Killing Reagan

by Bill O'Reilly

  8

  ROTUNDA

  STATE CAPITOL BUILDING

  SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

  JANUARY 2, 1967

  12:11 A.M.

  Despite making fifty-three films, Ronald Reagan has never known a moment of drama quite like the one he is experiencing right now. Dressed in a black suit with a thin dark tie, he stands, head held high and feet planted twelve inches apart, like a conquering hero from the Western movies he loves so much. His left hand rests on a Bible. A hulking bald man stands in front of him. A glance to his left shows Nancy Reagan prim and straight at his elbow, beaming after plastic surgery to repair her drooping eyelids. Thirty-two television cameras light Reagan’s face. “America the Beautiful” echoes in his head, thanks to a choir from the University of Southern California, who serenaded him at the stroke of midnight.

  This is Ronald Reagan’s greatest moment, a time when at long last he gets to play the leading man. Just two years ago he was hosting yet another television show.1 Now he is the newly elected governor of California. There’s not a single writer in Hollywood who could have scripted this better.

  Reagan raises his right hand, and the swearing-in begins. One hundred fifty guests are closely watching him, waiting for the trademark smile and nod of the head he has used to such populist effect while campaigning.

  Yet there is one problem this early morning. The man facing him from two feet away is an annoyance. California Supreme Court justice Marshall McComb is reflecting light off his bald skull directly into Ronald Reagan’s eyes. In this, his finest hour, Reagan is forced to squint, barely able to see the man to whom he is speaking.

  “I, Ronald Reagan, do solemnly swear that I will faithfully defend the Constitution of the United States,” he pledges, repeating the words that McComb has just recited to him. Reagan’s voice fills the Rotunda, bouncing off the marble floors and the life-size statue of Spanish queen Isabella looking over him.

  Reagan lets his gaze float out over the room. It is impossible not to be distracted. Men, women, and children surround him, watching the proceedings with hushed reverence. Many are standing on tiptoe to better witness the historic moment.

  These are Reagan’s people. They also represent something of an anachronism. America is descending into turmoil, torn apart by the Vietnam War, a deep racial divide, drug use, and a sexual revolution. But in this room, at this moment, Reagan sees none of that conflict.

  Many filling this towering ceremonial space are as conservative as he is. The men wear crisp dark suits. Their hair is cut short, in sharp contrast to the shoulder-length locks so many men are beginning to wear these days. The knee-length dresses worn by the women are a throwback to the more formal styles of the 1950s, and nothing at all like the miniskirts that ride high up a woman’s thigh and leave little to the imagination. Recently, when Ronald and Nancy Reagan visited their fourteen-year-old daughter, Patti, at her boarding school and discovered her in one such short skirt, Nancy was so furious that she stormed out and sat in the car.

  Reagan has nothing against the miniskirt. He is still fond of admiring the ladies. “He liked to look at women, no doubt about it,” one of his aides will one day recall. “But if he did anything about it, he was very discreet.” In truth, Reagan’s days of womanizing are mostly behind him. The politically reinvented Reagan prefers to put forth a strong paternal public image.

  Of course, no man is perfect. And Reagan still possesses idiosyncrasies that must be kept quiet, such as his trust in astrologers. Both he and Nancy use stargazers in order to divine the future. The conservative folks who admire the Reagans might be troubled if they knew.

  Even the details of the swearing-in ceremony have been influenced by Reagan’s astrologers. Normally, the gubernatorial inauguration takes place in broad daylight, but Ronald Reagan’s stargazers have noted that Jupiter is visible in the nighttime sky at this precise midnight hour. The solar system’s largest planet is thought to be a harbinger of fame, prosperity, and power. Rather than tempt fate by holding the inauguration in the morning, when Jupiter is absent, Ronald and Nancy Reagan insist that the ceremony be held at midnight, to reap the full benefit of Jupiter’s largesse. This is why a state supreme court justice, chaplain, dozens of members of the press, and a select gathering of invited benefactors and dignitaries now stand in a broad circle around Ronald Wilson Reagan and his beloved wife at this witching hour.2

  Reagan knows that in their hearts some in the crowd might doubt his ability to lead, thinking him just an actor. He is also well aware that his political views are at odds with current trends in American and California politics, thus making him a dinosaur in the eyes of many beyond the curved walls of the Rotunda. Reagan’s victory notwithstanding, the landslide loss by Barry Goldwater in the 1964 presidential election makes it abundantly clear that conservative Republican values are falling out of fashion.

