Betty Ford: First Lady

by Lisa McCubbin

  “It was something we as a family all came to embrace and commit to,” Mike Ford said. He and Gayle were both graduate students, and instead of taking a full course load, he took only one class that fall semester—on a Wednesday—so that he could spend four or five days traveling around the Northeast. “We gave it our all to share the good message of Jerry Ford and his strong leadership, integrity, and the way he brought the country back together, healing the scars of Vietnam and Watergate.”

  Steve Ford, who’d been attending California State Polytechnic University, Pomona, decided to quit school to campaign for his dad. Betty was skeptical about whether his prime motive was to campaign or to avoid school—especially when, at a family strategy meeting, Steve presented his unique idea to take two friends and a Winnebago camper decorated with banners and stickers and drive through the western United States.

  “We took that motor home from California to Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Utah, New Mexico, and finally ended up in Arizona,” Steve recalled, years later. “Lots of small towns and many miles. These were the folks I related to, since I had been working on cattle ranches in the West.”

  Wearing jeans, Western shirts, and cowboy boots, Steve didn’t put on any airs. And when people asked him why he was doing it, he’d say “My father’s done a lot for me in the last twenty years, and this gives me a chance to pay him back in a small way.”

  Steve’s sentiments summarized the feelings of the whole family.

  Betty joined him in Downey, California, where she proudly introduced herself as “Steve’s mother” to a group of voters assembled in a parking lot, and then spent a few hours working the phones at the Republican headquarters.

  “Hello, this is Betty Ford,” she’d say.

  Frequently, the response she’d get was, “You’re kidding.”

  “Yes, really, I’m Betty Ford, calling from Downey,” she’d repeat, trying to convince the disbeliever. There’d be a pause, and then a request.

  “Well, all right,” Betty would say, “go and get your tape recorder.”

  The previous six months had been taxing, but the next three months were grueling. Betty crisscrossed the country: lunch in a university cafeteria in Oregon; a stop in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, to say hello to a thousand Shriners; a stop in Independence, Missouri; five minutes to meet in an airplane hangar; and on and on. There were plenty of eighteen-hour days. The family split up to cover as much territory as possible, and by Election Day, the race was razor close. In Buffalo, Betty had been invited to be the grand marshal of the Pulaski Day Parade, and the Carter forces countered by sending to town his running mate, Senator Walter Mondale of Minnesota. Betty knew they’d wind up in the reviewing stand together at some point during the festivities, and the press would want pictures of the meeting.

  When Senator Mondale came up on the platform, Betty smiled and graciously shook his hand. Then she said, “I have something for you.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a green-and-white campaign button. Green and white were the Carter campaign colors, but the button said “Keep Betty in the White House.”

  “I believe these are your colors,” she said, pinning it right on his lapel. It took Mondale a minute to realize what it said, but as soon as he did, he laughed, and then promptly took it off.

  Tuesday, November 2, 1976, the campaign ended where Jerry Ford’s career and his marriage to Betty Bloomer had begun twenty-eight years earlier, in Grand Rapids. They flew in separately—he from Canton, Ohio, and she from Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.

  As soon as they saw each other, they hugged and kissed. Then together they rode, standing in an open car, hand in hand, through the streets of their hometown, waving to the cheering crowds. It was an amazing spectacle. Fifty thousand people—one-quarter of the city’s population—had turned out to express their love and enthusiasm for Jerry and Betty Ford. In a speech at the grand, historic Pantlind Hotel, Ford reflected that the two and a half years he’d been president had been “troubled, and they have been tough. But,” he said, “we’re going to make America great again.”

  The president had traveled sixteen thousand miles in ten days and had given so many speeches that his voice was hoarse. He’d thrown out his notes and, with tear-filled eyes, said, “I say to you calmly that I want your prayers for confirmation, but tomorrow I ask for your votes, and I won’t let you down.”

  He turned to Betty and handed her the microphone.

