Rendezvous with Destiny: Ronald Reagan and the Campaign that Changed America (112 page)

A moment later, Carter was on the line, conceding the election to Reagan and congratulating him on a “fine victory.”
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T
HE PRESIDENTIAL MOTORCADE WENT
directly to the Sheraton just after Carter's historic phone call to Reagan. The demoralized Democrats were sullenly gathered in the same hotel that the losing Ford forces had used in 1976. Many were crying, and just as many were plain old-fashioned face-down-in the-gutter drunk. Carter walked in amidst a swarm of people in the hotel lobby, but there were no magnetometers, no pat-downs, no searches of women's purses, no invasions of personal privacy, no thuggish police-state tactics, and only a small retinue of Secret Service agents.

As Carter entered, the band was incoherently playing “Let a Winner Lead the Way” and then swung into the party's old standby, “Happy Days Are Here Again.”
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The crowd—which was witnessing in real time the loss of the presidency, the loss of control of the Senate, the loss of nearly three dozen congressional seats, and the rise of hundreds of newly elected Republicans in the state legislatures—bleakly sang along.

Carter mounted the stage, accompanied by Mrs. Carter and their children, including Amy, who had received so much unwanted attention over the past week. The band struck up “Hail to the Chief” as he was shaking hands. It was odd and bittersweet. The room was filled almost to capacity, because a convention of defense contractors meeting in the same hotel had flooded into the room when they heard that the president was coming.

On the stage and in the hall were Democrats great and small. Ed Muskie was there, as were the Reverend Jesse Jackson and many White House and cabinet officials, including a hollow-eyed Powell, Zbigniew Brzezinski, Hamilton Jordan, and Pat Caddell, curiously smiling broadly. When he shook Jordan's hand, Carter could be heard saying, “It's okay” to his beleaguered manager.
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Carter was introduced by Bob Strauss. Forcing a wan smile, Carter said, “I promised you four years ago that I would never lie to you—so I can't stand here
tonight and say it doesn't hurt.”
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Mrs. Carter looked stricken, her face swollen from crying. People later found out the depth of the animosity she felt toward Reagan, with Rosalynn Carter saying that she was “bitter enough for the both of us.”
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The president looked down for a moment, his eyes misting.

Carter told the audience that he had called “Governor Reagan” to congratulate him and that he promised a smooth transition. Carter had also sent Reagan a gracious telegram, which read: “It's now apparent that the American people have chosen you as the next president. I congratulate you and pledge to you our fullest support and cooperation in bringing about an orderly transition of government.… My best wishes are with you and your family … Jimmy Carter.”
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There was a prolonged cheer, as if the Democrats were applauding not only Carter's generous telegram but also the magnificence of the peaceful transfer of power that was unique to their country.

Carter spoke eloquently about his love of America and the American people and about how blessed he'd been to do all that he'd done and see all he'd seen. Someone in the audience cried out, “We love you, Jimmy!” and applause broke out, as Carter struggled to hold it together.
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He ended by quoting an old Yiddish proverb: “God gives burdens, also shoulders.”
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Carter's voice trailed off and, fighting back tears, he told the audience that he had not lost his love for either America or his countrymen.

