Читать книгу Riding with Reagan - Rochelle Schweizer - Страница 7

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The Rider and His Ranch

Reagan called it his open cathedral in the sky: majestic hills rising out of the dusty ground high above the Santa Ynez Valley, strong and beautiful oak trees with twisted trunks overlooking incredible vistas of the Pacific Ocean, and rugged backcountry with endless trails. Though his humble ranch was far from majestic, the natural beauty visible from the 2,250-foot-high mountaintop made him feel like he was on top of the world.

As he often put it, “Rancho del Cielo can make you feel as if you are on a cloud.” It was simple and comfortable, embodying the character of a leader who has become a hero to many. The principles he esteemed were constant throughout his life—hope, simplicity, hard work, and optimism—and he walked and rode Rancho del Cielo with those same guiding values.

The Reagans purchased the ranch in November 1974. The name of the property at the time was Tip Top Ranch. That would never work. This place on the side of the mountain was so much more to them than that. They renamed their new property Rancho del Cielo (Spanish for “Ranch in the Sky”). Twenty-nine miles northwest of Santa Barbara, it was their escape from Washington, D.C., from their aides, and from the many people constantly tugging at them. In all my years in the Secret Service, I never really heard the President complain about his schedule, but there was one exception. Every once in a while, he would turn to his chief of staff, Michael Deaver, and say, “Mike, the schedule looks fine, but I don’t see any ranch time in here. I don’t see a ranch trip in the schedule.”

Like all other presidents, he still had to carry the weighty burdens of that office with him, but at least at the ranch, he was in the place where he felt most comfortable. While riding his horse on the endless trails of his 688 acres, he could be alone with his thoughts and nature. When we were at the White House, I’d be on post, and he’d come by and say to me while grabbing and shaking his lapel, “Well, John, in four days we can get out of these clothes, get in some boots and jeans, and we’ll be riding.”

For most of his adult life, Reagan owned a ranch somewhere in California. From his childhood days on, Reagan had looked to nature for solace and strength, and he would retreat to the wonderment of the outdoors whenever he needed to sort things out and make decisions.

None of his ranches were palatial. They were always like him—simple, rugged, and sturdy. When people first got a glimpse of Rancho del Cielo, they were surprised. When the last president of the Soviet Union, Mikhail Gorbachev, saw the tiny adobe home in 1992, I could see how stunned he was. Of course, the point was Reagan bought the place because it was simple. On the wall of his small adobe home, the President had a plaque he prized greatly, with a quote from Horatio’s The Bridge: “How can a man die better than facing fearful odds for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his gods?”

He had purchased his first ranch years before he met Nancy. It was a small eight-acre ranch near Northridge in the lush San Fernando Valley. He kept a few horses there and would escape to it on weekends when he wasn’t shooting a film. While most of his friends were spending their weekends chasing starlets at the Brown Derby in Hollywood, Reagan was at the ranch, riding horses, fixing fences, and cleaning out the stalls.

His second ranch was a 290-acre property in Malibu Canyon named Yearling Row, which he purchased in 1951. It was in Cornell Corners right by Malibu Lake, and there he was able to truly build something. He raised thoroughbreds and had two brood mares named Torch Carrier and Bracing. Every year, he would produce two foals from those two mares, and each year, a guy would come by to decide if the foals were good enough for the Delmar sale, the premier horse sale on the West Coast. Reagan’s foals were always of quality and always made the sale. The shingled house was small and modest. Mrs. Reagan was afraid it was a firetrap, and they never stayed there for the night. On the walls inside, though, they had hung pictures from their various motion pictures. Reagan just loved the place, and he would work his heart out fixing it. He built sturdy wooden stalls, marked out the trails, and erected a new fence. He loved working with his hands, and Mrs. Reagan would sometimes join him in his labors by painting fence posts or helping to clean things up. There were three-and-a-half miles of a three-rail aluminized fence on that place, and Mrs. Reagan followed behind her husband, helping to paint the fence after he put it up. They did the whole thing by themselves.

There were two reservoirs on the property. Above one of the reservoirs was a road called Mulholland Drive. One day, a car with a fancy government seal on it pulled up to the side of the road. The driver got out and looked down at the place. Finally he drove in and asked Reagan, “Are you the owner?”

