Rendezvous with Destiny: Ronald Reagan and the Campaign that Changed America (8 page)

Faced with these new challenges, Reagan took off on a fall 1978 campaign swing through twenty-six states in support of Republican candidates. Keeping his options open, he did not limit his campaigning to only conservatives who had supported him in 1976. He also pitched in to help some people who couldn't stomach him in 1976, including liberal senator Chuck Percy of Illinois, who was in trouble with conservatives in his state over his support for the Panama Canal treaties.
Reagan also campaigned enthusiastically for Jim Baker in Texas, who was running for attorney general. Baker had been Ford's supremely competent delegate honcho in 1976, but Reagan and Baker genuinely liked each other. So much, in fact, that while Reagan was in the Lone Star State for Baker, he and Mike Deaver took Baker aside to inquire about his availability to run the Reagan for President operation—which struck Baker and his campaign manager, Frank Donatelli, as odd, since Baker was engaged in his own campaign that was looking very promising.
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Reagan's campaigning also brought him to his first private meeting with Gerald Ford since the Kansas City convention two years earlier. The meeting was held at Ford's new home in Palm Springs, where the two filmed unity commercials for the GOP as well as endorsement spots for Republicans running elsewhere in the country. They met with the media and were unfailingly polite toward each other, if a bit stiff. Still, the bad blood remained. As the
Washington Post
reported, “Republicans who have talked recently with former president Ford say he rarely fails to remark how old Ronald Reagan is looking.”
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While Reagan was clearly gearing up for a possible run in 1980, he had to face continuing questions about John Sears. Sears was more and more on the mind of conservatives—and not happily. Since 1976 Reagan had been writing letters to people questioning his former campaign manager. “Don't worry about John Sears,” he confided to one old friend. “He is a political technician, not an adviser on philosophy.”
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The matter came to a head when Reagan met with a group of disgruntled conservatives at the U.S. Capitol.
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The second question Reagan was asked was about Sears's role in the 1980 campaign. Reagan assured them that “John Sears will not be managing my campaign.”
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Senator Paul Laxalt, slated to be the Reagan campaign's grand pooh-bah once again, delivered the same message, telling Lou Cannon that “Sears will not be the campaign manager in 1980, but will have a role in the Northeast and as a strategist if he wants one.”
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To address the Sears problem, Reagan had approached the well-regarded Bill Timmons, Ford's former political aide, about running things for 1980, but their talks were inconclusive.
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That fall, the Gipper put in fifty-six separate appearances, and over the previous two years, the Associated Press reported, Reagan had “made more than 300 speeches, held more than 200 news conferences and interviews, and delivered more than 700 radio broadcasts and newspaper columns.”
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Still, Reagan was trailing Ford among Republicans, 37–31, according to Gallup in August.
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I
N
S
EPTEMBER
, C
ARTER ENGINEERED
the most significant foreign-policy agreement of his presidency with the signing of the Camp David Accords, a historic
and durable agreement between Egypt and Israel. Through the sheer force of his own will, along with not-so-gentle cajoling, he brought the two old adversaries—going back to the Exodus and even before—to an agreement. It was an impressive achievement, one that had eluded every president before him, and he got a momentary bump of 11 percent in the polls.

Although Americans may have been pleased about the prospects for peace in the Middle East, what really kept them up at night were high taxes and the economy. Unemployment was creeping up, as was inflation. In June alone, almost 500,000 people lost their jobs. By the fall, Carter's numbers had dropped back to where they had been before the Camp David Accords; according to Harris, the president was at 48 percent approval. Voters disapproved of Carter's handling of the economy by a margin of 2–1.
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These issues became the centerpiece of the Republicans' campaign efforts in the 1978 midterm elections.

Another issue emerged in California, where voters' attention centered on a new ballot proposition—Proposition 6, or the Briggs Amendment. Simply put, the Briggs Amendment would prohibit out-of-the-closet homosexuals or those advocating a gay lifestyle from being public-school teachers in California. State Senator John Briggs had seen what Anita Bryant was doing in Dade County, Florida, with the repeal of a gay-rights ordinance, and decided to do the same in California, mostly to boost his own political aspirations. The usual Hollywood suspects lined up in opposition to the Briggs Amendment.