Departing, Carter worked the crowd, shaking hands, as the band played “Everything's Coming up Roses.”
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T
IP
O'N
EILL WAS ONLY
a few blocks away at the U.S. Capitol. Carter had invited the Speaker of the House to attend his concession, but O'Neill refused, enraged that Carter was doing so while the polls were still open on the West Coast. Several days earlier O'Neill had learned from pollster Lou Harris that the house was about to drop on his House, but now Carter was making it that much harder for Democrats down the ticket.
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Indeed, out West, word spread like wildfire that Carter had conceded. It was only 5:50 and many people were standing in line to vote. When they heard about the concession, demoralized Democrats fell out of line and headed home, believing that there was no point to voting now. Some Democrats who lost narrowly on the West Coast would blame Carter and would never forgive him. Nor would O'Neill, who never had any use for Carter or his band of Georgians.
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Carter's concession speech was the earliest one since 1904, when Teddy Roosevelt slaughtered the Democratic Party's sacrificial lamb, Alton B. Parker.
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Anderson, who had no chance in hell of winning, conceded also—one hour
after
the president of the United States did. The good news for Anderson was that he had scored more than the 5 percent of the national vote needed to guarantee him federal matching monies; those funds could go toward paying off his campaign debts. There was also some idle chatter about starting a permanent third party. Bitter toward Carter right to the end, his wife, Keke, fixed his tie and remarked, “Smile. Carter is not elected.”
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T
HE
R
EAGANS BEGAN THEIR
evening with an early dinner at the Bel Air home of Earle Jorgensen and his wife, Marion, along with other members of the Kitchen Cabinet and their wives, including the Bloomingdales, the Salavatoris, and the Tuttles. In all, about fifty people attended. Marion Jorgensen served veal stew and coconut cake, just as she had for Reagan on the election nights of 1966 and 1970. By now, all knew about the phone call from Carter and the early call by NBC. The mood was festive, even as dragoons of additional Secret Service agents arrived to protect the new president-elect. Though Mrs. Reagan was described as “abubble,” her husband, the next president of the United States and future leader of the Free World, was low-key, amiable, “oddly untouched,” and “aw-shucks cool.”
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Afterwards, the Reagans journeyed by motorcade to the Century Plaza Hotel and immediately went to a suite on the nineteenth floor, where Reagan placed and took phone calls for an hour and a half. He spoke to Bill Brock, the party chairman he'd butted heads with off and on over the past four years. Gerald Ford tried to reach Reagan, but missed him several times. The Gipper spoke with Governor Jim Rhodes of Ohio as well as his dear friend Paul Laxalt, who was handily winning reelection as senator from Nevada. Reagan also spoke with his new vice president–elect.

At dinner Reagan had seemed cool and relaxed, but at times in the suite he seemed slightly subdued, quiet, as possibly he was considering the awesome duties awaiting him. Though many Reaganites had believed Reagan would win, no one—not even Reagan himself—was prepared for the awesome nature of the moment.

In Honolulu, Jane Wyman, who so many years earlier had sought a divorce from Reagan because of his growing passion for politics, broke her long silence and told United Press International that she thought his win was “marvelous” and that she “of course” had voted for her former husband. “My children have worked long and hard for that campaign.”
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Reagan overheard a report on one of the TV networks that Anderson's percentage meant he would get matching funds from the Federal Election Commission and thus could pay off his debts. “Oh good,” Reagan said.
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Bill Casey, in Los Angeles with Governor Reagan, was interviewed by CBS, and in language clear as a bell he spoke about the campaign, the polling, and the transition of power. Rumors were already floating that either Jim Baker or Ed Meese would head up the transition team.

