Betty Ford

by Lisa McCubbin

  Meanwhile, there were several high-profile social functions at the White House on the schedule, and there were questions whether they should be canceled. From her bed at Bethesda Naval Hospital, Betty insisted that nothing should be stopped because of her.

  Barely a week after learning her mother had breast cancer, and still unsure what the prognosis was for her long-term recovery, seventeen-year-old Susan Ford made her debut as White House hostess. She had gone to visit her mother in the hospital that afternoon, eager to get approval for the sleeveless red chiffon dress she had bought for the occasion.

  “Oh, Susan, it’s beautiful,” Betty said. “You’ll look lovely. But I do think because it’s a formal affair, you should wear my long white gloves. That will pull it all together. Ask Nancy Howe—she knows where I keep them.”

  That night, in the Blue Room, Susan got a taste of her mother’s obligatory duties as first lady. At 9:40, after having dinner upstairs in the family residence, Susan walked down the grand staircase on the arm of her father, the president of the United States, to make an appearance at the reception for the diplomatic corps. For forty minutes, she stood, poised and smiling, shaking hands with all 315 guests as they passed through the receiving line. Some may have noticed her shifting from one foot to the other, unused to standing still for so long in high-heeled shoes meant more for show than comfort, and at one point, as she looked down the line and couldn’t see an end to the people, she whispered to her father, “When is it going to stop?”

  When it finally did stop, President Ford gave her a hug and kiss. He was proud of her.

  And then they took to the dance floor, with the orchestra playing Maurice Chevalier’s “Thank Heaven for Little Girls.” It was a bittersweet moment for both of them: a special moment between father and daughter, and yet both thinking about the woman in the hospital and the reason they were having this dance together.

  “I knew that if she died,” Susan said, “I would have to do more events like that.”

  The long white gloves were hot, the shoes uncomfortable for a girl more accustomed to blue jeans and sneakers, but for the next hour and a half, Susan danced with one ambassador after another. “At seventeen, dancing with all those much older men was not high on my list,” she recalled, “but I did it for my mother.”

  Throughout the two weeks Betty was in the hospital, President Ford was under a tremendous amount of stress. Susan could see how his overwhelming concern for Betty combined with the pressures of the country were taking a toll on him. In an effort to cheer him up, she and David Kennerly decided to surprise him with a golden retriever puppy. The Fords had always had dogs, but their last golden retriever, Sugar, had died shortly before Jerry became vice president. (Keeping it a surprise proved to be somewhat difficult when the kennel owner from whom they were purchasing the dog asked relentless questions to ensure it would be placed in a suitable home. When asked if the new owner owned his own home and had a steady job, Kennerly had replied, “The people are a friendly middle-aged couple who live in a big white house with a fence around it. It’s public housing.” And the job? “He’s sure to be in town for a couple of years,” Kennerly assured the kennel owner, “but beyond that, I can’t tell you.”)

  The president was thrilled with the eight-month-old golden retriever, and they decided to name her Liberty.

  When Betty was finally released from the hospital, her return to the White House was like a national homecoming party. Looking out the window of the presidential helicopter as it landed on the South Lawn, Betty got a bird’s-eye view of the crowd that had gathered to welcome her home.

  Hundreds of people stood outside the White House gates with signs that said “We Love You, Betty” and “Welcome Home.” The press was there, of course—cameras and reporters from all over the world—and everyone who worked in the White House was lined up outside the Diplomatic Reception Room. Members of the staff had strung hundreds of the colorful “Get Well” cards on a cord and draped it like a garland across the Truman Balcony.

  Janet Ford, the sister-in-law Betty considered to be her best friend, had come from Michigan to help Betty during her recovery. She and Susan were standing on the lawn, with Liberty, waiting for Betty’s arrival. As soon as Betty stepped out of the helicopter, Susan ran to her mother and wrapped her arms around her like she never wanted to let her go.

  “I had no words for the joy I was feeling,” Betty recalled. “I could only look, and touch, and smile, and hold on.”