  Betty looked out at the crowd. Seeing so many familiar faces and old friends brought back a flood of memories from what seemed to have been a different lifetime.

  “I just want to say how absolutely, completely, ecstatically thrilled I am to be here tonight and how proud I am of Jerry and the job he’s done. I hope you go out tomorrow and give that old ballot box a good pull for Jerry Ford!”

  America had fallen in love with this outspoken, fearless first lady, but nowhere in America did they love her more than in Grand Rapids.

  The next morning, Jerry and Betty voted, and then boarded Air Force One to head back to the White House. Whether they’d stay there another four years was now in the hands of the voters.

  19

  * * *

  Last Days in the White House

  Election Night, 1976

  That evening, Betty and Jerry invited a group of close friends and family to watch the election returns in the White House residential quarters. Susan, Steve, Jack, Mike, and Gayle were there, along with Clara and President Ford’s brother Tom; Grand Rapids friends Peter and Joan Secchia; former major league baseball player and popular television sportscaster Joe Garagiola, who had played a big role in the campaign; Senator and Mrs. Robert Dole; Senator Jacob Javits of New York; singer Pearl Bailey; as well as assorted staff and others who came and went as the evening progressed.

  It was an informal atmosphere, with people gathered around several television sets, sitting in chairs, on sofas, or wandering from room to room. Betty and Pearl Bailey sat together cross-legged on the floor in front of one of the televisions for a while, like two young schoolgirls.

  The early evening brought a sense of excitement. There was a feeling that President Ford had narrowed the gap so much on Governor Carter that he might win—that he could win. In those days, the Democratic states were red and the Republican states were blue on the television electoral map, and when a state would go blue, Garagiola would call out, “Here we go, Prez! Here we go!” He was the head cheerleader. “Go blue!”

  Then around eleven thirty, the mood started to change. President Ford took two calls within that next hour, and the news was not good. At one twenty in the morning, NBC declared that Carter had won New York, and shortly thereafter, Texas went red too. It wasn’t looking good, but there was still a narrow path to enough electoral college votes for victory. At roughly three o’clock, Dick Cheney and Bob Teeter, a pollster, came up and talked privately with Ford. The president had all but lost his voice, so he asked Greg Willard to gather everyone together.

  Cheney and Teeter explained that the way it was going, the way the numbers were shaping up, the tally of electoral college votes was simply too close to call; the final totals in the key states of Ohio, Wisconsin, and Hawaii likely wouldn’t be known for several more hours. At three twenty, Ford realized that “there wasn’t a darn thing that I could do,” so he went to bed.

  Betty couldn’t go to sleep until she knew for sure that they’d lost. She stayed up with Susan, Mike and Gayle, Steve, and a few others. Susan was sprawled out on the floor, and the rest of them sat in chairs gathered around the television when, at 3:38 a.m., NBC news anchor John Chancellor announced, “We project that James Earl Carter will be the thirty-ninth president of the United States.”

  No one said a word. Even though they knew it was probably coming, to hear it announced was like a stake in the heart.

  After a few moments, Betty turned to Mike and Greg Willard, who were both sitting to her right, and asked, “Do you think we should wake him up?”


  “No,” they answered in unison. “Let him sleep.”

  At that point, NBC cut to a live video feed of Jimmy Carter in Plains, Georgia. Betty looked at the television and said, “Governor, I hope you know what you’re getting in for.”

  Everyone chuckled. Leave it to Betty to lighten the mood. And then she said, “You know, I had the craziest thing happen to me when I was in Pittsburgh . . .” She began to tell a funny story from the campaign trail, and suddenly everyone was laughing hysterically. As soon as she finished, Susan piped up, “Oh, Mother, you won’t believe what happened to me in this one parade . . .” Soon it was this cacophony of everyone telling stories of funny things that had happened during the campaign.