Doug Bandow, a young researcher on Reagan's chartered plane, had had a front-row seat for history for nearly a year. Now he was numb, not from exhaustion but from “pure exhilaration.” He described the evening as “shared warmth. It is one night you forget all of the disputes … all of the arguments.”
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Mrs. Reagan hugged her husband's aide—and her confidant—Mike Deaver. Dick Allen had reappeared, once again wearing a staff badge. Charlton Heston was there as well. By phone, Reagan spoke to the Republicans gathered in Washington and to their cheers called the night “one of the greatest Republican victories of all time.”
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Oregon, Washington State, California (which was never in doubt, despite Carter's heavy expenditure of time and money), Nevada, Idaho, Iowa, Montana—all tumbled before the Reagan juggernaut. Minnesota went for Carter, sparing Mondale that embarrassment. Mississippi had finally gone for Reagan. ABC's Frank Reynolds noted, “It was Mississippi that refused to go for Ronald Reagan four years ago at the Republican national convention … [and] spelled the death knell of his hopes for the nomination.”
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Reagan took a phone call from Ted Kennedy, who offered his good wishes, which Reagan found especially touching. The extended Kennedy family had voted that morning—and nearly all had voted for Ronald Reagan, Maria Shriver told Stu Spencer.
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The family of long memories had not forgotten that Carter had beaten their Teddy, denying them the restoration of Camelot. Nor would they ever forgive Carter for what they saw as a ferocious and sometimes unfair campaign against their beloved brother, uncle, son, father, and brother-in-law. The Kennedy women, being Catholic, were pro-life, and that made it easier to vote for the pro-life Reagan. Kathleen Kennedy Townsend, Bobby Kennedy's eldest daughter, did vote for Carter, but even she expressed her disdain for the Georgian. Kathleen took her three-year-old daughter, Meaghan, into the voting booth and let her pull the lever so she could always say she never pulled the lever for Carter.
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Jackie Onassis, President Kennedy's widow, couldn't pull the lever for Carter, either; she voted for Anderson.
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Ted Kennedy's limo driver told a stunned GOP operative that he'd voted for Reagan and “I think a lot of people around here did.”
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Carter had a long memory himself, and he never forgave Teddy for taking him on in the Democratic primaries. It was clear in an interview with President Carter more than a quarter century later that none of the hostility had diminished.
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M
URIEL
C
OLEMAN HAD BEEN
working in Chicago helping Don Totten run the Reagan campaign in the Midwest. After months of fourteen-hour days, she was exhausted. The night of the election, a young volunteer was driving her to the election party in Milwaukee when she dozed off for what seemed only a moment. When she stirred, she asked, “How are we doing?”

“We won,” he replied.

“You mean New Hampshire or some other states?”

“No, we won the whole thing.”
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A
S
S
ANDER
V
ANOCUR OF
ABC reported live from the Sheraton around 11
P.M.
in Washington, there was no sign of the Democrats who had been gathered there earlier in the evening. All that could be seen behind Vanocur was an empty stage, an empty room, and several workers stacking chairs and sweeping up the floor. Over at the graceful brick townhouse of Averell and Pamela Harriman on N Street in Georgetown, the cream of the liberal Democratic establishment was curdling. Joe Califano, Clark Clifford, Robert McNamara, Henry and Muffie Brandon—one by one, they got into their limousines to leave what a reporter described as a “wake.” As always, the Beautiful People were worried about their “standing in a new town.”
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Liberals had reason to be depressed. When the final election results were tallied, they were stunning, especially in the Electoral College. Reagan won nearly 44 million votes and 51 percent to Carter's 35.5 million votes and 41 percent. Reagan took forty-four states and 489 electoral votes to Carter's six states and paltry 49 electoral votes.
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Even Herbert Hoover, crushed in 1932 by FDR, took ten more electoral votes than Carter did. Carter carried the same number of states as Barry Goldwater had in his landslide loss to LBJ in 1964.

Anderson took around 7 percent of the vote and flunked out of the Electoral College.
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Though he got the lowest percentage of the three candidates, he gave the longest speech of the night.

Many commentators were using the word “mandate” in speaking of Reagan's win. The electoral-vote landslide was the third-biggest in history, behind Nixon's 1972 performance of 97 percent and FDR's mind-boggling 1936 “squeaker” of 98 percent.

Reagan won 51 percent of the Catholic vote and 62 percent of the evangelical and Protestant vote. He won a plurality of the Jewish vote with 39 percent and held Carter to only 66 percent of registered Democrats. He won the vast majority of Americans who did not believe they were better off than they had been four years earlier. Young Americans, once considered the domain of the Democrats, split their vote, giving Reagan and Carter 43 percent apiece.
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For all the talk during the campaign about the “Anderson Difference,” it turned out that John Anderson had little effect on the election's outcome. Only in Massachusetts and possibly New York did Anderson's margin make a difference. Despite what Carter wanted to believe, in the end even many of Carter's aides recognized what the election amounted to: “a personal rejection of Jimmy Carter.”
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