My Turn Read online

  When Judy Mann’s column appeared, I was already planning the drug program that would soon occupy so much of my time. But I wanted to get the White House renovations completed before I undertook another big project, and I was reluctant to travel while Ronnie was still recuperating.

  Now, it didn’t help my image that most of the initial improvements took place on the residential floors, which were closed to the public, or that the White House renovation was featured first in the December 1981 issue of Architectural Digest, which sold for $4.95—a good but expensive magazine. That was a mistake that only added to the picture many Americans already had of me—that I was a fancy, rich woman who kept acquiring more and more expensive items.

  If the renovations made people angry, the new White House china drove them crazy!

  After our first state dinner, held in honor of Margaret Thatcher, the press reported that I had used a mixture of china patterns that had been selected by several past presidents, including Theodore Roosevelt, Woodrow Wilson, Franklin D. Roosevelt, and Harry Truman. This was true, but I hadn’t done it to honor these past leaders. I did it because there simply wasn’t enough china from any one pattern to go around.

  One reason was breakage. Fine china is delicate, and when it’s repeatedly handled and washed, a certain amount breaks. The cups and saucers are always the first to go because they’re the most fragile.

  Then there’s the problem of theft. Although the great majority of guests behave themselves, there’s always somebody who just can’t leave the White House without taking home a souvenir. Back in the 1930s, Eleanor Roosevelt had to order new, larger-than-usual bread-and-butter plates because so many of her guests were sneaking the old ones into their pockets and handbags! And during the Kennedy administration, linen cocktail napkins could no longer be used for White House receptions because so many people were taking them home.

  But the main reason we needed new china was that nobody had ordered a complete set since the Truman administration. The Johnsons had purchased new china in 1967, but it did not include serving platters, finger bowls, dessert bowls, and bouillon cups. And while the Johnson china was lovely, with the various state flowers around the edge, it was more suitable for a luncheon than a formal state dinner.

  The new White House china was made by the Lenox Company in Pomona, New Jersey, the same people who had made china for the Wilson, FDR, and Truman administrations. With their help and advice, I chose a new design—ivory edged in red, with a raised presidential seal in gold on the serving and dessert plates.

  But I did not buy the china. It was purchased, at cost, by the Knapp Foundation in Maryland, who donated it to the White House. This was originally done anonymously, but there was such a furor over the new White House china—and so many rumors, including one that it had been purchased by Texas oil tycoons—that Antoinette Vojvoda, whose grandfather had started the Knapp Foundation, called Rex Scouten and said, “Look, I think Mrs. Reagan is taking an unfair rap on this, so I’m going to announce that we were the ones who donated the china.”

  I was delighted, but nobody seemed to pay any attention to the announcement, and I rarely saw her name in print. To this day, I still read that I “bought” the china. I don’t know how many times I have to say this, but let me say it yet again: I did not buy the china!

  For the press, the china was a symbol of my supposed extravagance. Here, too, the timing was unfortunate: The new White House china was announced on the same day that the Department of Agriculture mistakenly declared ketchup to be acceptable as a vegetable for school lunches. As you can imagine, the columnists and the cartoonists had a field day with that one.

  It was a Democrat who came to my defense. Margaret Truman Daniel, who had lived in the White House during her father’s administration, told the New York Times, “I think it’s too bad about this hassle over her doing something she should have done. It’s really ridiculous.… As for mixing up place settings from different settings bought by different administrations, as some people suggest Mrs. Reagan should do, all I can say is that looks just awful. Anyone who’s ever been a hostess knows that mixed china doesn’t work. When the President and the First Lady give a state dinner, the china should match. It certainly did in our day.”

  There’s something about White House china that seems to rile people. Back in 1933, when Eleanor Roosevelt ordered a new set, she had to call a press conference to defend herself. People want the White House to look great, but they don’t want it to cost anything.

  And then, of course, there were my clothes. Ah yes, my clothes.

  The criticism began on Day One, with the inaugural gown: a beautiful white one-shouldered beaded dress made by James Galanos that the newspapers valued at $25,000. (I have no idea what it was worth, but that estimate seems pretty high.) Jimmy Galanos donated the dress, which was later given to the Smithsonian’s collection of inaugural gowns.

  I’ve always liked Jimmy’s creations, and I’ve been wearing them for years. In fact, I’ve known Jimmy Galanos longer than I’ve known my husband. When I first came to Hollywood, a girl in the publicity department of MGM introduced me to Amelia Gray, who had a shop in Beverly Hills. Amelia knew Jimmy, and I bought one of his first designs, a black cocktail dress with a white collar, white cuffs, and a full skirt. The price was $125, which was a lot in those days. I hate to think what that dress would cost today!