“Yes, I am,” he answered.

“Did you build these reservoirs?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Well, you know, you’re entitled to a government subsidy for all this. Fill out these applications.”

Reagan interrupted him, “You know, when I built them, I built them with my own funds, and I never intended to have any government subsidy. I’d like to keep it that way.”

In the late 1950s, there was a fire called the Liberty Fire that started in nearby Liberty Canyon. It burned through Yearling Row and took out the main barn, but not the stables. In fact, the stables are still there.

At lunchtime, the work hands at the ranch would sit around in a circle and eat together. Reagan would just bring something like an apple and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich—nothing formal. A friend of Reagan’s during those years told me that at lunch one day Reagan said, “You know, the Air Force just junked or salvaged five million dollars’ worth of dark glasses, and the Navy just ordered the same thing for another five million dollars. It just drives me nuts. You know, I ought to become president of the United States.”

According to Reagan’s friend, the foreman was the only one who stayed on the place. Reagan would say, “Well, I won’t be around for a while, I’ve got to go to work.” That meant he was going to get on a train and go back East for his speeches with General Electric. He held that property for almost twenty years, finally selling it to his neighbor, Paramount Pictures, when he became governor.

In 1968, the Reagans purchased Rancho California in Riverside County, north of San Diego. It was remote and far off the beaten trail, and Reagan’s hope was to turn this ranch into a retreat. In Sacramento, he no doubt felt confined, and this was the place that would allow him to get out and do some riding once he left office. However, he became frustrated, because there was no water or power service. So he decided to sell the place and began his search for the perfect place on earth. That search eventually led to his ranch in the sky.

Longtime friend Bill Wilson was the one who found the Reagans their final ranch. Wilson and his wife Betty had a ranch near the base of Refugio Canyon north of Santa Barbara, and the Reagans visited them often. During those visits Reagan really grew to like the area, and so when Bill heard there was a ranch for sale, he contacted Reagan at once. After he was elected president, Reagan appointed Bill as ambassador to the Vatican.

Reagan didn’t need any urging. Soon after, Bill drove with the Reagans up the Refugio Canyon Road to see the place. The drive up the winding, one-lane road is seven miles long, and it seems to go on and on. Mrs. Reagan asked, “Where are you taking us?” They just kept going, with no answer.

Finally, even Reagan said, “Bill, is this going to end at some point?” It was soon apparent that the drive up the tortuous road was well worth it. Even before they arrived, Reagan was awed by the graceful mountains and thick clusters of oaks. “It’s absolutely gorgeous here,” he told Bill. “I love it.” Once they reached the ranch, the Reagans decided almost immediately that they would buy this place.

Rancho del Cielo is the only one in the Santa Ynez Mountain Range that is shaped like a dish and thereby provides some great useable land. When Reagan first bought the property, it was much sparser than it is now. There was nothing on the ranch, just the simple adobe house built a century earlier, though “house” might be too kind a word. It was more like a hut, with aluminum sheets for the roof. There was no pond, few trees by the house, and no fences. Reagan, however, looked at that plot of land the way he looked at everything: there is an opportunity here.

He went to work at once. By himself, the President laid the sandstone patio in front of the house. He would go out with his Jeep and collect large sandstone rocks and bring them back. Next, he would pour the concrete before laying the rocks in place. He was very handy.

The President extended the house. Previously, it had ended where the L-shaped living room-dining room was. He took down the chicken wire and the corrugated aluminum. He said, “This house needs to go back to looking the way nature wanted it to, to fit in here on this beautiful spot. No aluminum. We’ll get rid of all of that.”

He also erected the fence, largely by himself. In the hot sun, he would use a two-handed posthole digger and pull out clumps of earth from the rock-hard soil. Next, he would gently lay in the telephone poles that Dennis had brought up from Pacific Gas and Electric, lining them up. There is a short video of him in which you see him dressed in a tee shirt and work gloves digging the holes for the telephone poles. He was using a string to measure to see if they were even. Looking at the camera, he said, “Very scientific work.”

He loved physical labor, which was something the press could never quite understand. Every year, the President hosted a party for the traveling press at Barney Clinger’s estate in Santa Barbara. At that party, Sam Donaldson once said, “Now, Mr. President, I hear you like to go out and trim trees and cut wood.”