  As Justice McComb concludes the lengthy recitation of the oath, Ronald Reagan is keen to begin his new journey. He is absorbing a significant pay cut so that he might hold this position. The forty-four-thousand-dollar governor’s salary is so low that the Reagans have had to sell the Malibu ranch.

  That is a hardship Reagan will have to endure.3

  For, on this cold January night, Ronald Reagan has a secret: The governorship will not be enough. One day Reagan hopes to be president of the United States.

  His astrologers think it might be in the stars.

  * * *

  Four months after his inauguration, Ronald Reagan is facing a CBS Television camera in Los Angeles, about to participate in a debate entitled “The Image of America and the Youth of the World.” It is 10:00 p.m. at the CBS headquarters in New York, 7:00 p.m. in Los Angeles, and 3:00 a.m. in London, England, where a panel of international college students sits ready to ask questions of Ronald Reagan and his fellow panelist, liberal senator Robert F. Kennedy.

  The program will be broadcast live around the world.

  Kennedy is in Paris and is the more seasoned political professional. Boyishly handsome at the age of forty-one, RFK is legendary, having served as attorney general under his late brother, the assassinated president John F. Kennedy. In 1964, Bobby, as he is known, was elected U.S. senator from New York. He is cocky and powerful, and tonight he is confident that he will get the best of Ronald Reagan. Kennedy’s suit and tie are dark blue; his demeanor is nonchalant. He thinks so little of Reagan’s mental prowess that he barely studied for the intellectual debate.

  Reagan is far more cautious. He knows that fifteen million Americans will likely watch this broadcast, as will millions more around the world. So he has prepared for weeks, memorizing statistics about the Vietnam War and the history of Southeast Asia. He cannot afford to appear ill prepared or to let Kennedy make a fool of him, and that concern is etched deeply in Reagan’s face. Though he is tanned and rested, his trademark smile is nowhere to be seen. In fact, gazing into the camera, his eyes are cold.

  This debate is personal to Reagan. Unbeknownst to the vast audience, he believes it was Bobby Kennedy who pressured General Electric into firing him as host of GE Theater back in 1962. RFK allegedly told the giant corporation that no government contracts would come their way if they allowed the conservative Reagan to remain host.4

  Ronald Reagan is not a vengeful man, but his memory is long, and now he desperately wants to win this contest and humiliate Kennedy.

  “I’m Charles Collingwood,” says the CBS host, beginning the proceedings. “And this is Town Meeting of the World, the latest in an occasional series of trans-Atlantic confrontations that’s been going on [sic] ever since communication satellites made them possible. With me here in the studio of the BBC in London are a group of young people, university students from—one from the United States, but the rest of them from Europe, Africa and Asia. They are all attending universities in Great Britain. They have ideas, all of them, sometimes provocative ones, about the United States, its role and its image.”5

  The dialogue begins, and t
he students in London immediately attack. “Senator Kennedy,” asks a young man with short bangs, “I’d like to ask you what you think of Dean Rusk’s recent claim that the effect of anti–Vietnam War demonstrations in the States may actually be to prolong the war rather than to shorten it.”

  Kennedy responds timidly, his voice soft. He plans on running for president in one year and is courting the votes of college students who might be watching the broadcast. “I certainly don’t think that’s why the war is continuing,” he says, giving tacit approval to the antiwar protests that some Americans see as unpatriotic. Kennedy glances away from the camera as he talks, looking at notes.

  But when it is Reagan’s turn to speak, he looks bold and confident: “I definitely think that the demonstrations are prolonging the war,” he says emphatically, and then lists the reasons.

  Just like that, Reagan is in charge. He dominates the rest of the debate, making Kennedy appear weak and passive. Kennedy does not help matters, allowing the panel to interrogate him as if he were some misguided professor. Sensing weakness, the students grow bolder.

