The human voice is a stirring thing, as unique as a fingerprint, with its own ability to conjure a sense of place and time. Reading a diary written in a familiar voice offers an added sense of intimacy with its subject, a kind of literary immediacy.
So it is with the diaries of former President Ronald Reagan. All through these 693 pages of text, we can hear that strength, that ringing confidence, that humor, as time marches on through the Reagan presidency, 1981-89.
Reagan’s diaries were composed in longhand at the end of most days, written in five volumes that now are on display in the Reagan Presidential Library in Simi Valley, Calif. Historian Douglas Brinkley has edited those five volumes into one very substantial book that likely will be the summer reading of choice for political junkies and commonfolk alike. And what a book it is!
World leaders arrive and depart practically every day, Reagan himself travels widely and records his impressions, and almost every American politician of note appears in these pages, as well as a great many Hollywood celebrities.
There are, of course, Reagan’s reactions to his inaugurations, the assassination attempt by John Hinckley (for whom he prayed), his love of freedom and hatred of communism, his anti-Soviet feelings, the satisfaction of the release of Soviet dissidents such as Anatoly Shcharansky (his spelling), the end of the Cold War, the troubles in the Middle East, the rumblings of Iran-Contra, the triumphant 40th anniversary of D-Day, even the early influence of Saudi Prince Bandar, and concern over the power of Moammar Gadhafi, whose name Reagan spelled many different ways over the course of these diaries. (He at times seems a bit churlish about his predecessor, Jimmy Carter, though he always called to wish Richard Nixon a happy birthday.)
There are partisan politics as well, as Reagan advances his deeply felt conservative agenda. His political stands, in matters of both foreign and domestic policy, often appear to be the result of deep personal conviction rather than complicated intellectual reasoning. These diaries are a record of events rather than philosophical reflection. He is discreet, even in his personal writing, and “d–m” and “h–l” are the strongest expletives, complete with those hyphens, that he allows himself.
Reagan family history appears as well, with Reagan marking his birthdays, those of his wife, their wedding anniversaries, Christmas and New Year traditions, long friendships. What must it have felt like to have your son berate you for not doing enough for the environment or ask for a break from Secret Service protection? His daughter Maureen appears often as a White House visitor. But more than anything else, Reagan was sustained by the love of his wife, whose every absence he noted; many entries conclude with a happy phrase such as “She’s home at last.” As a portrait of a marriage, these diaries reveal a true interdependency.
No matter what the reader may feel about Reagan’s politics, what emerges from these pages is a portrait of a decent man who struggled to do right by his lights. He understood the value of human connection: He once split the bill (225 people at $10 apiece) with Donald Regan to have all the White House employees take part in Hands Across America – just because someone thought to invite him personally. He made time in his schedule, not only for visiting dignitaries, but for finalists in the National Spelling Bee, sick and dying children, the muscular dystrophy poster children who were often personally escorted to the White House by Jerry Lewis; once, when Reagan watched the Labor Day telethon and tried to call in his pledge, operators had a hard time believing it was actually him.
He made time for widows of servicemen, and, yes, journalists. He paid attention to what was said about him in the press and watched the news, and, yes, he paid attention to his approval ratings.
In one especially moving passage, from Monday, Dec. 16, 1985, he writes: “This morning we flew to Ft. Campbell, Ky., home of the Screaming Eagles – the 101st Airborne. In a hangar there we were part of the memorial service for the 248 soldiers who died in the crash at Gander. I said my few words & then Nancy and I met each & every grieving “loved one,” wives, mothers & fathers, brothers & sisters & children. It was a heartbreaking time. They were all wonderful – we’ll never forget them.” Now that was presidential.
He had a great sense of humor: Once, when his friend Paul Laxalt came by with a letter from a man in Nevada who didn’t think Reagan knew the words to “The Shooting of Dan McGrew,” the president put in a call and recited it to his surprised audience. He was proud of Nancy when she appeared at the Gridiron dinner and sang “Second Hand Rose” to great audience acclaim. (Perhaps this inspired “MC Rove” decades later?) In 1985, he writes, “I phoned Berke Breathed – cartoonist who does Bloom County. He obviously thought I was calling to bitch about something, I called to thank him for the Sunday strip where he had Nancy in the strip looking lovely. He’s sending me the original.”
In these diaries, Reagan chronicles his high hopes, his frequent disappointments, his pleasure in his achievements. He noted the weather, how late he slept, whether or not he went for a ride that day (his recreation of choice), and only in passing did he mention the health concerns that accompanied aging, always taking pride in his good medical reports. And, as might be expected, there are frequent comments on the movies he watched – and he watched a lot of them, especially the oldies!
He was equally at home breaking in a pair of jeans by getting them wet in the pool and letting them dry while he wore them in the sun, or appearing at a state dinner in “White Tie and Tails,” as he always put it. On the world stage, he had found the role he had envisioned for himself and he played it with conviction. In these diaries, he had no ax to grind; he had a job to do, and he records his time in office matter-of-factly, without the need for self-congratulation or self-aggrandizement, but as a time in which the personal human obligation – whether to a grieving family or a friend in need – always came first.
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