“Yes, yes I do,” the President responded

Donaldson went on, “Now, just how big is the ranch?”

“Six hundred and eighty-eight acres.”

“Well, Mr. President, at that rate you’ll never be through trimming.”

“I hope not, Sam,” he said.

The press was allowed to come to the ranch for just a few events during Reagan’s entire presidency. One was during the Queen’s visit and another was when he signed the tax relief bill, which was the largest tax cut in American history. Back in 1981, there had been a spirited debate on Capitol Hill before the Democratic Congress finally passed the President’s tax cut. He chose to sign the bill at the ranch where he was riding, rather than return to the White House. In the photos of him signing the bill, he is sitting on one of the pigskin-covered chairs at the table on the patio he built.

While he was signing the tax bill, Sam Donaldson blurted out, “Mr. President, are you thinking about selling this ranch anytime soon?”

The President shot back, “You can’t sell heaven.”

Another time, at a birthday party for Mrs. Reagan, the President said that if the ranch wasn’t heaven, it “probably has the same zip code.”

* * *

A RANCH IS more than a house and fence posts. Besides providing a home for the Reagans, Rancho del Cielo also accommodated many wild animals. When I first arrived there in November 1980, there were bears, bobcats, mountain lions, rattlesnakes, and gopher snakes. When we were out riding, there were a few special places we’d venture to at times. One of those spots was Snake Lake, a small isolated lake just off the property, which I don’t think anyone ever rode to except us. The dirt road to the lake is now overgrown with heavy brush, so you can no longer get down there. On some of our early rides together, the President and I would ride down there and we’d see huge bear prints. The bears would walk out into the middle of the lake, plop down, and lick the water. That sure seemed strange to me but I guess not to them. Soon after the new presidential staff invaded, however, some of the animals moved away. They left once we started to erect temporary housing, dig the well, and fly the helicopters in and out. It became too noisy for them.

Still, there was plenty of wildlife around. One morning, there were four gopher snakes outside the President’s front door, just off to the left in the grass. Nonpoisonous, they can get to at least six feet long. Unless they are provoked, they will not normally bite a human. The snakes that morning were mating in a big ball, and the President found that fascinating. Leaning over with his hands on hips, he got really close. About that time, Mrs. Reagan emerged from the house and pleaded, “John, can you get him away from them?”

“Mr. President,” I said, “we should back away.”

Nevertheless he wouldn’t move. “Gopher snakes won’t hurt you.”

Another time when we were out for a ride, we saw a bobcat and her three young cubs. They walked right across the trail we were riding on.

One day when we were coming in from a ride, we saw a hawk soaring and circling. The President pointed it out. “John, that hawk sees something.” When we got to a clearing where we could see the ground, the hawk folded it wings and dove. It grabbed a huge gopher snake with its talons and then started flapping its wings so it could carry the snake off, but the snake was about five feet long and was really wiggling. The hawk tried to fly away with the snake, but soon dropped it because it was just too heavy for him to lift, giving the snake his chance to slither away.

For the agents, an occasional rattlesnake and the dangers of riding a horse weren’t the only challenges at the ranch. Getting there could be tricky. The winding road was nearly impossible for Reagan’s limo, and the drivers had a heck of a time making that large vehicle take those hairpin turns. Besides the narrow road through the canyon and up the mountain, the only other way to get to the ranch was by helicopter. While Reagan was still the president-elect, he rode up like the rest of us, though he never minded. He wasn’t given a military helicopter yet. Once president, however, he arrived on Marine One every time except once during his presidency. Still, the members of the presidential entourage had to travel up that treacherous one-lane road. That was the worst part of the job. Three shifts a day would go up that road in Chevy Suburbans. The strain on the vehicles was so great that every ten thousand miles the tires and brakes had to be replaced.

After he left the White House, the President always looked forward to the drive up the winding road. Mrs. Reagan would fall asleep just about every time, but not him. He would just stare out the window, enjoying nature. From the second he left his house, he would time the drive, and when we got out of the car he would say, “Well, you’ve got the record time for getting me here.” Of course, then the guys driving started to compete with one another to see who could get him to the ranch the fastest.

