A Memoir of Ronald Reagan

By Edmund Morris

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“I never, as a citizen, want to see our country become urged, by either fear or resentment of this group, [to] compromise with any of our democratic principles. … I still think that democracy can do it.”

“I believe that – as Thomas Jefferson put it – if all the American people knew all of the facts they will never make a mistake. 
Whether that party should be outlawed, I agree with the gentlemen preceding me that that is a matter for the government to decide. As a citizen I would hesitate, or not like, to see any political party outlawed on the basis of its political ideology. We have spent a hundred and seventy years in this country on the basis that democracy is strong enough to stand up and fight against the inroads of any ideology. …
I detest, I abhor their philosophy, but I detest more than that their tactics, which are those of the fifth column and are dishonest. But at the same time, I never, as a citizen, want to see our country become urged, by either fear or resentment of this group, [to] compromise with any of our democratic principles. … I still think that democracy can do it.”
(October 23, 1947)

(Morris 1999, pp.257-258)

“If there is a question as to whether there is life or death, the doubt should be resolved in favor of life.”

He certainly heard nary a chime early in May, when something called the Therapeutic Abortion Bill began to take shape in the offices of Senator Anthony Beilenson (D. – Beverly Hills). It was not quite the first state measure to propose that pregnant women be allowed to terminate embryos prejudicial to their “physical or mental health.” But its implications were more lethal – at least, to unborn babies – than bills already enacted by Colorado and North Carolina. Not only was California the nation’s most populous state, and a particularly fecund one, but Beilenson also wanted to extend the power of abortion to women who had been raped or subjected to incest. 

Reagan had to admit, rather unhappily, that he agreed with these proffers, in particular “the mortal principle of self-defense.” If one hundred thousand Californian women were desperate enough to undergo illegal abortions every year, he could at least make it safer for some of them. The metaphysical and religious consequences frightened him, however – not to mention Beilenson’s suggestion that a deformed fetus was another good reason to call for the forceps. “This is not in my mind a clear-cut issue,” he told reporter, refusing to say whether he would sign the bill. “I … I just can’t give you a decision.” He needed time to reflect and change views with Senator Beilenson. “It is a very profound and deep issue.”

In the event, he got five weeks – about as long as it takes a zygote (that abstract speck of color floating in microspace) to become a functioning neurological entity (that pale, cross-hatched, periparturient child asleep in sonograms). Beilenson agreed to withdraw the “cripple clause,” since Reagan did not see why symmetry should be a prerequisite of existence. Thus amended, the bill passed through the Legislature with enough votes to override any veto. As signing day drew near, the Governor went into an uncharacteristic funk. “Bill, I’ve got to know more – theologically, philosophically, medically,” he told his cabinet secretary. Clark, a devout Roman Catholic, loaded his briefcase with patristic idees recues. By the time the Therapeutic Abortion Act reached him on June 13, Reagan was quoting Saint Thomas Acquinas.

He signed it into law nevertheless, comforting himself that he had helped purge it of eugenics and that no abortions of any kind would be permitted without strict medical or legal review. Only as time went by and abortion became an extension of welfare,  would he wish he had paid more heed to the bill’s manipulative language. The very word “Therapeutic” was a medical euphemism, sanitizing essentially bloody procedures. Section 25954 defined “mental health” as something delicate enough to be at risk if a pregnant teenager went out and smashed a few windows. And in common with the more liberal laws it was to spawn at state and federal levels, the Act ignored the feelings of fathers. 

Reagan was left with an undefinable sense of guilt after signing it. “If there is a question as to whether there is life or death,” he awkwardly wrote one protester, “The doubt should be resolved in favor of life.” Before the end of his first term as Governor, some eight-two thousand souls would be debited to that signature, as against the seventy-seven he took credit for as a lifeguard. 

The lesser figure, at least, he could do something about. On the Fourth of July, he and Nancy held a staff garden party around the pool at their residence, to celebrate the end of the legislative season. As the adults talked and laughed over their flashing cocktails, a little black girl tumbled into the pool and quietly sank. Reagan threw off his jacket and was in the water before anybody else realized what had happened. He emerged with pompadour intact and set her, living, on the wet concrete. 

(Morris 1999, pp.551-553)

“When men fail to drive toward a goal or purpose, but only drift, the drift is always toward barbarism.”

