Betty Ford

by Lisa McCubbin

  The ticktock-ticktock signature sound of the 60 Minutes broadcast began, and then Morley Safer appeared. “Elizabeth Ann Bloomer was her name when she was born in Chicago fifty-seven years ago and grew up in Grand Rapids,” he began.

  Safer gave a brief synopsis of her life up to marrying a congressman—without mentioning him by name—and moving to Washington. “Then followed more than twenty years of housewifery and the obscurity that comes of living in the shadow of a politician. Well, a year ago this weekend, Jerry and Betty Ford found themselves in the unsought position of president and first lady. When we went to the White House to chat with Betty Ford, we expected to find, quite honestly, a rather bland and predictable political wife. We found instead an open woman with a mind of her own, prepared to talk about anything. No taboos.”

  Then, there she was, from head to shoulders filling up the entire screen, her reddish-brown hair perfectly coiffed, her eyes sparkling, looking equal parts glamorous model and woman next door.

  “I told my husband if we have to go to the White House, ‘Okay, I will go,’ ” Betty said. “ ‘But I’m going as myself. And it’s too late to change my pattern. And if they don’t like it, then they’ll just have to throw me out.’ ”

  It was a wonderful beginning. Safer asked her about the difficulties of being a political wife.

  “I had twenty-six years of experience as the wife of a congressman,” she said, noting that she had learned a bit in all that time. “You know, I wasn’t sitting around being a dummy.”

  In an effort to probe deeper, Safer asked, “But would you advise your daughter to marry a politician?”

  “That’s a hard question,” Betty answered as she broke into a smile.

  “Would you advise against it?” Safer queried.

  “No, I would not advise her against marrying a politician,” Betty said, her lips pressed together, with a slight uptick at the edges, just short of a smile. “I wouldn’t pick one out for her though,” she quickly added with a laugh.

  It was terrific. Betty was sitting with perfect posture, as she always did, but she’d draped her arm casually on the back of the overstuffed yellow sofa, which made her come across like she was having a spontaneous chat with a neighbor. And even when Safer began asking more personal questions, Betty wasn’t ruffled at all.

  He asked about the political pressures on a marriage and even went so far as to ask if she worried about her husband philandering with “some of the attractions in this city.”

  “I have perfect faith in my husband,” she said. “And he really doesn’t have time for outside entertainment.” She paused, and then, with a glint in her eyes and a coy smile, she quipped, “Because I keep him busy.”

  Jerry grabbed a small pillow from the sofa and, suppressing an embarrassed smile, tossed it at her. He hadn’t expected his wife to discuss their sex life on national television.

  Safer addressed her admission that she’d seen a psychiatrist. “I found it very helpful,” she said without shame.

  They talked about her outspokenness on the ERA and how she would continue to work toward getting it passed, and on her formula for a successful marriage.

  “It shouldn’t be fifty-fifty. It should instead be seventy-thirty, with each side giving seventy and expecting thirty in return . . . and when you’re going overboard like that, trying to please each other, you can’t help but be happy.”

  He tried to get her to expose problems in the marriage. What did they fight over?

  Only “very minor details,” she admitted. Most disagreements were “probably because I was late.”

  Money? “No, we never had any money to fight over,” she retorted with yet another engaging smile.

  And what kind of influence did she have on her husband? Betty acknowledged that, yes, she had urged him to put a woman in a Cabinet position, and he had named Carla Hills to be US Secretary of Housing and Urban Development, but she was also working on another.

  “If I can get a woman on the Supreme Court bench, then I’ll feel I would have accomplished a great deal.”

  Safer noted that Betty had spoken out about subjects that were considered taboo for the wife of a president, such as abortion. Before he could finish his thought, she interjected, “Well, if you’re asked a question, you have to be honest, exactly how you feel. And I feel very strongly that it was the best thing in the world when the Supreme Court voted to legalize abortion, and, in my words, bring it out of the backwoods and into the hospitals where it belonged. It was a great, great decision.”

  And what about people living together before they’re married? “Well, they are, aren’t they?” Betty replied with a laugh. Her candor was so refreshing and yet startling at the same time. No first lady had ever appeared on television like this before.

  Then came a zinger. “What if Susan Ford came to you and said, ‘Mother, I’m having an affair’?”

  There was ever so slight a pause before she replied, “Well, I wouldn’t be surprised. She’s a perfectly normal human being, like all young girls.”

  Uh-oh. Everyone in the living room in Vail took a deep breath.

  Betty went on, “If she wanted to continue it, I would certainly counsel or advise her on the subject. And I’d want to know pretty much about the young man she was having the affair with.”

  Oh dear.

  “In some cases,” Betty added, “perhaps there would be less divorce.”

  Next, Morley Safer turned to the issue of drugs, and whether she worried about her own children “going wrong” with drugs.

  “We’ve brought them up with a certain moral value,” she said, but added, “I’m not saying that they haven’t tried it, because I’m sure they’ve all probably tried marijuana.”

  The wife of the president of the United States had just admitted her children had probably dabbled in an illegal substance. Oh my.

  “Would Betty Bloomer have been the kind of girl who would have experimented with marijuana?” Safer asked.

