Rawhide Down_ The Near Assassination of Ronald Reagan - Del Quentin Wilber [5]
For the occasion, Nancy Reagan wore a sleek white beaded dress, one of her husband’s favorites. The couple danced to romantic music played by the Army Strolling Strings, which honored the first lady with the tune “Nancy with the Laughing Face.” When Mrs. Reagan took a turn around the dance floor with Frank Sinatra, the president made a show of cutting in. The first couple reveled late into the evening and did not retire until after midnight.
Now, a little more than seven weeks later, the Reagans finished their breakfast at about 8:30 a.m. The president gave his wife an affectionate kiss and headed for the elevator to make the short trip to his office. As always, the day ahead of him had been scheduled in detail. At 9:15 a.m., he was due to speak by phone with West Germany’s chancellor about the growing crisis in Poland; he would then attend his daily national security briefing. Later that morning, he would meet with Hispanic supporters in the Cabinet Room. The day’s biggest event was a speech to a trade union at a downtown hotel. Afterward, he would return to the White House, where he was to meet business executives. The script noted that in the afternoon he had ample “staff time”—a euphemism for relaxation, which sometimes meant a nap—and his official day was scheduled to end at 5:30 p.m. with a haircut. Then, after the Reagans hosted a dinner in the residence for the secretary of health and human services and his wife, the president would have a quiet hour or two before going to bed.
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REAGAN’S FIRST TASK that morning was to shake hands and deliver a pep talk. At 8:34 a.m., he emerged from the elevator on the first floor and was met by his so-called body man, David Fischer, and one of his rotating military aides, army lieutenant colonel Jose Muratti. Fischer, a boyish-looking thirty-two-year-old with a thick mustache, carried the documents Reagan would require in the next few hours and attended to the president’s needs as they arose, from fetching Reagan’s suit jacket to taking notes about a promised favor. Muratti, wearing a crisp green uniform and polished black shoes, shadowed the president and held the “football,” the satchel that contained the country’s nuclear war plans. Reagan carried the other tool necessary for launching a nuclear attack—an authentication card—in his jacket pocket.
Reagan, Fischer, and Muratti walked down the hall to the Blue Room, a handsome oval room with white walls, blue window sashes, and a beautiful view of the South Lawn. Presidents typically received guests here, and Reagan quickly took his place at the head of a receiving line and began to say hello to a stream of political appointees, all of whom he would be addressing in a few minutes. He shook a hand and smiled; a White House photographer’s camera clicked. He shook another hand, smiled, and a camera clicked again. Some politicians look stiff in such settings; others fake it, pouring on bogus charm. But Reagan always seemed to decant just the right mix of poise and charisma to make strangers feel, if only for a few seconds, as if they were his friends.
Reagan shook hands with more than sixty people in eleven minutes, and then everyone filed into the East Room. Gone were the flower arrangements and tables stacked with cakes that had greeted the president on his birthday; this morning, three rows of wooden chairs with white cushions had been placed in a semicircle around a small stage. Reagan took the podium to loud applause, which echoed off the room’s bare white walls. The men and women present