When he expresses views simply and declaratively, they should nevertheless be taken seriously, because they represent core philosophy. God wrote the Bible, and the Bible condones capital punishment. “Sodomy” is a sin. However, homosexuals have a Constitutional right to teach in public schools. Abortion is murder. Property is sacrosanct; so is privacy. Men may bear arms. Women are superior to men, therefore equal rights will downgrade them. Art should affirm moral values. Hard work is mandatory, boredom impermissible. Charity begins at home. Communism is evil because it saps the individual will. “When men fail to drive toward a goal or purpose, but only drift, the drift is always toward barbarism.” 

(Morris 1999, pp.415)

Whatever spiritual counsel he needed he got from silent colloquies, usually at an open window, with “the Man Upstairs” – that being his usual coy substitute for the Holy Name. (Although he could cuss as well as James Baker in male company, he never blasphemed. Neither would he write profane words without the careful insertion of hyphens: h–l, d–n, d—l.) 

Like Eisenhower before him, Reagan let people think what they wanted to think about his habits, while he kept his motives to himself. He was aware that somehow, in spite of his alleged indolence, he had gotten himself the world’s top job, and seemed to be handling it better, so far, than the workaholic Jimmy Carter. So he worked at his own steady speed, taking what rest he needed and exercising, as he had done all his life, with patient regularity. 

That meant evening sessions with bars and weights and wheels before he showered for dinner. If he and Nancy were going out (which they loved to do: the Reagans were among Washington’s most reliable accepters of elegant invitations), he would dab on more Brylcreem and slip into one of his custom-made dress suits. Otherwise, it was bushy hair and pajamas in front of the television set, and desk time afterward in his private study. 

Entertainment remained an essential part of his life, and the blander the better. Most sitcoms were too slick for his taste; he preferred news programs and serious magazine shows like 60 Minutes. But his soul really craved the kind of movies he used to act in himself, where sex was implicit, crime did not pay, and tall, strong men gave freckled kids fatherly advice. He and Nancy would watch two or three such pictures every weekend, always with popcorn. 

Shyness, more than apathy, kept Reagan away from public worship. He had always considered prayer to be a private business, and did not care to be stared at while he sang hymns. Nor did he want his huge retinue of guards and advance men to disturb the peace of churches around town. Whatever spiritual counsel he needed he got from silent colloquies, usually at an open window, with “the Man Upstairs” – that being his usual coy substitute for the Holy Name. (Although he could cuss as well as James Baker in male company, he never blasphemed. Neither would he write profane words without the careful insertion of hyphens: h–l, d–n, d—l.) 

His diaries avoided spiritual or metaphysical speculation, and on the rare occasions he alluded to the mortal dangers of high office, he did so as obliquely as possible. Thus, the following remark, written after his first visit to Ford’s Theatre late that month: “There is a definite feeling when you see the flag-draped Presidential Box where Booth shot Lincoln.” 

(Morris 1999, pp.426-427)

But I realized I couldn’t ask for God’s help while at the same time I felt hatred for the mixed up young man who had shot me. Isn’t that the meaning of the lost sheep? We are all God’s children and therefore equally beloved by him. I began to pray for his soul and that he would find his way back into the fold.”

By now it was clear that one intravenous line was not going to be enough to save his life: packed red-blood cells and fluid would have to be sloshed into him through three more arterial lines that were not so much conduits as canals. Only when a nurse lifted his left arm to insert one did the neat slit on the side of his chest manifest itself. “Oh-oh, he’s been shot.” 

She remembered this as a thought rather than a remark, yet Reagan somehow absorbed it and, half dead, half enraged, remembered the crouching, shooting figure he had glimpsed through the car door. 

“I focused on that tiled ceiling and prayed. But I realized I couldn’t ask for God’s help while at the same time I felt hatred for the mixed up young man who had shot me. Isn’t that the meaning of the lost sheep? We are all God’s children and therefore equally beloved by him. I began to pray for his soul and that he would find his way back into the fold.
I opened my eyes to find Nancy there. I pray I’ll never face a day when she isn’t there. In all the ways God has blessed me, giving her to me is the greatest and beyond anything I can ever hope to deserve.”

(Morris 1999, pp.429) 

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References

Morris, Edmund. 1999. Dutch: A Memoir of Ronald Reagan. N.p.: Random House.

ISBN 0-394-55508-2