Movie Nights with the Reagans

by Mark Weinberg

  Despite the angst caused by the first debate, the campaign for reelection was fun. The president enjoyed traveling across the country, speaking at rallies and meeting voters. It was never routine to him. He liked people and was energized by how crowds at rallies responded to his speeches. Some of us in the traveling party—staff and press—however, did not always have the same level of excitement and enthusiasm. It was a lot of work, and at the end of some days, we were dragging.

  At many rallies, the president would tell a joke about Republican puppies versus Democratic puppies, which the crowd always enjoyed. After all, it was the first time the crowd was hearing the joke. Not so for the traveling staff and press corps, who heard it several times a day. On one occasion, toward the end of the campaign, the pool of reporters, TV cameramen, and still photographers who were in the buffer zone between the stage and the first row of the crowd just in front of the presidential podium handwrote a sign that read: “Please, no puppy story!” and held it up, hoping the president would see it. He did, laughed, and told the crowd that “they” (meaning the press pool in front of him) asked that he not tell the story, but he did anyway. And, of course, the crowd loved it. As I recall, the joke went something like this: A child had a sign on her front lawn that said “Democratic puppies, one dollar each.” The next day the same child had a sign that said “Republican puppies, two dollars each.” When confronted by a potential customer who asked why there was a difference in price for the puppies, she replied, “Well, yesterday when the puppies were just born, they had their eyes closed. But today they’re open.”

  And as much as the crowd loved hearing Lee Greenwood’s “God Bless the U.S.A.,” which was played at the end of every rally, several of us (myself included) were so sick of that song by Election Day that we prayed to never hear it again.

  On the Democratic side, Walter Mondale had made history just days before this Camp David visit by announcing his running mate: Representative Geraldine Ferraro of New York. It was the first time a woman had occupied a spot on a presidential ticket for a major political party. Mondale had been trailing Reagan by sixteen points in the polls. After this announcement, he enjoyed a bump that brought him temporarily even with the president.XII Even while relaxing at Camp David, Reagan was aware of the wall-to-wall coverage the Ferraro announcement was getting.

  Debate prep was a far-off concern on the Saturday the president watched Ghostbusters in July, however. That afternoon, he gave his typical radio address, speaking at 12:06 p.m. Interestingly, this week’s topic was the environment, and he explained how his administration was working through the EPA to handle environmental challenges, while transferring some responsibility back to the states. He cited a billion-dollar initiative to refurbish national park facilities, remarking wryly that “our progress on protecting the environment is one of the best-kept secrets in Washington.”XIII He may have chuckled when—just a few hours later—he sat down to watch a movie in which the main villain was a functionary of the EPA.

  Ghostbusters held the top box office spot for seven weeks before finally being knocked off by Prince’s film Purple Rain.XIV Perhaps it was inevitable that the popularity of the movie and the season’s biggest news story—the presidential campaign—would eventually collide.

  The Fritzbusters were the product of that collision, the brainchild of some officers of the College Republican National Committee. Twenty-three-year-old Paul Erickson, the CRNC treasurer, who had seen the movie three times, wrote the parody song that poked fun at Fritz Mondale.XV Also in on the act was the CRNC’s president, a young Jack Abramoff, who went on to an ignominious lobbying career. Abramoff was convicted of corruption and served time in prison for mail fraud, conspiracy to bribe elected officials, and tax evasion. The Fritzbusters routine debuted at the Republican convention in Dallas, and reportedly sold seven thousand T-shirts bearing their cartoon logo that week before taking the act on the road.XVI

  Erickson and the others would visit campuses for rallies, appearing onstage “wearing coveralls, black rubber gloves, and goggles—essentially the same outfit that the actor Bill Murray wore in ‘Ghostbusters,’ with students as backup dancers,” the New York Times reported.XVII They even traveled in a repurposed ambulance, just as Murray and the other Ghostbusters did in the film.

