camera during the interview so there was nothing in the background to give the location away. Bob never knew what we’d done; he had a birthday interview; White House tradition was preserved.
One morning, there was an interesting article in one of the newspapers that caught my eye. It also dealt with the need to protect the image of the White House, in this case, specifically against commercial interests. A paragraph in the article read:
“People keep stuffing them into their beaded evening bags and dinner jacket pockets to take home for souvenirs. So it’s time for Nancy Reagan to reorder those oversized monogrammed damask dinner napkins that Jackie Kennedy started using at state dinners at the White House during the days of ‘Camelot.’ The price has doubled, to $900 a dozen, in the past 20 years.”
My by-now practiced eye readily recognized the dinner napkin item for what it was. A clever way for the New York linen shop to gin up some business. Hostesses always wanted whatever the White House ordered. A stern warning went out through the White House Legal Office. No more bogus items about napkins showed up in the papers.
The real reason the White House needs to order new china every fifteen years or so is not breakage, which is rare indeed; it’s politely called “loss.” Some people simply cannot leave the White House where they have just had the privilege of dining without “losing” a saucer or a demitasse cup into their pocket. Since the mold for each china service is destroyed after it is delivered to the White House, the possibility of ordering replacement pieces is not an option. At one state dinner, Joan Rivers was a guest. She talked with Deputy Press Secretary Barbara Fabiani and me afterward and showed us all the items she’d been able to slip into her purse. Let the record show she did not take any china. She took name cards, menus, a few flowers; at least that’s what she showed us.
* * *
As Nancy Reagan began to travel on her campaign against youth drug abuse, the gossip seemed to diminish and the press began to cover her seriously.
The influential New York Times reporter Maureen Dowd joined us in Atlanta in 1984 when Nancy went to a McDonald’s to help launch the food chain’s international drug prevention program. As Nancy walked up to order her meal, I told her it was very important to order a “Big Mac and a Coke.” That was all the folks at McDonald’s and Coca-Cola asked. I said it twice to make sure she understood. The TV cameras were ready and the sound was on.
Nancy went through the line and ordered a “Big Mac and an orange drink.” The Coca-Cola management had lent us several of their employees to serve as “advance men” for this event. All they’d asked was a mention of Coca-Cola. Nancy blew it. Or she really just wanted an orange drink.
Maureen, unaware of my chagrin, duly reported what Nancy ordered and went on to write about how much more relaxed and open Nancy seemed.
I found the major media who covered Nancy Reagan to be pros. I almost never felt the need to complain. The photographers were even better to deal with. They simply wanted to do their jobs, to get a good picture. Only once, at a state dinner, did I have to intervene to keep two photographers from getting into fisticuffs.
Photographers are ushered into the State Dining Room to capture the toast made by the president in honor of his visitor. Many bring unwieldly stepladders into the room in order to climb as high as possible above the guests to get their picture. In this case, one American photographer and a photographer from the visiting country were both up on ladders next to each other, directly above the visiting dignitary. They began to elbow each other and their ladders were swaying; I could envision one of them falling on top of our honored guest. What an honor that would be.
I raced behind and between them and in a stage whisper I ordered them to stop and get down. Believe it or not, the American photographer in a whiny voice said to me, “He started it.” It was like being back in grade school.
On the other hand, I worked
occasionally with David Kennerly, Pulitzer Prize–winning photographer, who sent me an incredible picture he took of the Reagans. They are standing facing each other, out on the Truman balcony, with the Washington Monument in the background. They were clearly sharing a special moment talking together. David took the picture from inside the Yellow Oval Room through the windowpanes, which really made it unique; he expected it to be used in Time magazine and was surprised when editors rejected it. They said it was “too schmaltzy.” David tried to explain that that’s the way the Reagans are with each other: schmaltzy. He felt strongly that it was a good relationship picture. I can attest to that.
David said he loved dealing with Nancy. She wasn’t “bossy”; he said she was “delightful to work with—helpful, understanding and genuine.” And David allowed me to unveil his schmaltzy picture.
David said that Nancy “was right up there with people I really liked.”
13
Diplomat in Chief
Nancy Reagan was a natural diplomat. It just took me a while to think of her that way. She was naturally cautious, thoughtful, and soft-spoken. She gave you her undivided attention. All important attributes for a diplomat.
As she became more comfortable and self-assured as First Lady, she built friendly relationships with many members of the press, and with many in the Washington establishment like Kay Graham and Lucky Roosevelt.