  “Answer my question,” one demands, cutting RFK off in midsentence. When Kennedy gives him a lengthy response, the student once again interrupts, insisting that Kennedy has not answered the question.

  Rather than appear indignant, however, Kennedy mildly accepts the rebuke, despite the fact that he is seething inside. “Who the fuck got me into this?” the deflated Kennedy will demand of an aide as soon as the show ends.

  Ronald Reagan gently scolds the students when they interrupt or their statistics are incorrect. An increasingly bolder Reagan espouses freedom, democracy, and the American way. Kennedy apologizes for American foreign policy “mistakes,” but Reagan refuses to do so. There is no fear in his eyes as he speaks, no hesitation or hint of backing down when the students harass and attack. A Newsweek reporter will write of this evening that “Reagan effortlessly reeled off more facts and quasi-facts about the Vietnam conflict than anyone suspected he ever knew.”

  As the broadcast enters its second half hour, Reagan veers away from Vietnam and waxes poetic about the greatness of the United States. His tone is evangelical. Most of the students on the panel have spent the hour painting America as the root of all global evil, and it is to them that he preaches most fervently.

  Reagan’s hatred of communism has not abated one bit since his days as president of the Screen Actors Guild. If anything, his convictions have become more intense: “I think it would be very admirable if the Berlin Wall, which was built in direct contravention to a treaty, should disappear. I think this would be a step toward peace and toward self-determination for all people, if it were.”

  As the broadcast winds down, it is Reagan who gets the last word. Among the students on the panel is a young man from the Soviet Union, who lives in a totalitarian state. Reagan’s words are aimed directly at him. “I believe the highest aspiration of man should be individual freedom and the development of the individual. That there is a sacredness to individual rights!”

  With Reagan’s words ringing worldwide, Charles Collingwood ends the broadcast.

  In Los Angeles, Ronald Reagan removes the earpiece that has allowed him to hear the students’ questions from London. Unlike after the “Time for Choosing” speech of three years ago, there is no question in Reagan’s mind that this night has been a triumph. “Political rookie Reagan,” Newsweek will write, “left old campaigner Kennedy blinking when the session ended.”

  In Paris, Bobby Kennedy storms out of the studio into the predawn light. Furious at his embarrassing performance, he turns to an aide: “Never again put me on the stage with that son of a bitch.”

  * * *

  One year later, it is Bobby Kennedy who is triumphant. Shortly after midnight, he briskly strides through the kitchen of the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles, on his way to meet the press. He has just won the highly coveted California Democratic presidential primary. Lyndon Johnson, the Democrat currently serving as president, announced two months ago that he would not seek another term in office. This leaves the door wide open for the popular and handsome Kennedy. At the age of forty-two, he appears to be just five months away from being elected president.

  A crowd of enthusiastic supporters follows Kennedy through the kitchen. Among them are the famous writer George Plimpton and NFL player “Rosey” Grier. An ecstatic Kennedy stops to shake the hand of an immigrant busboy, unaware that an assassin stands just a few feet away.

  Suddenly, shots ring out. Bobby Kennedy is hit and immediately slumps to the concrete floor. A single bullet has passed through his brain, entering just behind the right ear. Two other bullets have pierced his upper torso. He is an athletic man who has always taken care of his physical health. And for twenty-six long hours, Kennedy fights for his life. But at 1:44 a.m. on June 6, 1968, Robert Francis Kennedy loses that fight.

  * * *

  Ronald Reagan is on television the day after the RFK assassination, speaking to talk show host Joey Bishop on ABC. “The enemy sits in Moscow,” Reagan says, because he believes that it was agents of the Soviet Union who killed Robert Kennedy, as well as his brother John F. Kennedy in 1963. “The actions of the enemy led to, and precipitated, the tragedy of last night.”

  * * *

  Four months later, Ronald Reagan smells of Royal Briar cologne as he steps out into the night. A blast of unseasonably cold air chills him as he walks toward the swimming pool, a gin and orange juice cocktail in hand. As on most weekends, Reagan and Nancy have flown down from Sacramento to spend a few days at their Pacific Palisades home in Los Angeles.

  But on this night, Nancy has not joined Reagan at this political event in Studio City, a few miles from his home.