  The fusion of politics and popular entertainment worked, and showed no signs of diminishing as summer turned to fall. The Times reported that in September, one crowd of Michigan students was “roused to a pitch usually reserved for the football field,” giving Vice President George Bush “one of his most organized and vibrant receptions of the past two weeks.”XVIII

  Reagan was not comfortable with negative campaigning, though, and lead Fritzbuster Paul Erickson would later tell the press that Michael Deaver, deputy chief of staff and lead curator of the president’s image, had reacted negatively “through a back channel.” According to Erickson, Deaver sought to ensure “the campaign is pro-Reagan and not anti-Mondale,” and worried that “this song is obviously anti-Mondale.”XIX

  I wish I had known that on Election Night 1984. As had been their practice throughout the president’s political career, the Reagans went to the home of their dear friends Earle and Marion Jorgensen to have dinner and await the returns with a small group of close friends and family. While there, the president received the call from Walter Mondale conceding the election. He took it in a spare bedroom, where a small portable television had been set up. Mrs. Reagan, Mike Deaver, and I joined him in the room. The call did not last long. From the president’s end, it was cordial and gracious. After the call, Mike, thinking of national unity, said to Reagan, “You really should invite him to the White House.” Before the president could reply, I chimed in with “For what? A tour?” To my great pleasure, Mrs. Reagan laughed heartily. Mike, though, was not amused. At all. He shot me a look I will never forget. The president readily agreed to have Mondale over for a visit.

  The convention, the Fritzbusters, and the charged atmosphere of the coming fall campaign were still a ways off when Reagan watched Ghostbusters at Camp David in July. It may have been made with some free-market, libertarian undertones that would delight commentators on the right, but while Reagan believed in the power of the free market, he didn’t screen movies based on their ideology. That’s not what our movie nights were about.

  They were the opposite: an escape from politics. Movie nights were a diversion from the business of governing—or the business of campaigning—and a chance for the Reagans to relax and enjoy the art form that brought them together in the first place.

  11

  BACK TO THE FUTURE

  Starring:

  Michael J. Fox, Christopher Lloyd

  Directed by:

  Robert Zemeckis

  Viewed by the Reagans:

  July 26, 1985

  The Film That Left Us Speechless

  At 11:28 a.m. on Saturday, July 13, 1985, Ronald Reagan ceased, for the second time, to be president of the United States. At that moment, he was placed under anesthesia for nearly three hours of surgery to remove a two-inch cancerous growth from his colon. A letter he had signed earlier that morning transferred power temporarily to Vice President Bush.

  Just minutes before, the president had been transported on a gurney down the gleaming white corridors of Bethesda Naval Hospital toward the operating room as the First Lady kept pace alongside, holding her husband’s hand. The growth in his large intestine had been discovered only the day before during a colonoscopy exam. The decision had been made to perform the surgery right away. At the door to the operating room, the president and First Lady exchanged a final “I love you” and squeezed each other’s hands once more. Then the medical team took over.

  Reagan’s wit shone through just before he underwent anesthesia. He told the surgeons that after his colonoscopy the day before, “this ought to be a breeze.”

  And, as colon cancer surgeries go, that’s what it was. President Reagan emerged two hours and fifty-three
minutes later after a complication-free procedure, minus all traces of the problematic growth—along with two feet of his large intestine. In another few hours, once the anesthesia and pain medication had worn off, he resumed his presidential duties after an absence of less than eight hours altogether.

  The summer of 1985 was a happy time for the Reagan presidency. He had just been inaugurated for the second time, having carried every state but one in the November 1984 election. The economy was improving impressively. The sky-high rates of unemployment, interest, and inflation that President Reagan had inherited when he took office were quickly being replaced by record prosperity. On the international front, there was also cause for optimism. In Mikhail Gorbachev, Ronald Reagan found a Soviet leader with whom he could work; a worthy partner in the games of statecraft that would characterize the last stages of the Cold War.

