Lady in Red

by Sheila Tate

  Fast-forward to my first big speech for her when the Reagans were going to Ireland in June 1984. Nancy’s father, Dr. Loyal Davis, was being posthumously inducted into the Royal College of Surgeons at University College Galway. They would be unveiling his portrait.

  I met with her and she told me a lot of her memories of her dad that I could use in the speech. Just before I left the room to go to my computer and get busy, she said, “Please don’t make me cry.” (He had recently passed away.) Well, there was absolutely no way to fulfill her request. She adored him, that was clear. And speaking in tribute of him was bound to be emotional. So I just wrote it as she had told it to me in our meeting. Far from keeping the emotion out, I put it ALL in. Why? Because it was impossible not to under the circumstances and I knew it would make a better speech.

  It was a success. Later, she told me that I totally captured him and it meant so much to her.

  22

  The Long Goodbye

  Sunset and evening star

  And one clear call for me!

  And may there be no moaning of the bar

  When I put out to sea;

  But such a tide as moving seems asleep

  Too full for sound and foam

  When that which drew from out the boundless deep

  Turns again home

  Twilight and evening bell,

  And after that the dark!

  And may there be no sadness of farewell

  When I embark;

  For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place

  The flood may bear me far,

  I hope to see my Pilot face to face

  When I have crost the bar.

  —Alfred Lord Tennyson (1889), “Crossing the Bar”

  There are so many wonderful stories about Ronald Reagan; he had a marvelous sense of humor; he was truly humble and thoughtful.

  He also had a real love of nature and nature’s creatures. He never cut down a living tree, only branches blocking trails in the mountainous property around Rancho del Cielo. And he used everything he cut for fires on cold nights.

  He collected acorns, which he left every morning outside his Oval Office door; the squirrels had come to expect breakfast on time and they could be insistent. If he was out of town, he made sure his secretary put out the acorns.

  He doodled in meetings when he was bored. And he wasn’t a bad caricaturist. He favored drawing horses’ heads and cowboys.

  And did he ever love good jokes.

  I suspect he also had a stubborn streak. For one thing, he had a plaid suit that the photographers referred to as “the horse blanket.” They hated it because it did not photograph well. He was well aware of their feelings, but he continued to wear it because he really liked it.

  Our advance man Marty Coyne told the story that he once got a call from the FBI saying they wanted to interview him about Mike Deaver. This was after Mike had left the White House and started a very high-profile government relations firm with Bill Sittman, a former aide.

  Marty had no idea why they wanted to talk to him but he felt he should tell Nancy about this development; she never liked surprises. He went up to the residence and told her; she immediately insisted on bringing the president in to hear this information. President Reagan listened to Marty recount his concern and here’s what he said when Marty had finished: “Marty, always tell the truth.”

  It turned out to be nothing. But Marty said the president’s guidance—“Marty, always tell the truth”—has stayed with him ever since. He now has grandchildren to whom he will pass that lesson.

  I had an experience with President Reagan that stands out in my memory. I went upstairs to the residence to accompany Nancy to some event, long lost to memory. She was running late but the president came out into the living room and told me a story.

  He said he’d just met the most impressive woman. She was from Chicago. She had lived in Nazi Germany and had sheltered a Jewish girl until she could get out of the country. They had just been reunited by a radio station in Chicago, if my memory serves. I could tell he was moved by the experience and I clearly remember thinking how wonderful it was that the man who was our president, with incredible power and influence, could still feel awe and amazement at the courage of this woman. It was almost as if he simply had to talk to someone about it and I was the first person in his line of sight.

  Ed Hickey ran the White House Military Office just down the hall from the East Wing offices for Nancy’s staff. Ed was a big, fun-loving Irishman who hosted an annual St. Paddy’s Day celebration in his office. Tip O’Neill and Ronald Reagan always attended and the Irish jokes never stopped. Ed always invited the East Wing staff and we always went. Wouldn’t miss it! There was nothing better than watching the president and the Speaker try to outdo each other with Irish humor. Sadly, Ed died of a heart attack at the young age of fifty-two. But I can just picture Ed and the president managing to find Tip O’Neill at that celestial party every St. Patrick’s Day so the three of them could tell the newest “heavenly” jokes. Come to think of it, perhaps St. Patrick himself might join them.

  The president occasionally arrived back in the family residence while we were still meeting with Nancy. I recall one such time when he walked into her office with his arms overflowing with boxes and bags. It seems these were items recently released by the White House Gift Office—where every gift given to anyone working at the White House from the president on down was appraised, logged in, and returned to the recipient with guidance. For employees, if the gift had a value of less than $100, it could be retained; if it was more valuable, it had to be returned. As I recall the president explaining all this to Nancy, they were allowed to keep the current batch of gifts in the private residence because they were all engraved and personalized, but when he left office they were required to be transferred to his library in California.