One who was also opposed, and who shocked people when he did so—but should not have shocked them if they had studied the man—was Ronald Reagan. Reagan was taking on the Christian Right, an important and growing force in American politics that would hold great sway in the 1980 GOP primaries. Reagan didn't care. His attitude of benign neglect toward homosexuality surely came in part from his days in Hollywood, where gay men thrived and morals were rather casual, but for him this issue also involved a deeply felt principle about privacy and free speech.
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Not to say that he didn't have a sense of humor when it came to gays. Early in his governorship, a homosexual scandal threatened his new administration. When informed of the gays in his administration, Reagan deadpanned to Lyn Nofziger, “Well, none of them ever asked me for a date!”
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He then joked that since Truman Capote was visiting the next week, maybe they ought to tie a rope around him and “troll him down the halls” to see what they could catch.
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On Election Day, Republicans picked up twelve seats in the House of Representatives—respectable, but nothing near the thirty-plus they had hoped for. They won six gubernatorial contests and managed a net pickup of more than three
hundred state legislators. The best news of the night, though, was the addition of three new senators, which meant that Howard Baker and the Republicans had forty-one: enough now to mount a filibuster if necessary.
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Senator Percy won reelection, helped by Reagan's eleventh-hour assistance, but Jim Baker lost the attorney general race in Texas.

Proposition 6 went down to a crashing defeat in California, and when John Briggs was asked for the reason why, he simply said, “Ronald Reagan.”

A
LTHOUGH THE
G
IPPER HAD
a near mystical hold over grassroots conservatives, he was still not held in high regard by the power brokers in the GOP. In the spring of 1979, a survey of leading Republicans showed John Connally to be their first choice for GOP nominee in 1980, with 31.9 percent of the vote; Howard Baker came in second with almost 18 percent; Reagan was essentially tied with George Bush at 11 percent.
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Reagan had important work to do to shore up his chances for 1980. He began by romancing the cantankerous Barry Goldwater, who had supported Ford over Reagan in 1976. Goldwater had a love-hate relationship with Reagan. He owed Reagan many favors, but was envious of Reagan's abilities to connect with the American people. Nancy Reagan's parents, Dr. and Mrs. Loyal Davis of Phoenix, had been furious with their old friend Barry for supporting Ford over “Ronnie.”
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As Reagan began laying groundwork for 1980, he made a tactical decision that would have a profound effect on his campaign: John Sears would come back for another tour as campaign manager, despite Reagan's promises to friends and conservatives that this would not be the case. There was never any meeting in which Sears and Reagan discussed his role; it just sort of happened, for two reasons. One, no one stepped forward to directly challenge Sears's authority, and two, Mrs. Reagan liked Sears. Another reason might have been that the old poker player ran a successful bluff: he told Reagan aide Mike Deaver that Senator Howard Baker was trying to hire him for his campaign. Like the Reagans, Deaver still believed in Sears; he later recalled the controversial campaign manager as “a brain for hire who wanted to play on a winning team.”
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Distrusted by many Reaganites, Sears was popular among the national media. That was partly because he had no hobbies other than poker, smoking, drinking, and politics—interests that many national political reporters shared. He chain-smoked Viceroy cigarettes and liked a drink, though he seemed to have that under control now. He was also a devout Catholic who would excuse himself from a poker game to attend evening Mass. He had “the softening physique of a person seldom exposed to sun, wind or exercise,” in the words of
Time
magazine.
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Sears was called “brilliant” by some and “erratic” by others. His first national campaign had been Richard Nixon's in 1968, and he viewed everything through the prism of that experience. He told reporters that the 1980 Reagan campaign would be one of “new ideas with Nixonian thoroughness.”
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That thoroughness involved thick briefing binders that provided answers to every probable question under the sun. Nixon was obsessed with paper and despised working with people; he needed the briefing books because he had no governing framework. Reagan loved to read, but he'd rather be with people than paper, and he had a governing framework based on freedom. Reagan was indifferent to the briefing books Sears had painstakingly prepared; Reagan staffers remember the yelling matches between the candidate and the campaign manager over the binders.
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One of Sears's first decisions in 1979 was to take Reagan off the road, where he had been almost constantly for thirty years. Reagan would travel little and say less. He was still doing his radio commentaries and writing his syndicated column, but the relentless public speaking came to an end. Sears regarded Reagan as the clear front-runner and adopted a strategy of risk avoidance: the only person who could beat Reagan was Reagan. To have Reagan say nothing and go to few places was safer than to have the candidate speak his mind, Sears concluded. His plan was to make clear that Reagan's nomination was “inevitable” and that he was the “mainstream” candidate.