  In the summer of ’85, the momentum was all Ronald Reagan’s. “Morning in America” was turning into a brilliant high noon. “Morning in America” was the opening line in a television commercial used in Reagan’s campaign for reelection. It was designed to highlight how much progress had been made during the first Reagan term—that the country went from darkness to light. When Ronald Reagan died in 2004, coverage of funeral arrangements was sometimes referred to as “Mourning in America.”

  The surgery was only a minor hiccup. Everything had been taken care of so quickly and easily, with no complications, that it seemed nothing was going to slow down the Reagan revolution—not a would-be assassin’s bullet and not a little bit of cancer. Reagan himself was fond of saying, “I did not have cancer. I had something that had cancer in it, and it was removed.” I was understanding but always felt that this was an unrealistic denial. Only many years later, when I was diagnosed with prostate cancer, did I understand what he meant.

  In fact, in a strange way, Reagan’s cancer surgery in 1985 eerily foreshadowed my own treatment in 2007. The day of the president’s colonoscopy, with the surgery looming over us the following day, I rode back to the White House from the hospital in the limousine with Mrs. Reagan. She was understandably upset. At one point on that ride, in what was clearly an effort to minimize what was happening, she said to me, “Anyone can get cancer. Even you, Mark.” I didn’t think much of it at the time—the young always think they’re invincible—but it flashed back to the forefront of my mind when I received my diagnosis. At the time, I told my wife, Erin, “Well, Mrs. Reagan was right.” When she found out, Mrs. Reagan was extremely supportive and wrote us letters often. Thanks to some very talented doctors at New York’s Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center, the disease is no longer a part of my life.

  After President Reagan’s successful surgery, everyone wanted to get as far away from thoughts and talk of cancer as possible. It was important for the president to have time to recover, but there was a lot of work to be done, and the business of running the country could hardly be paused or even slowed down. In the weeks following the surgery, Reagan continued his recovery, gradually increasing his daily schedule of meetings and events. His vital signs were monitored every day by the White House physicians, and he spent time working from the residence, sometimes walking in the hallways for exercise. On rare occasions, he took a nap. Mrs. Reagan was vigilant on this point. If all went well in the first two weeks of recovery, he (and the rest of us) had a treat to look forward to: a weekend at Camp David scheduled for July 26.

  Among the items on the schedule during the week leading up to that trip were a state visit by Chinese president Li Xiannian; meetings on a variety of topics, including the deficit and budget, sanctions against South Africa, and the case of John Anthony Walker Jr., an officer in the US Navy who’d recently been arrested and charged with having operated as a Russian spy for more than twenty-five years. He’d even turned treason into the family business, recruiting his own son, a navy seaman, into his spy ring; as well as a Cabinet meeting and an interview with Hugh Sidey of Time magazine.

  After such a busy week, we knew it was a possibility that the president’s physician would veto the Camp David visit and order him to remain at the White House to rest. Nonetheless, we hoped and planned to go. On Thursday evening of that week, the White House physician approved the trip, saying, “It will do him a world of good.”

  Midmorning on Friday, the day we were due to leave, I left the office to collect one last provision. At a candy store across the street from the White House, I bought a big box of chocolates with smooth, creamy centers. We had been advised by the president’s physicians that he was not allowed to eat anything with nuts, seeds, or kernels anymore. Movie nights would no longer include popcorn. I hoped these chocolates would make for an acceptable substitute.

  By the time he boarded Marine One on the south grounds of the White House that Friday afternoon, Ronald Reagan was tired and ready for a relaxing weekend. But he hardly showed it. When he and Mrs. Reagan emerged from the diplomatic entrance, he beamed—clearly happy to be on the way to a place that remained one of his favorites throughout his eight years in office. A larger-than-usual press contingent had gathered to witness their departure.