  After Ronnie was elected president, I called Jimmy, who was thrilled at the opportunity to design the inaugural gown. He made a few sketches, and together we decided on a white beaded dress. I loved it, and I wore it proudly. And I wore it again a few weeks later to a White House reception for the diplomatic corps.

  After I became first lady, I didn’t dress any differently than I ever had. I’ve been interested in clothes for as long as I can remember—ever since I was little, when I loved dressing up in Mother’s outfits.

  So yes, I do enjoy wearing fine clothes. They make me feel good—the same way I feel when I get my hair done. Also, I come from the picture business, and in my day, at least, you didn’t go out in public unless you were well dressed. In Washington, the stage was larger and the events were more numerous, but there, too, I was aware that people were looking at me, and I felt, and still do, that I should look my best. After all, I was representing our country.

  For me, dressing well means dressing simply. Ginger Rogers used to overdress, and somebody at the studio once told her, “Before you leave the house, look at yourself in the mirror and take one thing off.” I think that’s good advice for lots of us.

  I’ve never been on the cutting edge of fashion, and I don’t go for the latest look. I try to choose clothes that look good today, but that will also look good tomorrow. As the old saying goes, “Fashion passes; style remains.”

  I hang on to things forever, and you practically have to use dynamite to get them away from me. Ronnie likes to tease me that I still have my gym bloomers from high school. When I first came to the White House, I brought a lot of dresses from California. At our first state dinner in 1981, I wore a dress by Galanos with a maroon velvet top and a black chiffon skirt. That dress was sixteen years old. I still have it, and I’ll probably wear it again someday.

  I’m a last-minute dresser, and I rarely decide in advance what I’ll wear on a given evening. My press secretary would often call and ask what I was planning to wear, because the press wanted to know. “I don’t know yet,” I would tell her. “It depends on how I feel.”

  There were so many different occasions for which I had to dress that I don’t know how I would have managed without the help of Chris Limerick, the White House housekeeper, and Liz Hagerty, her successor. Chris had organized Rosalynn Carter’s wardrobe with plastic-covered tags listing the designer, the color, and the purchase date, and, most important, the occasions when that particular outfit had been worn. It sounded like a fine idea, and we continued it. It certainly made my life easier.

  But despite the image that I wore expensive desig
ner fashions twenty-four hours a day, the fact is that whenever I wasn’t on display, I dressed as casually as possible. I always wore jeans at the ranch and at Camp David, and on long trips, the first thing I did on Air Force One was to change into my velour running suit, which was comfortable and warm. In the evening, if we weren’t going out, I would generally be in my nightgown and robe before dinner.

  I appreciate good clothes, but they certainly don’t rule my life. And I think it’s unfair to assume that when a woman dresses well, it means she’s not doing much else. I really did have other interests—although in 1981 that wasn’t yet clear to the press and to most of the public. During my first six months in Washington, Sheila Tate, my press secretary, told me, something like 90 percent of the inquiries she received had to do with fashion.

  And they say I’m obsessed with clothes!

  First ladies have different styles. But if you look back at some of my predecessors, you’ll see that after a few months, even the first ladies who seemed not to care very much about fashion and appearance began to pay more attention to their hair and their clothing. As I write these words, this is happening with Barbara Bush. And it’s only natural—once you find yourself representing the nation, on display and photographed all the time, not only throughout the United States but all over the world, you begin to dress more carefully. You realize that people like to see you in different clothes. They want to see you looking your best.

  When I moved to Washington I needed a larger wardrobe than I did in Los Angeles or Sacramento. The first lady attends a constant stream of official luncheons, receptions, award ceremonies, conventions, formal dinners, and so on, and at each one she is stared at and photographed. Every time she leaves the White House she’s making a personal appearance.

  Then there are the state dinners, which take place almost every month. During our eight years in Washington, Ronnie and I hosted almost eighty of them. Even if you wear outfits more than once, as I did, that adds up to a lot of formal dresses.

  And when I traveled abroad, I thought I should represent our country in the best possible light. A royal wedding in London or a state dinner in the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles is a far more elaborate affair than anything in Washington, New York, or Hollywood. I don’t need such extra-dressy gowns anymore, but I certainly needed them then.

  Because I needed more clothes—far more than I could afford to buy—I borrowed outfits for specific occasions from some of my favorite designers and old friends. And here I made a big mistake. No, not by borrowing, but by not announcing from the start that I was going to do this, and that I would return them.