  One time Nancy’s phone rang when I was meeting with her, and the president walked in just as she answered the call. It was Billy Graham looking for the president. I can still see him sitting down in her desk chair, sliding it back away from the desk, and putting his feet up on the desk. They talked for at least fifteen minutes while Nancy moved over to her couch and we went back to whatever we were meeting about. She didn’t even seem to object to his feet being on her desk. I suspect it wasn’t the first time.

  But even if there was no phone call or no gifts to share with Nancy, Ronald Reagan always came directly to find her wherever she was as soon as he came back to the residence.

  And then, in the blink of an eye, fifteen years later, she lost him.

  * * *

  We knew it was coming. Alzheimer’s always ends in death, usually because of pneumonia. He died on June 5, 2004, fifteen years after leaving office—what Nancy called “the long goodbye.”

  After President Reagan released his moving letter, telling his “fellow Americans” about his recent medical diagnosis of Alzheimer’s, Nancy’s world gradually shrunk as the president’s disease progressed. She almost never left their home, except for occasional lunches with friends. She told me about walking up the road to have lunch with Ursula, widow of Robert Taylor, every Saturday.

  One day she called me at my Washington office to ask my advice. John Kennedy Jr. was starting his new magazine, George. He wanted to send a well-known photographer to Los Angeles to photograph President Reagan as the major focus for a piece on Alzheimer’s.

  Nancy was very fond of young John Kennedy and was torn about what to do. It would be a dramatic way to educate people about the disease. She simply asked me, “What should I do?” I reflected for a minute and said this, straight from my heart, “If the situation were reversed and he was being asked to allow you to be photographed, what would you want him to do?” She paused about five seconds and made up her mind. “You’re right. I need to protect him. I will tel
l John no.”

  It is ironic that the same protectiveness she exhibited during the White House years that was a source of much press criticism became a virtue for the press to celebrate in these later years as she protected her failing husband. Nancy hadn’t changed. Nancy was always just being Nancy.

  Thanks to Nancy, when the time came, everything and everyone was in place; we knew our jobs. I was to take care of media needs during the days leading up to and during the funeral. Mike Deaver, then at Edelman Public Relations, and I met regularly to make sure we had everything covered. The wire services duly published the photos the First Lady had given me years before, her favorites. She’d asked me to encourage the media to use them when the time came. They were wonderful in honoring that request. Joanne Drake at the Ronald Reagan Presidential Foundation and Institute deftly handled media needs while the president’s body lay in state at the library; I organized broadcast interviews for former senior staffers from our administration; days of nonstop interviews began.

  While President Reagan lay in state at his library before being flown to Washington, the mourners never stopped coming to pay respects.

  Nancy told me she was surprised by how many people came out and lined Pennsylvania Avenue as the funeral procession moved slowly toward the west steps of the Capitol. It was an amazing turnout. I asked her why she was surprised and she said, “I thought most people would have forgotten him after so many years.” She was so wrong. Ronald Reagan, forgotten? Never.

  I was standing in the Speaker’s Office with Margaret Thatcher as Nancy walked with the casket up those steps to bring her husband to the rotunda where he would lie in state.

  Mrs. Thatcher watched the air force jets roar across the sky as one plane fell away in the “Missing Man Formation.” She turned to me and said, “You Americans have such wonderful traditions.” I responded, “We probably stole them from you.” She also told me that ever since President Reagan (Ronnie to her) had called many years before—at least twenty—and asked her to agree to speak at his funeral, she never traveled without packing a black suit because she always wanted to be ready to keep her commitment no matter where in the world she found herself. Is it any wonder why President Reagan held Maggie in such high regard?

  The funeral at the National Cathedral on June 11 was a mixture of grief and pride. Everyone there had personal relationships with the Reagans and one another. President Reagan, the lover of Irish jokes and traditions, would have been proud of all the stories swapped while friends stood in the center aisle of that magnificent cathedral.

  It resembled an Irish wake. There were plenty of hugs and tears and lumps in the throat—but there were smiles as well, because we all knew he was in the arms of the Lord.

  Whenever I despair over what passes for journalism today, I remind myself that when it is really important, the press rises to the occasion. I just reread Newsweek’s June 21, 2004, issue covering President Reagan’s funeral and Nancy’s dignified presence. Its majestic photography caught the nation’s mood; young people standing along Pennsylvania Avenue with watery eyes next to a military veteran saluting the presidential caisson; Nancy protectively walking with the casket toward the Capitol and later that night, at sunset, collapsing to kiss the casket as it moved into the crypt at the Reagan Library. Their daughter, Patti, wrote a column for the same issue of Newsweek about her father’s faith that “God has a plan” and her belief that her mother will “find new life.”

  Most of that issue of Newsweek was devoted to President Reagan and Nancy and her passionate belief in stem-cell research as a potential cure for Alzheimer’s. It also carried recollections from former President George H.W. Bush (41); Dennis LeBlanc, one of the president’s dearest friends; actor Kirk Douglas; and Hollywood producer and Reagan friend, A. C. Lyles.