  As Marine One took off, the feeling set in that everything was back to normal. On the helicopter with the Reagans were the president’s personal aide, Jim Kuhn; his army aide; a physician; two Secret Service agents; and me. After we landed at Camp David, we traveled in a mini-motorcade to Aspen Lodge, and just before the president entered, someone suggested that maybe he would prefer to have a quiet evening off instead of inviting the rest of us over for the usual movie showing. None of us wanted to tempt fate or tax President Reagan as he continued to recover from major surgery less than two weeks earlier.

  Nothing doing. “No, no,” the president said. “I’ve been looking forward to this and want you all to come.”

  “Yes sir,” we said almost in unison, and that was that.

  Even though the “call time” for the movie was 8:00 p.m. as usual, we gathered at the front door of Aspen at 7:45. It was a typically warm, muggy July evening. As always, Ronald Reagan opened the door at 7:50.

  Everything about the seventy-four-year-old seemed to glow with vitality unheard of in most men his age, or any age. Instead of screening a movie, the man before us could have been preparing to star in one. Though six foot one, he seemed to tower above us with an easy confidence that allowed him to command a room and put everyone in it at immediate ease.

  I always thought that was because he genuinely liked people and was comfortable in his own skin. Ronald Reagan was fundamentally a happy man who enjoyed life. He was rarely ill at ease, and not given to being uncomfortably self-conscious. Those qualities served him well. He was just as comfortable going head-to-head with Gorbachev as he was riding the perimeter at his California ranch. He made both look easy to anyone watching. He had played many roles in his life. Tonight he was obviously delighted to play host.

  Dressed in a short-sleeved polo shirt, blue jeans, and comfortable moccasin-type shoes, the president beckoned everyone in. “How do you do?” he said with a smile, and we all assembled near the unlit fireplace.

  Mrs. Reagan, wearing a denim shirt, blue jeans, and sneakers, came over and welcomed everyone. It was clear she was very happy that everything was back to normal.

  We made our way to our usual seats. Jim and I made a point of watching the president closely to see if he moved with any obvious discomfort or more slowly than usual, but he did not. It was confirmed: he was back to himself. Just before the movie began, Mrs. Reagan stood up and told everyone that “tonight we won’t be having popcorn, but I think Mark brought something else you will enjoy.” The lights dimmed, and the movie started.

  The Reagans were looking forward to seeing Back to the Future, maybe because its star, Michael J. Fox, was already well known for playing a precocious Republican teenager on one of their favorite television shows, Family Ties, then entering its fourth season. They were far from alone in their admiration for the NBC comedy. Between the 1984–85
and 1985–86 seasons, it jumped in the Nielsen rankings from number five up to number two in its prime-time slot.

  Fox played Alex P. Keaton, the son of two aging hippie parents growing up with his two sisters—and in the final seasons, a brother—in suburban Ohio. Young Alex, to the bafflement of his liberal mother and father, had grown up into a staunch conservative, fond of quoting the economist Milton Friedman (a Reagan favorite), wearing tailored suits and carrying his schoolwork in a briefcase. He yearned for the day he could take his place among the “yuppie” class. Though Alex’s political views could certainly cause chagrin among other members of his family, by the end of most episodes, their mutual love and respect for one another had smoothed out any domestic fissures.

  The popularity of Alex P. Keaton was itself very much a reflection of the Reagan era. Alex personified the resurgence that right-of-center ideology was making among young people at the time, thanks in no small part to President Reagan’s own capacity for inspiring leadership. The Reagan Revolution had made it “cool” to be Republican.

  Twenty minutes or so into the movie, the two Aspen presidential food service coordinators came into the darkened living room. They crouched down so as not to block anyone’s view of the screen as they made their way to the couch. One handed the president the big box of chocolates I had brought, and the other handed him and Mrs. Reagan water in crystal glasses etched with the presidential seal. They then handed the rest of us water in plain glasses. No presidential seals.

  The president and Mrs. Reagan each took some pieces of chocolate, and we all passed the box around until it wound up on the coffee table, once again in front of the Reagans. The chocolates, I noted thankfully, had proved a success.