  “Oh, I’m sure I probably, when I was growing up, at their age, I probably would have been interested to see what the effect . . . I never would have gone into it as a habit or anything like that. It’s the type of thing young people have to experience, like your first beer or your first cigarette, something like that.”

  Safer seemed like he could hardly believe this was the first lady of the United States, and he attempted to make that point: Wasn’t it unusual for her to be speaking out on all these previously “forbidden” issues?

  Betty, full of confidence, almost defiant, interjected, “But also, didn’t the fact that I had the cancer operation and the publicity of that save a lot of people’s lives?”

  Safer had to admit that was true. “Was that a conscious decision?” he asked.

  “Definitely,” Betty said. “I felt that if I had it, many other women had it. Because I had no idea about it whatsoever, and it came about as a complete surprise. One day”—she snapped her fingers—“like that. And the next day, I was in the hospital. And I thought there are women all over the country like me, and if I don’t make this public, then their lives will be gone. They’re in jeopardy.”

  Betty professed that it was her faith in God that carried her through the difficult times in her life, and acknowledged proudly that both she and the president prayed every night before going to sleep. Finally, Safer asked about the current state of her health.

  Without hesitation, she said she’d never felt better. “Absolutely marvelous.” But that didn’t mean she was going to live forever. “Some people go three years, some people go four years, but . . . I’m convinced in my own mind that I’m completely cured.”

  And what about that pinched nerve? That, she admitted, still gave her trouble, but “You know, everybody can’t be perfect,” Betty said. “You have to suffer a little to appreciate life.”

  And with that, the segment ended. Betty looked over at Jerry and said, “Well?”

  “I think you just cost me ten million votes,�
� President Ford deadpanned. And then, breaking into a smile, “No, I think you cost me twenty million votes.”

  “Nonsense!” Don Rumsfeld chimed. “She won you thirty million votes!”

  The morning after the interview, “All hell broke loose,” recalled Patti Matson, the first lady’s assistant press secretary. “Her exact words, as quoted in the newspapers, were startling to many and outrageous to others. If a person hadn’t seen the interview in person, there was no context, no understanding that her statements were in direct response to specific questions. Without seeing it, many wouldn’t have heard the tone of her answers or seen her soft demeanor.”

  Indeed, the New York Times declared, “Betty Ford said today that she wouldn’t be surprised if her daughter Susan, eighteen years old, decided to have an affair . . . Mrs. Ford suggested that in general, premarital relations with the right partner might lower the divorce rate.”

  And with that, the outcry began. “My stock with the public did not go up,” Betty recalled. “It went down, rapidly.” The White House was inundated with letters, wires, and phone calls, two-thirds of them against her. “The furor after 60 Minutes terrified me. I was afraid I might have become a real political liability to Jerry.”

  Indeed, Morley Safer acknowledged that “Even though Mrs. Ford had said more or less the same things in print, the reaction to her saying them on television caused a national stir, and it brought the biggest mail response we’ve ever had.”

  More than half the letters were in this vein: “I don’t know which was more tasteless, your questions or her answers.” Another viewer wrote, “Your appalling interview with Betty Ford was the last straw. It sickens me to know that a person with such . . . values is our first lady.”

  But there was quite a bit of mail like this: “What a woman! Jerry sure is a lucky guy to have her by his side.”

  A woman in Dallas wrote: “Because of her, I just might vote Republican for the first time in my life.” And still another: “Regardless of who is elected president in ’76, I move Betty Ford be retained as first lady.”

  Feelings at the White House were mixed too. “I had a little trouble with Donald and Dick,” Betty said, referring to Don Rumsfeld and Dick Cheney. “They were unhappy about my 60 Minutes interview.”

  Indeed, despite Rumsfeld’s initial quip that Betty had won her husband “thirty million votes,” the segment had caused so much controversy that Rumsfeld and Cheney had brought up the subject with President Ford.

  “We think Betty needs to lay low for a while,” Cheney advised. “Do you think you could get her to tone it down?”

  President Ford looked at his two aides and said, “If you want Betty to tone it down, then you tell her.”

  When White House press secretary Ron Nessen issued a statement saying the president “had long ceased to be perturbed by his wife’s remarks,” that caused yet another round of critiques.

  It was decided that an acknowledgment letter be sent by Betty to everyone who responded negatively to her appearance. Sheila Weidenfeld and Betty worked on it together to make sure it had just the right tone. The letter would not be revealed directly to the press, but Weidenfeld’s plan was that some ordinary citizen would pass it along. Eventually, one recipient handed it over to the New York Times, which printed it in its entirety.

  Thank you for writing about my appearance on the “60 Minutes” interview. The concern which inspired you to share your views is appreciated.

  I wish it were possible for us to sit down together and talk, one to another. I consider myself a responsible parent. I know I am a loving one. We have raised our four children in a home that believes in and practices the enduring values of morality and personal integrity.

  As every mother and father knows, these are not easy times to be a parent. Our convictions are continually being questioned and tested by the fads and fancies of the moment. I believe our values to be eternal, and I hope I have instilled them in our children.