The ride from the President’s Bel Air residence to the ranch has sixty-five-mile-an-hour speed limits, and it would be very embarrassing if the California Highway Patrol stopped us. “Guys,” I said, “we do sixty-five miles an hour!”

Members of Reagan’s Secret Service protective detail loved going to the ranch. It was an opportunity for us to get out of our suits and bulletproof vests and put on our jeans, boots, T-shirts, and baseball caps. However, I still insisted on some decorum, and I had to get creative to find a way to conceal our weapons. Most agents have their weapons on their right hips, and vests that always conceal them. The vests also conceal their radios. For me, it worked to have my radio on my left hip, the wires running underneath my shirt up into my right ear. I said, “You guys all go down and buy those sleeveless denim vests.” I suggested Jedlicka’s, the local Western shop in Santa Barbara owned by my friend Si Jenkins, where I had purchased many of the riding supplies for the President and the Secret Service. In no way did I want the President and First Lady to see reminders that, even though private, this was a dangerous situation. There was no need to do that. Everybody agreed to my request.

From a security standpoint, the ranch was a double-edged sword. It was so remote that most people didn’t even know where it was. If I gave someone the address, they wouldn’t be able to find it. That was good. There was incredibly thick brush all around. No one could drive up there or could come up the side of the mountain. You could only drive the main road, and that was always secure. We also had the FAA put out a P52 Notices to Airmen (NOTAMS) stating to aircraft that they were in restricted airspace and could not go below two hundred feet over the ranch. Once, a pilot violated the P52, flying just yards above the helicopter landing. He was arrested and lost his pilot’s license.

The FAA runs a VORTAC (short for VHF omnidirectional range/tactical aircraft control) up on the highest spot on the ranch. A VORTAC is like a road sign. Pilots flying overhead home in on that VORTAC, and from that they receive all the directions and then proceed to their destinations. We went to the FAA to see if the VORTAC could be moved. They said they could move it but then started to explain just what it would take. They told us that the nuclear submarines use it to triangulate location, and when Vandenberg Air Force Base launches their missiles and rockets, they go by that VORTAC signal. The list of uses for that VORTAC went on and on until finally we said we did not want to cause all those disruptions. The government ended up paying the President to have that VORTAC on his land. That mountain range is one of the best for it, and years earlier, before he was president, when they had wanted to put it up he had said okay. Still, to this day, it is a very important piece of machinery. They come up there all the time to fine-tune it.

Our biggest security concern was the President’s daily horse riding, which presented all sorts of challenges. We had to make sure that the rugged area was secure and that there were no physical hazards that could harm the President. Then there was also the matter of the horses themselves. Where they in good shape? How were their temperaments? The President was determined that not only he and Mrs. Reagan would have a good time but we all would. He wanted to make sure we were all enjoying ourselves while on the job.

He would usually come up for his rides like clockwork at nine a.m. and would return in time for lunch at noon. In the early days, he would sometimes also ride in the afternoon. Before a ride, we would study the big detailed map on the wall in the tack barn and carefully devise where we were going to ride that day. Wanting my input, he’d ask, “Well, what if we go here, and then if we go left we’ll be over where that tree is, and then, after that, what if we go there?”

I always answered, “Mr. President, that’s fine with me.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, maybe we can go—”

“Sir, you can do whatever you want. When we reach where you want to go, and if you want to change the route, I can change my men around. Don’t worry about it. Whatever you—”

Then he would say, “I want the fellows to have a good ride too.” He was so nice and enthusiastic about everything.

“Sir, we’re not here to have a good time.”

He’d look at me and say, “Though we are having a good time.”

“You’re the one, sir, who must enjoy this. You do what you like, and we’ll be able to stay right with you.”

However, that never would satisfy him, and he persisted, “No, I want you to have a good ride also.”

Finally I would say, “I’ll have a good ride no matter where you go, because I’m on a horse.” It was then he would stop talking and just smile, because that was exactly how he felt too, and he liked that.

He would show Mrs. Reagan the map. “Now we’re going to go over here. John says we can go there.”

She’d look over at me, not having a clue how to read that map. All she would say was, “Oh, that sounds like a good route, honey.” Then she would look at me again and shrug her shoulders. I would just laugh.