  15

  * * *

  A Reluctant Role Model

  Four days after Betty returned home to the White House, she and Jerry celebrated their twenty-sixth wedding anniversary. They had a quiet lunch upstairs in the family dining room, topped off with a special dessert the White House pastry chef had made: two hearts sculpted out of ice cream. Then Jerry told her he had a surprise for her.

  “Come on out on the balcony,” he said.

  Television host and country-and-western star Tennessee Ernie Ford and his touring group were gathered on the South Lawn. When President and Mrs. Ford appeared on the balcony, the singer began serenading them with “Anniversary Waltz.”

  Betty stood there leaning on the rail of the Truman Balcony, dressed in a peacock-blue dressing gown, holding hands with her husband, swaying to the music, a tender smile across her face.

  “It was a fantastic anniversary,” she wrote. “Just to be alive and well and home was wonderful.”

  While Betty had been in the hospital, it became clear that hiring a press secretary and social secretary were of immediate importance. Nancy Howe thought Betty should get rid of everyone on the staff who had served in the East Wing under Mrs. Nixon, but Betty balked at that. Yes, she wanted to make her own imprint, but she had compassion for the people who were on the staff, had been doing a good job, and, through no fault of their own, suddenly had a new administration. The calligraphers in the Correspondence Office, the women who worked in the Social Office—they were craftswomen, nothing political about them. Betty decided they should stay. “From that moment on,” Nancy Chirdon said, “those staff people had a tremendous amount of loyalty to her.”

  Prior to going into the hospital, Betty had interviewed several women for the important position of press secretary and ultimately chose Sheila Weidenfeld. Sheila had been a talk-show producer for NBC in New York City, working with Joan Rivers, David Brenner, and Maury Povich, and had recently moved to Washington because of her husband’s job. Several members of the press corps had recommended her for the position.

  Petite and brash, thirty years old at the time, Sheila recalled of her first meeting with Mrs. Ford, “Neither of us had any idea what the role of the first lady’s press secretary entailed.” They’d both be learning on the job.

  Sheila fielded the phone calls from the female reporters covering the first lady, and was surprised by the intimate questions they asked. They wanted background on her life and what her plans were, as well as details about what she ate and what she was wearing for every occasion. Pat Nixon had wanted nothing to do with the press, and now “you had this woman who had revealed that she had breast cancer, and she was new, and it was exciting times again,” Sheila said. “People were really eager to know more about her.”

  Sheila’s mission was “to get the first lady off the social page and onto the front page,” but Betty Ford herself, with her bold decision to go public with her breast cancer, had already accomplished just that.

  Before they knew it, the Fords were preparing for their first Christmas as the first family. Planning for White House Christmas decorations typically begins nine or ten months in advance and is one of those duties that is relegated to the East Wing. It was a huge undertaking under normal circumstances, but even with everything else going on, Betty Ford put her personal stamp on it. The White House was closed to the public for three days as hundreds of volunteers came in and transformed the various public rooms into a magical Christmas wonderland with a theme centered around hand
made ornaments—encouraging Americans to save money during these difficult economic times and spend more time with family. The chefs made gingerbread houses; trees were decorated in almost every room; and crèches were set on mantels and tabletops.

  Forty thousand Christmas cards were sent out—paid for personally by President and Mrs. Ford—and then there were the parties. Parties for children of the diplomatic corps, parties for children of the White House staff and employees, nightly parties for various political groups. Betty recalled, “The Christmas parties started, and I didn’t think they’d ever stop.” And while most of the Christmas parties were subsidized, the Fords decided to host a party for a thousand members of the press, for which the liquor tab also came out of their own pocket.

  Amid all the revelry, President Ford was scheduled to meet the president of France, Giscard d’Estaing, on the West Indies island of Martinique in mid-December, and Betty had decided to join him. Two days before the trip, however, the first lady experienced severe pain. She still took medication for her pinched nerve, but on top of that, she had also developed osteoarthritis. Her brothers, too, suffered from the chronic joint condition, so it wasn’t surprising that she would be diagnosed with it as well, especially after so many years of dance, but she noticed it tended to flare up when she was stressed, and when it did, it was debilitating.