  We have come to this sharing outlook through communication, not coercion. I want my children to know that their concerns—their doubts and their difficulties—whatever they may be, can be discussed with the two people in this world who care the most—their mother and father.

  On “60 Minutes,” the emotion of my words spoke to the need of this communication, rather than the specific issues we discussed.

  My husband and I have lived twenty-six years of faithfulness in marriage. I do not believe in premarital relations, but I realize many in today’s generation do not share my views. However, this must never cause us to withdraw the love, the counseling, and the understanding that they may need now, more than ever before.

  This is the essence of responsible parenthood. It is difficult to adequately express one’s personal convictions in a fifteen-minute interview. I hope our lives will say more than words about our dedication to honor, to integrity, to humanity, and to God.

  You and I, they and I, have no quarrels.

  Sincerely, Betty Ford

  Sheila Weidenfeld would refer to it later as “the perfect letter.” Indeed, as soon as it became public, the tide turned. After conducting yet another poll, the New York Daily News declared “Keep Speaking Out, Betty!” When asked “Should Betty Ford have aired her views on premarital sex, pot, and abortion?”—60 percent responded “yes”; 32 percent, “no”; and 8 percent, “don’t know.”

  The reaction to Mrs. Ford’s remarks appeared to depend very much on the age, education, and income of the respondent. Among people under age thirty-five, 80 percent approved of her, as did those who had college degrees and earned more than $20,000 in annual income.

  Amid the furor, to show she had no regrets or blame, Betty sent Morley Safer a photo of the two of them taken during the interview. She inscribed it:

  Dear Morley,

  If there are any questions you forgot to ask—I’m grateful.

  Sincerely, Betty Ford

  17

  * * *

  Two Assassination Attempts

  One year after moving into the White House, in an interview with McCall’s magazine, Betty said, “I think I have learned over the past months the positiveness of the position—which I hadn’t realized before. I have grown. I have come to realize the power of being able to help.”

  Ironically, the White House, a place she’d once dreaded, is what gave her a new sense of herself. The article stated, “And while she acknowledged a loss of privacy and anonymity as first lady, the role gave her an exalted status and a chance to influence public thinking that is unparalleled for any other woman in this country.”

  On Friday, September 5, Betty was upstairs in the White House, sitting at the small desk in her study and talking on the telephone, when the White House operator cut in.

  “Mrs. Ford, I have an emergency call from Mr. Keiser.”

  Before she could even wonder why Dick Keiser, the special agent in charge of President Ford’s Secret Service detail, would be cutting in, Keiser said, “Hello, Mrs. Ford. Not to worry. The president is all right. There was an incident in Sacramento. A woman with a gun.”

  Betty was too stunned to say anything. Keiser reiterated, “The president is all right. He is in a meeting with Governor Jerry Brown now. I’ll give you more details as soon as I have them.”

  As soon as his meeting with the governor was finished, Jerry called Betty. He knew the agents had already informed her, but he just wanted to reassure her he was fine.

  Every president receives threats, and, at that time, President Ford was getting about a hundred per month. “But I had never worried about them because of my confidence in the professionalism of the agents guarding me,” Ford wrote. Betty was concerned, but he assured her that his confidence had not been misplaced; Larry Buendorf and the other agents had done a superb job.

  Later, she would learn how quickly it happened; how close her husband came to being shot.

  It was shortly before ten in the morning, and the sun was shining brightly when the presi
dent came out of the historic Senator Hotel in downtown Sacramento, California. The Secret Service had his limousine waiting, ready to transport him to the Statehouse building two blocks away.

  President Ford turned to the acting agent in charge, Ernie Luzania, and said, “Ernie, it’s such a beautiful day, I’d rather walk than drive.”

  “Of course, Mr. President,” Luzania said. Across the street, the police had set up rope lines, and a crowd had gathered, hoping to catch a glimpse of the president.

  “Hello, Mr. President!” people shouted, waving.

  “Suddenly he darts across the street,” Agent Larry Buendorf recalled, “and, of course, we just fell into position. My position was at his left side, right next to him.”

  President Ford was smiling, reaching out to the crowd with both hands, as the people clamored to have the chance to shake his hand. A petite young woman wearing a long red dress stepped forward. Just as the president stuck out his hand toward her, she reached down and pulled out a Colt .45 from an ankle holster hidden beneath the hem of her dress.

  Larry Buendorf saw the unusual movement, the flicker of metal.

  “Gun!” he shouted as he leaped forward to grab the pistol.

  Buendorf twisted the woman’s hand behind her back, disabling her, as the other agents formed a protective cocoon around the president and whisked him away. The woman would be identified as Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme, a twenty-six-year-old follower of Charles Manson.

  “The pistol was loaded with four rounds, and she was pulling the slide back when I hit it,” Buendorf recalled. “So she never chambered her round.”

  President Ford went into the scheduled meeting with Governor Brown, and at first, he didn’t even mention what had happened. When someone else told the governor, Brown asked, in disbelief, “Why didn’t you tell me, Mr. President?”

  “Well, I didn’t think it would be very polite to tell you that one of your constituents tried to kill me on the way to your office,” Ford said with a smile.