While Reagan loved the outdoors, he didn’t like the things that people usually associate with it—hunting and fishing. He liked target shooting, but I don’t recall him ever talking about hunting. I asked him about it once, and he just said, “No.” It just didn’t interest him.

He felt the same way about fishing. I only saw him fish one time from a private boat during a trip to Alaska. He caught a halibut. Catching a halibut in Alaska is like pulling up a rock. They feed off the bottom. The one the President hooked weighed twenty pounds, but they can go all the way up to sixty pounds and above. Once hooked, you crank and crank the line because they don’t fight. It tasted wonderful, but to him it didn’t mean that much. While he liked boats, he never was around one except for that trip.

Besides riding horses, the President relaxed chopping wood and clearing brush. He loved to take out the chain saw, and there’d be wood chips flying everywhere. Dennis LeBlanc and Barney Barnett, a California Highway Patrol Officer who was also Reagan’s driver when he was governor, would help the President at the ranch. In fact, every time the President went to the ranch, Barney and Dennis would stay there with him, and they would chop wood together. They had their own quarters in a small trailer. Barney always called the President “Governor,” because of his earlier days with him as his driver. For sentimental reasons, Barney still called him “Governor” after Reagan was elected president. Only Barney could do that. Dennis, always level-headed, later went to work at the White House for the military office in the East Wing. After he left Washington, D.C., he still kept going to the ranch whenever the President wanted him to.

Barney and Dennis would be working with him, and it sounded like the attack of the killer bees, because two or three chain saws would be going at one time. The toughest thing Reagan did was use his pole saw to cut tree limbs high up. The pole saw is for reaching up and cutting maybe one- or two-inch limbs, but he’d take down a six-inch limb, which is physically demanding. You’re basically cutting wood while holding your hands over your head. Unless you’re in great condition, you won’t be able to raise your arms the next day, but he didn’t even break a sweat. It was strange. Barney and Dennis, who were working with him, would have their shirts soaked through with sweat, but not the President.

Occasionally, I would catch him trying to tackle something I just didn’t think he should be doing. I’d rush over to Dennis and talk it over with him. Dennis would say, “That’s way too big, Mr. President. Maybe I should try that.” Dennis always had the chain saw, and before the President could answer, Dennis would have the limb cut down. If we didn’t handle it that way, the President would have worked on it for too long.

The work really helped him relax, and often he didn’t want to take a break. I would ask, “Mr. President, do you want some water?”

“No,” he would answer still cutting away.

I would then walk over to Dennis and say, “You know, it’s ninety-five degrees out. Do me a favor, go over and tell him you’re taking a break. If you tell him you need a break, then he’ll stop too.”

“Sir, why don’t we take a break?” Dennis would ask him.

“Well, I’m okay.”

Well, I’m not,” Dennis would tell him. “I need a break. I need some water.”

“Okay.” The President would carefully put the pole saw down and walk over to the Jeep where he’d drink some water and usually tell a story. There wouldn’t be any sweat on his face. The only time he’d stop working would be when someone else wanted to take a break. He was too polite to say no.

The ranch house didn’t have air-conditioning or heating, but it had two fireplaces. In the wintertime, if it fell below eighty degrees, Mrs. Reagan would be cold. She needed a sweater. Since the President had cut enough wood to heat New York City, both of those fireplaces would be literally raging all the time.

The President would split the wood to fit into the fireplace and then stack it. Although he liked using an axe, he used the automatic splitter because cutting it with the axe took forever. Dennis came up with the idea of the splitter. You put the log in the holder, you press a button, and it rips the piece of wood in two. It is a very dangerous machine. One time Dennis had an accident and lost the tip of his finger. The chipper, however, is the most dangerous machine of all. If you throw brush and wood in there and a piece of branch catches on your jeans, it will pull you right in and there will be nothing left of you. That used to scare the hell out of me. Sometimes the President would be attempting to throw brush and wood in there, and I would say, “Dennis, please don’t let him do that. It’s too dangerous. I can’t stand this anymore. I can’t stand watching it.”

“Mr. President,” Dennis would ask him diplomatically, “why don’t you drag the brush to this point, and then I’ll put it into the chipper?”

“Well, all right,” he would agree. He just wouldn’t say no, and we counted on that. It was a relief.