  A press release explained that Mrs. Ford would not be accompanying her husband as scheduled, but no one believed the reason was because of osteoarthritis.

  What’s really wrong with her? Is it a recurrence of her cancer?

  There was a mistrust of what was coming out of the White House Press Office, but the incapacitating discomfort Betty felt was real. One day Sheila went upstairs to see Mrs. Ford and found her lying in bed, the room completely dark.

  “She was obviously in great pain,” Sheila recalled. “She looked so pale, so weak.” It gave the press secretary a new appreciation for everything the first lady was dealing with. Seeing her like that, Sheila realized “what a tremendous obstacle her health was, and how courageous she was to be able to go through bouts like this, never knowing when they would come and for how long.”

  During these times, a nurse was with her almost around the clock, applying hot compresses and administering extra pain medication as prescribed by Dr. Lukash. Anything to help relieve the torturous pain. Within a few days, that episode was over, and she was back to the frenetic pace of being the president’s wife.

  Christmas would be spent at Vail, as usual, but things were completely different now that Jerry was president. The previous year, he’d traveled with a small Secret Service detail, but now he had a much larger group of men protecting him, and Betty and each of the four kids had agents too. Dick Keiser, the special agent in charge of the Presidential Protective Division, asked the guys on the detail, “Who skis?”

  Larry Buendorf was the first to respond, “I’m a good skier,” he said. He’d grown up in Minnesota and had been skiing almost since he could walk. He also realized they’d need to do an advance before the president got out to Vail, which would require two weeks of “mountain familiarization”—or, basically, two weeks of free skiing.

  With the Secret Service and the additional equipment they needed with them, there was no way the Fords could stay in their condo. Dick Bass, an oilman from Texas, who was one of the founders of Vail and had become a friend of the Fords, offered them use of his home at 312 Mill Creek Circle. It was a large wood-and-stone residence near the base of the gondola, with plenty of bedrooms and large, open living spaces. The agents would stay in condominiums close by, and, of course, the press would descend upon Vail over the holidays too. In fact, Sheila Weidenfeld had learned that NBC had rented the house next door to the Bass house. She could foresee all kinds of potentially embarrassing situations, but when she informed Mrs. Ford, the reaction surprised her.

  Betty just laughed and said, “I guess I’ll have to keep the drapes pulled.”

  Because they now had a much larger house, President and Mrs. Ford told Jack and Steve they could bring their girlfriends, and Susan could bring her boyfriend out to Vail. Several days before they were to leave, Susan’s boyfriend called and said he had hurt his back, and the doctor told him skiing was out of the question. Not wanting to be the only one without a companion for the week, Susan invited Barbara Manfuso, one of her best friends at Holton-Arms.

  Barbara and Susan had been close since freshman year. “I knew them before her dad became vice president or president,” Barbara recalled. “To me, they were just Susan’s parents.”

  The morning of December 22, President and Mrs. Ford, Mike and Gayle, Susan, carrying two cats in a box, and Barbara, holding Liberty on a leash, set off on Air Force One for Colorado. Thirty-six other passengers joined them, including Chief of Staff Donald Rumsfeld, Press Secretary Ron Nessen, and Dr. Lukash and their families; seven members of the press; and ten Secret Service agents.

  They’d been airborne for about an hour when a Secret Service agent came into the compartment where Susan and Barbara were sitting and said, “Miss Manfuso, President and Mrs. Ford want to see you up front.”

  Barbara froze and looked at Susan with wide eyes. Oh, my gosh, she thought, I’m already in trouble, and we’ve only been gone an hour.

  “You better get up there,” Susan said. “I’ll come with you.”

  The two girls walked up the aisle into the presidential cabin, and as Barbara opened the door, everyone inside yelled, “Surprise!”