  Finally, about four thirty, Betty went into the bedroom to change into her nightgown and robe. When she came back out, she said, “Okay, everyone, it’s going to be a busy day. Let’s all get some sleep.”

  She was standing in the archway between the West Sitting Hall and the Center Hall, and Mike, Gayle, Steve, and Susan got up and walked over to hug her good night.

  They’d invited Greg Willard to spend the night on the third floor, and as he walked toward the elevator, he made eye contact with Betty. With a despondent look on his face, he mouthed, “Good night.”

  Mrs. Ford walked over to him, and he said, “Oh, Mrs. Ford, I’m so sorry. I really thought he was going to pull it out.”

  Betty looked at him sternly, in a motherly way, grabbed him by the hands, and said, “Now, you listen to me, young man. When we walk out of here on January twentieth, we’re walking out with no regrets and many wonderful memories. We’ll walk out with our heads high, filled with pride, and you’re going to walk out with your head high along with us.”

  She kissed him on the cheek and said, “Now, go get some sleep.”

  That moment, Greg remembered, was “quintessential Betty Ford.” Of course she was disappointed at the loss, but she wasn’t going to dwell on it. “She could have been despondent, angry, or bitter; instead, she summoned that remarkable Betty Ford inner strength and focused squarely on the future.”

  The day after the election, David Kennerly recalled, “was a day when more than a few tears were shed, among the family and those of us who were close to them. It was a tough loss.” To make things worse, President Ford could barely talk. And the press was waiting for him to give his concession speech.

  Around eleven in the morning, President Ford was in the Oval Office with Dick Cheney and a couple of other staff members. He called the White House switchboard and asked them to get Governor Carter on the phone. When Carter answered, Ford whispered, “I can’t talk. I’m going to have Dick Cheney read my statement.”

  Sitting in a chair across the room, on an extension, Dick Cheney read the president’s brief concession. It was official, but a press conference was scheduled for twelve fifteen.

  At noon, Betty, Mike, Gayle, Jack, Steve, and Susan joined the president in the Oval Office.

  “David,” Betty said to Kennerly, “I want a photo of all of us behind the desk, just like we did the day the president took the oath of office.”

  Everyone was crying, and no one wanted a photo, but they weren’t going to turn down Mother. They gathered behind the desk, and no one could even force a smile. Betty turned to Jack, who was at her right, and grabbed him under the chin.

  “Chin up, kid,” she said with a grin. “Look, there are worse things that could have happened.”

  “That moment,” David Kennerly recalled, “was so indicative of her strength. She was holding everyone up. That photo is one of my all-time favorites.” In the sequence of photos that follow, everyone is smiling—they are forced smiles—trying to be as brave as Mother.

  It was time to go to the press room. Jerry reached out to Betty and whispered, “I can’t read the concession speech. Will you do it for me?”

  She looked into his eyes, so filled with disappointment and sadness. It was the first election he’d ever lost. “Of course I will,” she said.

  The family walked out the door of the Oval Office and paraded somberly down the colonnade past the Cabinet Room, turned right, and entered the door to the press room.

  President Ford went first, and the rest followed. As they stepped onto the small stage, gathering around the podium, the members of the media applauded.

  President Ford stepped forward to the microphone. “It’s perfectly obvious,” he said, his voice crackling and hoarse, “my voice isn’t up to par, and I shouldn’t be making very many comments, and I won’t. But I did want Betty, Mike, Jack, Susan, Steve, and Gayle to come down with me and to listen while Betty read a statement that I have sent to Governor Carter.”

  His eyes were sad, but he gathered strength from having his family around him.

  “I do want to express on a personal basis,” he continued, “my appreciation and that of my family for the friendship all of us have had, and after Betty reads the statement that was sent to Governor Carter by me, I think that all of us, Betty and the children and myself, would like to just come down and shake hands and express our appreciation personally.”

  He paused and then said, “Now let me call on the real spokesman of the family.” Behind him, Susan, Mike, Jack, and Steve broke into laughter as he turned to his wife and said, “Betty.”