  I look back upon my experience with the White House press corps fondly. Of course, we had just three networks—CNN was just getting started—two wire services, and a handful of major newspapers to deal with. No talk radio; no internet; no cell phones. Life was simple then, although it didn’t feel that way at the time.

  And I cannot tell you how much pride we felt at the dignity and courage of Nancy who had suffered along with him for so many years. According to the plans they made while he was still in office (required of every president), President Reagan’s body was flown back to his library in Simi Valley where he was laid to rest in a tomb that faced west to the mountains just as the sun was setting. It held a place for his widow next to him. She would join him a few months short of twelve years later.

  Years earlier, Nancy showed me his funeral plans. There, in his own hand, was the request that Alfred Lord Tennyson’s poem “Crossing the Bar” be part of his service.

  Nancy called me shortly after President Reagan’s funeral and she told me that the thing she dreaded most was the idea of walking back into their empty house alone after the final service at the library. She didn’t have to worry. Her two children, Ron and Patti, ordered pizza and went back to the house with her. They sat in the kitchen and talked while they ate. She said “It made all the difference.”

  It was hard not to worry about my friend who said her life didn’t really begin until she met Ronald Reagan. When I visited her on one occasion after she was widowed, I saw a much physically diminished woman, holding on to the wall as she came down the hall because she’d broken her pelvis when she fell getting out of bed in the middle of the night. She told me she also had glaucoma. But when she sat down next to me and started showing me things, it was the same old Nancy. She didn’t dwell on her limitations; she was very interested in what good stories I had to share, as always, from our nation’s capital.

  She talked about her Ronnie with pleasure evident in her eyes. She complained about how fat her dog was. While we were sitting there she seemed no older than she was when she was First Lady. We talked about her friends like Betsy Bloomingdale, whose bright, happy personality always made it fun to be around her. I left thinking Nancy’s life, while limited by her physical challenges, was still satisfying for her.

  But even then it was clear she did not fear the end of life because it would mean she would be reunited with her husband and that was the essence of her life.

  It was just a matter of crossing the bar.

  No Words

  I cannot find the right words to bring you to the last pages of this book because they center on the death of Nancy Reagan on March 6, 2016.

  She had so many loyal friends who tried to keep her busy and engaged. But there was one among the many whom I want to tell you about as we bid Nancy goodbye.

  In the days leading up to her death, there was a tiny dog named Digby who’d brought her real comfort. Digby fit into the pocket of his owner, Robert Higdon. Robert and Nancy had become close friends over the years. Robert, a board member of the Ronald Reagan Presidential Foundation and Institute, had headed up the Prince Charles Charitable Foundation in the United States for many years and, more important, he is a wonderful human being and great company. Nancy truly adored him.

  Robert and Digby spent many of those last days sitting by Nancy as she “slipped the surly bonds of earth.” On their last visit, just a few days before Nancy died, Digby insisted on curling up on Nancy as she alternated between sleeping and waking. At one point Digby, who weighed only a few ounces, began to walk down from Nancy’s abdomen toward her “lower regions,” according to Robert. Nancy suddenly said, clear as a bell, “That better be Digby.”

  Nancy died quietly just days after putting Digby on notice. I like to think of that last encounter because it makes me smile. Nancy did have a wonderful sense of humor and that was one of the best examples I have. We who grieved her loss were also becalmed by the knowledge that she died peacefully in her sleep and that she was finally where she wanted most to be…with her Ronnie.

  But still, several years later, it makes me sad to think that I will
never pick up the phone and hear her voice again. In fact, knowing her—remember, she was relentless—maybe she’ll work out a way to get a celestial phone installed. She knows my number.

  Acknowledgments

  To Clay Carson, USC student, who took on the poorly paid assignment of looking through boxes of materials at the Reagan Library for me. He unearthed a lot of helpful material. He worked closely with archivist Jennifer Mandel who was generous with her time and assistance. And, of course, my great thanks to Joanne Drake, chief administrative officer of the Ronald Reagan Presidential Foundation and Institute, for all her assistance.

  To Kimberley Beckelman, my favorite hairdresser, for her brainstorm that resulted in the title of this book: Lady in Red.

  To Jannie Giles for keeping our household in order and for the time she spent overnight to care for my dog while we traveled. She was a godsend.

  This book really belongs to all my wonderful friends across the country who weighed in with memories. The experience of reconnecting with so many old Reagan alumni alone was worth the work.

  To Toni Lynch Macpherson, a college friend from Pittsburgh, who helped me find Dr. Tom Starzl’s email address.

  To my friend Michie Bright who sent me information about the friendship between Nancy and Jehan Sadat. To Marcia Chipperfield, who was a big help in photographing some material for the book.

  To Mark Weinberg who knows where to find anything and everything. And still has the best sense of humor of anyone, except the president, in the Reagan administration.