* * *

THE RANCH was really just the President and First Lady’s place. Their family rarely came there. I think their daughter Patti rode just once at the ranch. The rest of the family came up for Mrs. Reagan’s birthday, but that was it. Aides and advisors rarely came. Even visits by the chief of staff and members of the cabinet were few. The only time the President’s staff was present was for his Saturday half-hour radio broadcast.

Nobody but the Reagans actually slept at the ranch. The agents had three shifts and stayed down in hotels in Santa Barbara, and the staff stayed in hotels too. Everyone loved it, including the press. They would go to the beach sometimes and play volleyball, having a great time while the President was working on the ranch. The White House press office would give the media a rundown of what Reagan had done that day: well, he rode his horse and chopped wood and that was the end of it. The normal routine seldom changed. Sam Donaldson would be on the beach, and he would put his jacket, shirt, and tie on but still be in his shorts. They would film him from the waist up. He would say, “President Reagan did this today. This is Sam Donaldson with the President in Santa Barbara.”

“You aren’t with the President,” I would tell him. “You aren’t even near the President.” Everybody from the area loved the President’s staff and treated them like gold.

Each president can designate one other place other than the White House as a residence. That’s what justifies that residence being secured by Secret Service. In contrast to President George H. W. Bush’s compound in Kennebunkport, Maine, or President Clinton’s vacation wanderings, the Reagans’ ranch really was a place of solitude. The President chose the ranch, not their other home, as their residence. He said, “That’s it, no question.” He sold the Pacific Palisades house. The ranch was everything to him.

Most people called the ranch the Western White House. The Reagans, however, never called it that. Yet, wherever the president goes, the White House moves with him. The presidency always goes with the president. There is a special military unit called the White House Communications Agency (WHCA) that always travels with him. The members of this unit wear civilian attire, and WHCA is the focal point for all the incoming and outgoing calls.

Much of what the president does at the White House can be done wherever he is—even on the back of a horse. If there is a major problem, a president likes to have his cabinet around, but rarely is the cabinet all in Washington, D.C., at the same time anyway. I just think most people feel more comfortable when they see a president at the White House—they think that he needs to be there to be in control. Just think of what the reaction would have been if Russia had been in turmoil and the President had been out riding his horse. While it may have appeared bad, it really would not have meant that he did not have things under control. He could have just picked up the satellite phone, which he often did.

Occasionally, the rhythm at the ranch would be disrupted by world events. In September 1983, the President received a call from his national security advisor, Judge Bill Clark, while he was out riding. A military aide alerted me and said the President had to take a call. We knew it was something serious. “Mr. President, they are telling me that you have to take an emergency phone call,” I told him.

“Okay,” he said calmly. “How are we going to do it?”

“Sir, we will ride back to the White House Communications Agency.” It was located in a Chevy Suburban, with lots of antennas protruding from the roof, equipped with special devices to meet all the President’s communication needs. In it was the phone the President could use to call anyone in the world. Even when riding, this vehicle was close behind. The President rode back to the WHCA vehicle at once and took the call from Bill Clark. He was told that the Russians had just shot down KAL-007, a civilian 747 airliner, killing all the passengers aboard.

There were only two times I saw him angry, and that was one of them. When we resumed our ride, he pounded on his saddle and said, “Those were innocent people, those damned Russians. They knew that was a civilian aircraft.” He was visibly upset. That was one of the few times we left the ranch early.

* * *

TO PRESIDENT REAGAN, his ranch was what American life was all about. What could be better than someone riding a horse through the open land that he owned? That picture was the epitome of America.

I believe deep down he embraced the cowboy ideals of the West, such as a firm handshake and friendship. The history of the West is one of hardworking cowboys, the John Wayne types, and he truly believed in hard work. Let’s just all chip in and get it done, it doesn’t matter who gets the credit. That was Reagan’s way. In doing business, all that was needed was a firm handshake. A cowboy would die before he’d break his word. His word was his bond. (Today you hire six lawyers to break your word for you.) Cowboys always told the direct truth and were never out of control. When you think of a cowboy, the myth of a cowboy, you think of a man who is hardworking, good to his animals, and takes care of his equipment. He never starts a conflict but will finish one if he needs to.