Later that year, political columnists Jack Germond and Jules Witcover wrote a piece that clearly took the side of their old poker and drinking buddy Sears, and patronizingly talked about Reagan as if he were a product that was being repackaged for 1980: “The purpose … is to have the old model sound a lot newer—and better informed—when he is wheeled out of the showroom onto the campaign trail later this fall.”
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But the “keep Reagan under wraps” strategy only encouraged reporters to begin speculating that Reagan was too old for one more try. Worse, it deprived the Reagan campaign of one of its great strengths—the candidate's public-speaking abilities, which had matured considerably. The Reagan of the 1960s was often angry—angry at student protesters, angry at college professors, angry at recalcitrant Democratic legislators in Sacramento. By 1979, he had developed a more hopeful and more optimistic message. He had been working on a new stump speech, one that was more upbeat: “We have to make our own successes by our own effort.… At the heart of that message should be five simple, familiar, everyday words. No big economic theories. No sermons on political philosophy. Just five short words. Family, Work, Neighborhood, Freedom, Peace.” He said that Republicans needed to begin “looking at things in a new way.”
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Sears's plan provided an opening for John Connally, who was even better than Reagan in a large setting. Connally formally announced his candidacy in January 1979. He had spent most of his life as a Democrat—as Texas governor he had been in the car in Dallas on November 22, 1963, when President Kennedy was assassinated, and had been severely wounded by one of Lee Harvey Oswald's bullets—but he changed parties in 1973 after he became Richard Nixon's treasury secretary. Many in Washington and corporate boardrooms expected “Big John,” with his bravado and good press clippings, to be a formidable candidate who would fare much better against Carter than would Reagan.

It wasn't going to be easy for Connally, though. The dean of Washington columnists, James “Scotty” Reston of the
New York Times
, wrote that Connally was “denounced by the Democrats as a turncoat and resented by many Republicans as a presumptuous newcomer.”
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When the Texan made his first foray into New Hampshire, the
Manchester Union-Leader
, published by Reagan's number-one fan, William Loeb, blasted Connally as a “Born-Again Wheeler Dealer.”
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Less noticed at the time, but detrimental to Connally's candidacy, was the fact that the governor of Texas, the position Connally held from 1963 to 1969, was a constitutionally weak role. In contrast, Reagan had been the governor of California, which had a constitutionally strong executive branch.

The Sears strategy also opened a door for George Bush, who actively campaigned despite not having formally announced his candidacy. Bush had already made repeated trips to Iowa, doing his utmost to replicate Carter's achievement in 1976; that year “Jimmy Who?” unexpectedly won the Democratic caucuses against a field of better-funded and better-known contenders, and became the nominee. While the Iowa caucuses had not received much emphasis from GOP activists up to that point, the situation would be very different in 1980. Bush campaigned everywhere in Iowa, spoke to everyone, and was unfailingly polite, as he wrote thousands of handwritten notes to people he had met. Handwritten notes had become passé by 1979 and struck some as slightly effeminate (a joke going around at the time: “Why do Junior Leaguers hate group sex? All those thank-you notes!”), but from Bush these were effective and became cherished keepsakes. Along with outhustling everyone else in the field, the athletic Bush was going to out-good-manner them as well.