  Laughing at that unexpected introduction, Betty stepped up to the podium and kissed her husband on the lips.

  It had been just three years since they’d first shocked the public by kissing each other on the lips in front of the entire world when Jerry had been nominated to be President Nixon’s vice presidential appointee. There’d been countless public displays of affection since then—for they had bared their personal struggles and triumphs with the country. They didn’t know how to hide their emotions. With the Fords, what you saw was who they were.

  Dressed in a gray suit with a white high-collared, feminine blouse, her hair and makeup perfect, Betty stepped up to the microphone as Jerry moved aside. Don’t show any emotion, she thought to herself. Not for the country’s sake, but for the family’s.

  She looked out to the audience of press, and in her soft, soothing voice, she said, “The president asked me to tell you that he telephoned President-elect Carter a short time ago and congratulated him on his victory. The president also wants to thank all those thousands of people who worked so hard on his behalf, and the millions who supported him with their votes. It’s been the greatest honor of my husband’s life to serve his fellow Americans during two of the most difficult years in our history. The president urges all Americans to join him in giving your united support to President-elect Carter as he prepares to assume his new responsibilities.”

  As Betty spoke, the news cameras zoomed in on President Ford’s face. Watching Betty read the statement, his eyes conveyed the heart-wrenching grief he felt for not having been able to sway the country. But in his demeanor, you couldn’t help but notice how proud he was of his beloved Betty for her courage in that moment.

  And then Betty read the telegram. Her voice was clear, strong, and deliberate, and on her face was a smile filled with pride.

  Dear Jimmy, it is apparent now that you have won our long and intense struggle for the presidency. I congratulate you on your victory. As one who has been honored to serve the people of this great land both in Congress and as president, I believe that we must now put divisions of the campaign behind us and unite the country once again in the common pursuit of peace and prosperity. Although there will continue to be disagreements over the best means to use in pursuing our goals, I want to assure you that you have my complete and wholehearted support as you take the oath of office this January. I also pledge to you that I and all members of my administration will do all that we can to insure that you begin your term as smoothly and effectively as possible. May God bless you and your family as you undertake your new responsibilities. Signed, Jerry Ford. Thank you very much.

  The audience of press clapped, and then the president, Be
tty, and their family walked out among them, shaking hands, chatting with the reporters. It was an odd relationship between the political family in the fishbowl and the press, whose job it was to expose everything about them. And while each member of the Ford family had his or her quibbles with members of the media, the patriarch of the family had set an example by respecting them for the job they’d done. As Betty smiled graciously and shook hands, she wasn’t focusing on what had gone wrong, or how they might have done things differently—she was already looking ahead to the future and the pleasures of private life, thinking to herself: All I have to do is get us all through the next three months, until the day we leave the White House.

  Betty had put up a good front when she’d given her husband’s concession speech, but as the days went on, she became somewhat melancholy at Jerry’s having lost the election after twenty-eight years of faithful service to the country. She thought the American people had made a big mistake. In a sense, she was out of office too. “People with low self-esteem crave reassurance from the outside world,” she wrote later. She realized she was one of those people, and in her two and a half short years as first lady of the United States, she’d received about as much reassurance as any human being could get. Sure, Betty had her critics, but she’d been voted one of the most admired women in America. And the best part of it all was that she was just being herself. She hadn’t changed to fit what she thought people wanted her to be. She’d just been Betty, and that’s who people loved.

  In an article for the Evansville Press, writer Judy Clabes summed up the nation’s adoration of Betty Ford with an article entitled “We’ll Miss You, Betty Ford.” It began, “You didn’t ask to be first lady. But when it was thrust on you, you were there, doing it up right when we needed you most.

  “You were frank, honest, open, natural—all the things we had begun to think first ladies couldn’t be. But most of all, you were human. You made us more comfortable with ourselves.”