No matter what your politics were, if you sat down with the President and talked to him, he would have some answers for you. You might not have liked his answers or his way of thinking to solve your problem, but he always had a solution. If you didn’t agree with his solutions, that was okay too. Everyone was entitled to his or her opinion. The President’s philosophy of a firm handshake spilled over into the way he handled politics. If you examine his history with Gorbachev, he viewed him not only as someone he might like to work with but as someone he needed to cooperate with. He figured Gorbachev was somebody he could deal with, so he was going to give him his word and stick to it. He was extremely anxious to meet the new Soviet premier. That was one case where he did not rely as much on his advisors who were recommending a different approach with Gorbachev.

Obviously, there were clear differences between the President and Gorbachev. One time, he wrote a letter to the Soviet leader using some pretty strong words about communism and nonbelief in God. He told Gorbachev that he should let his people go to church if they wanted to. The State Department did not want him to send that letter. They felt it was a slap in the face to the Russians. Although he never said anything harsh to them, they would argue. Finally the President said, “You send your letters, and I’ll send mine.” In other words, this conversation is over, and that’s what I’m going to do. They knew not to push him one more step.

Then there was the evil empire speech. On Air Force One, his advisors kept telling him he couldn’t say that. They would cross it off the speech and then hand it back to him. He’d immediately write it back in. They’d cross it off. He’d write it back in. After about the third time, he said, “Listen. You can cross this off all you want, but that’s what I’m going to say.” They were all left just wringing their hands.

I was often struck by how President Reagan interacted with Gorbachev. Before he met with him at the summit in Reykjavik, Iceland, the President spoke to the interpreter and asked that when he interpreted Gorbachev’s words, he wanted him to translate not just the words, but the feelings behind them. The feelings were important to him; whether Gorbachev was being sincere and honest. You can say, “It’s a nice day” and not really mean it, or you can say, “It’s a nice day out!” exuding enthusiasm. The interpreter did that for him. Never before had I heard anyone request to have an interpreter translate the emotions of what was being said.

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WHILE WE ALL KNOW Ronald Reagan as a public figure, he was in many respects a very private man, who enjoyed solitude and being alone. He spent most of his childhood in crowded neighborhoods and rented apartments and houses, playing on porches or in yards. There certainly weren’t horses around. I think that was why he cherished his ranches so much, because he finally was able to have them. Even as a little boy, though, he found places to escape to, to be alone. In one of the rented homes he lived in, he discovered a collection of birds’ eggs and butterflies in the attic that had been left by the previous tenant. These fascinated him. The other place he’d steal to was the Rock River in Dixon, Illinois, where he would go for long walks. Here was the open space he longed for.

Growing up, the sport he enjoyed most was swimming, another solitary activity. He was a lifeguard at Rock River, a challenging branch of the Mississippi. That river was swift, and for people who weren’t used to it, it was dangerous. Often, both young kids and older people needed help. It has been said that Reagan saved seventy-seven people, making a notch on a log every time he did. While I found that hard to believe, that number has been documented.

He truly loved being an actor, and later he became an extremely well-versed orator, speaking in front of thousands of people. Yet, the actual idea of being a celebrity or public figure was not that important to him. He most enjoyed being alone in a quiet place like the ranch.

Reagan had a fascination with creation and what he called “the handiwork of God.” He had a deep and abiding belief in God and was a profoundly spiritual person. The President and Billy Graham were great friends, and they would talk about their faith.

When we were out riding, he would sometimes quote the Bible and talk to me about it. Those were heavy, but usually one-sided, conversations between us. He truly believed that God worked through history. I would just respond, “Uh-huh. Yes, sir.” I just have never been a deep thinker about thoughts like that.

At the ranch, more than anywhere else, the President could enjoy all of God’s marvelous creation. He would say, “Only God could put this together. Man cannot do this. Every leaf, every tree, that sky, those mountains, that ocean.” He would thoughtfully point to each thing while he was talking. Standing under the huge sky, he felt as if he had everything he needed right there.

He saw a natural order to things, an order designed by the Creator. “This is God’s plan,” he would say about the rhythm of nature. “It’s not man’s plan.”

Once, someone tried to trip him up and said, “Well, if God wanted the brush cleared, He would have done so.”