  Reagan sees a young girl sitting alone by the pool. She appears to be distraught. Slowly, he walks over to see if she is all right.

  In truth, it is Ronald Reagan who needs a few kind words. Reagan’s first year in office has been a challenge. His personal and political views are not popular. His first real battle came when members of a radical group of African Americans known as the Black Panther Party occupied the California State Capitol Building in Sacramento. In accordance with the Second Amendment to the U.S. Constitution, which allows citizens the right to bear arms, these twenty-four men and six women openly displayed the .357 Magnum pistols and 12-gauge shotguns they carried. California law states that carrying weapons openly in public is legal, and the Panthers were in Sacramento to argue against impending legislation that would revoke this right. The protest ended peacefully, but not before Republicans in the state legislature pushed through a bill that made gun control in California a reality. And it is the gun-loving Reagan himself who gladly signed the bill into law.

  A few months later, in a controversy that trails him almost all the way through his first year in the governor’s office, Reagan learned that two of his top aides are engaging in homosexual relations. He tries to defuse the situation by quietly letting the men resign. Homosexuality is still illegal in many areas of the country, and there is very little public support for gay rights in most parts of California. But Reagan’s Hollywood background infused him with a tolerance for homosexuals. While he will go on record as condemning gay behavior, he is not personally bothered by it. In fact, Carroll Righter, an astrologer on whom he and Nancy depend, is openly gay.

  The matter might have subsided if Newsweek magazine had not run an item on October 31, 1967, that made Reagan’s problem into a national scandal. Making matters even worse, Reagan lied about it, telling the press that the homosexual aides were not fired for their private conduct. By the time the scandal died down, there were many who believed that Reagan’s hopes of running for president in 1968 were long gone.

  And they were right. In May 1967 it appeared that the battle for president of the United States might be a contest between Ronald Reagan and either Robert Kennedy or Lyndon Johnson. Now Johnson is done, Kennedy is dead, and Reagan’s presidential hopes have vanished. In
the ultimate irony, the Republican nomination goes to Richard Nixon. In just a few weeks’ time, Americans will elect Nixon president over Hubert Humphrey.6

  * * *

  Now, on this October night in 1968, taking a break from the Studio City party to clear his head by the pool, Ronald Reagan is relaxed and loose. It helps that Nancy is not here. As much as Reagan adores his wife, she is extremely jealous. Nancy gets outraged if he so much as hugs a woman he knows. Reagan has to be very careful in Nancy’s presence.

  The young woman sitting before him is just eighteen years old. She looks at Reagan but does not recognize him as the governor. Perhaps feeling some sympathy, Reagan sits down.

  The girl’s name is Patricia Taylor. Years later she will try to capitalize on her relationship with Ronald Reagan by taping interviews suggesting that intimacy soon followed. Reagan’s personal behavior as governor, however, is so exemplary that few question his clearly stated traditional values.

  9

  WHITE HOUSE

  WASHINGTON, DC

  AUGUST 9, 1974

  7:30 A.M.

  A barefoot Richard Nixon wears blue pajamas as he eats his breakfast of grapefruit, wheat germ, and milk. He is alone in his bedroom, having just walked upstairs from the White House kitchen, where he ordered the morning meal. His forty-five-year-old Cuban-born butler Manolo Sanchez delivered the food, opened the drapes, laid out Nixon’s clothes for the day, then left the president alone to eat.

  Nixon does not sleep with his wife, Pat.1 He is prone to talking during the night and gets up at all hours because of insomnia. It’s not unusual that Pat Nixon does not sleep with her husband in the White House. The Kennedys and Johnsons before him did not sleep in the same bed, either. Pat Nixon has an adjoining bedroom, separated from her husband’s sleeping quarters by a door.

  Nixon’s high-ceilinged chamber has a fireplace in one corner and two large south-facing windows with views of the Washington Monument. Outside, the morning dawns muggy and overcast. This same bedroom once housed presidents Wilson, Harding, Roosevelt, Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, and Johnson.2 World-changing decisions have been made within these walls. Yet none of those men has come to the shattering conclusion that Nixon reached just yesterday. In fact, none of the thirty-five men to hold the office of president has ever done what Richard Nixon is about to do.