  It happened to be Barbara’s eighteenth birthday. “I remember Susan’s mom and dad sitting there,” she said. “There was a cake with candles lit, and Mrs. Ford had a huge smile on her face.” Betty knew that Barbara felt anxious about being away from her family at Christmas for the first time, so she had arranged for the White House pastry chef to make a special cake, and had wrapped all kinds of presents for her.

  “It was really sweet,” Barbara remembered. “I was so touched. With everything she had going on, to make sure my birthday was celebrated on Air Force One. That was something she did not have to do.”

  In the past several years, Jerry and Betty had become friends with one of Vail’s most colorful couples, Sheika and Pepi Gramshammer. Both originally from Austria, they spoke with distinctive German accents and ran a small hotel and restaurant called Hotel-Gasthof Gramshammer. The ruggedly handsome Pepi was a former professional ski racer, and he had become one of Jerry’s favorite ski partners. Sheika, a stunning beauty with an infectious smile, had been a model and Las Vegas dancer before moving to Vail, and she and Betty hit it off from the moment they first met. “She was a mother I never had. When I had an issue, she was a sister I never had, and she was a friend,” Sheika remembered with fondness. “I could talk to her, and when she was in trouble or had an issue, we talked about it. We were like old souls reunited.”

  Their gasthof, or “guesthouse,” had a ski and sport shop called Pepi Sports attached on the ground floor, for which Sheika did all the purchasing. She recalled the first time she went to New York on a buying trip, no one had ever heard of Vail. She had to explain that it was a new resort between Denver and Aspen. But after the Christmas of 1974, everyone in the world knew of Vail. Still, the Fords remained the same.

  “We were always included in all the activities when he was a congressman,” Sheika said. “And then he became vice president, and he still came, but they hadn’t changed at all. It was still the same. Just they had another title.”

  The Fords were determined to have as normal a Christmas as they always had, but the army of press that had accompanied them wanted to peer into every aspect of their family holiday. They had photographers following President Ford down the mountain as he skied with Pepi and a few members of his Secret Service detail, eager to catch a photo of any of them falling. Still others tried—usually without much success—to keep up with the Ford children, who were all expert skiers and could easily ditch the novice press corps.

  Pepi had offered all the
Secret Service agents a generous discount on skiwear, and when Larry Buendorf had first gone out, he’d bought himself a bright yellow jacket. Sheika loved to ski behind him, calling out “Hey, yellow bird!”

  President Ford had one ski outfit, and he always wore the same thing. “We were concerned because you could spot him a mile away,” Buendorf recalled. “So, we asked him to mix it up. Pepi set him up with some new jackets, pants, and hats, and he was good about changing his outfit every day after that.”

  Meanwhile, Betty was still trying to regain her energy after surgery, so she didn’t venture out too much. She would meet friends for lunch or spend her days shopping—nothing newsworthy, except for the fact that it was the first lady meeting friends for lunch or going shopping. But the press was so starved for information about her, the next day in the newspaper there’d be a photo of Betty thumbing through the racks at the Gondola Sport Shop with the scintillating caption: “Mrs. Ford Goes Shopping.”

  A couple of days into the trip, Susan’s boyfriend called to tell her he had been cleared to ski and was flying out to spend the rest of the week with her. The night of Gardner’s arrival, Susan went with her agents to Denver to pick him up at the airport. Her friend Barbara stayed back at the house rather than make the three-hour round-trip drive. Everybody had gone to bed, and Barbara was sitting in front of the fireplace feeling kind of mopey, knowing she’d be the third wheel as soon as Gardner arrived.

  “Susan’s mom came out and made a cup of tea, and sat with me until Susan and Gardner came back,” Barbara recalled fondly. “We talked about all kinds of things for the three or four hours they were gone, and she stayed up with me so I didn’t have to be alone. That was so typical of her.”

  It had become a family tradition for everyone in the family to draw names and then fill a stocking for that person. According to Barbara, Mike and Gayle had drawn her name, and when she came downstairs on Christmas morning, her stocking was overflowing onto the mantel.