A Different Drummer: My Thirty Years With Ronald Reagan by Michael K. Deaver

Author:Michael K. Deaver [Deaver, Michael K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Presidents & Heads of State, Biography, Politics, 19th Century, United States, Biography & Autobiography, 20th Century, History, 21st Century, General
ISBN: 9780061743283
Google: d9DOoB33ENsC
Goodreads: 10573176
Publisher: Harper Collins
Published: 2001-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Ronald Reagan saw a saint in nearly everybody, bad in almost nobody, especially his staff. This probably isn’t the best quality to have in a president, but he survived because he had men like Ed Meese and Jim Baker at his side. They put Reagan first, not their own personal agendas. Eventually, though, the Big Three—if I can count myself among them—would burn out, with dire consequences.

By 1985, the Reagan presidency was being served by strangers, newcomers who brought it to a standstill through bad staffing decisions. Nowhere was the damage greater than with the Iran Contra scandal, a body blow to the administration and to the man himself. The scandal involved selling arms to the Iranians in exchange for Americans being held hostage in the Middle East. These monies were then diverted to the Contra rebels fighting in Central America, in violation of federal law.

I was out of the White House at the time, but thought I should make the case to the president that Chief of Staff Donald Regan needed to go. Although Regan was not implicated directly, the scandal happened under his watch. I agreed with Reagan’s friends that change was required if the country was going to put the crisis behind. Reagan, as usual in such matters, was immovable. He resisted his friends in Congress who called for Regan’s scalp. He resisted even Nancy, and believed that the scandal would blow over. Reagan said repeatedly, to them and to anybody who would listen, that Regan did not deserve to be “thrown to the wolves.”

Toward the end of 1987, I enlisted my old comrade Stu Spencer to give Reagan an outsider’s perspective. We met with him in the residence. I knew what buttons to push, but I’d have to tread lightly.

“Mr. President, this is difficult, but you’re not the first president to face tough decisions,” I said, again outlining my rationale for a clean slate.

Reagan became livid. “I’ll be damned if I’ll throw somebody else out to save my own ass,” he shouted as he threw his favorite fountain pen to the ground.

Neither Stu nor I said anything for a moment.

I piped up. “It’s not your ass I’m talking about, Ron,” I said, “it’s the country’s ass.”

I had just rebuked the president of the United States. Worse, I thought at the time, I just called him “Ron.” What in God’s name was I thinking? Eventually, I would find out that the presumed intimacy hadn’t bothered the president that much. He didn’t stand on ceremony with his friends, even when he was the first among them. At the time, though, I was just determined to charge forward with what I had to say. I reminded Reagan that he had taken a sacred oath on the steps of the Capitol. He needed to think about the country, I said.

At this he became quiet, almost whispering, “You know, I’ve always thought about the country first.”

As Stu and I limped out of the residence, we both realized that Reagan was too angry to give in.

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