  But I honestly never expected that this would be seen as a problem. Borrowing designer clothes is such a widespread and accepted practice in the American fashion industry that it never occurred to me that I’d be criticized for it. With astrology, which I’ll get to shortly, I knew there was a risk of embarrassment. But when it came to borrowing clothes, I couldn’t imagine that anyone would object.

  In Europe, first ladies borrow clothes all the time. In France, for example, the wives of the presidents and prime ministers routinely wear dresses lent to them by such designers as Yves St. Laurent, Pierre Cardin, and Christian Dior. The French government not only condones this practice but actually supports it as a way of helping one of the country’s most important industries.

  But many Americans were surprised when my borrowings were revealed in the press. I don’t understand why. First ladies have often borrowed clothes, or have purchased them at less than full price. Shortly before I left the White House I was given a Lifetime Achievement Award by the American fashion industry. Barbara Walters, who introduced me, suggested that first ladies should be encouraged to borrow designer dresses because, as she put it, “it stimulates the fashion industry, it hurts no one, and it adds to our pride in American clothes.”

  I was also criticized in 1981 for wearing nice outfits during a recession. But if I had suddenly started dressing differently, how would that have helped the economy? On the contrary: I was told that because so many women look to the first lady as a fashion leader, I provided a great boost for American designers. The fashion business is our seventh-largest industry, and in New York City it employs more people than any other business. If anything, the case could be made that I helped the economy by putting so many people to work!

  If the public really wants the first lady to look her best, why then was I attacked so strongly, and so often, for my wardrobe?

  One reason may be that some women aren’t all that crazy about a woman who wears a size four, and who seems to have no trouble staying slim.

  No, I am not anorexic, and I never have been. (That’s another rumor I had to endure, and I always hated it. Anorexia is a terrible illness, and it’s not a condition that should be assigned frivolously.) The truth is far less dramatic: Despite the fact that I always eat three meals a day and don’t skip desserts, I worry constantly. I’m not a big eater, and it doesn’t take much to fill me up.

  It may be hard to believe, but I used to be chubby. By the end of my freshman year at college, when I was living away from home for the first time, I had puffed up to 143 pounds. In addition to starchy food, we were given a tray of peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches at bedtime—and I used to eat about three of these a night! When I came home in June, my father said to me, “Nancy, you seem to have put on some weight.”

  Well, that’s all it took, because any criticism from my father just mortified me. I started watching what I ate, and three years later, when I graduated, I was down to 125, which was still a lot for me. My problem now is keeping weight on, not taking it off. My current weight is 106 pounds.

  During our final year in the White House, the fashion “story” broke again after an article in Time magazine noted that I was continuing to borrow dresses from leading designers after I had supposedly promised not to, and that I had kept them. I couldn’t help but wonder about the timing of an old story that was brought back during the height of the 1988 campaign. At that time, Elaine Crispen, my press secretary, was widely quoted as saying, “She made a little promise and she broke it.” I don’t know why Elaine said that, but she was wrong, and I told her so. None of the clothes were given to me to keep. Some have gone to the Reagan Library; some have been committed to museums. The rest belong to the designers.

  And I wonder: What would have happened if I had stopped borrowing dresses and had started wearing only the clothes that I could actually afford to buy? Before long, instead of calling me extravagant, the press would have started referring to me as “dowdy” and “frumpy.” And the newspapers would soon have been keeping track of how many times they had seen me in the same outfit. I don’t think I could have won this one.

  In 1981, when the fuss over my clothing first erupted, I had very few defenders. But in 1988, when the same reports surfaced again, I had plenty of allies. By then, I guess, people knew me better. The Chicago Tribune actually suggested that perhaps I should have charged my favorite designers several hundred dollars an hour for modeling their latest creations.

  The renovation, the china, the dresses—all of these criticisms reinforced an image of me that existed even before Ronnie and I moved into the White House. Katharine Graham once pointed out that a number of the articles about me before 1980 were written by younger women who were caught up in the feminist movement. “They just couldn’t identify with you,” she said. “You represented everything they were rebelling against.”

  It hadn’t occurred to me at the time, but now I think Kay had a point. And I suspect that what may really have bothered some women was my decision to give up my career and devote myself to my husband and our family. Ronnie had never asked me to do this; it had been my own choice. I could have continued working regularly in movies. But I had seen too many marriages fall apart in the picture business because both partners had a career. I’ve always felt that I had the best of both worlds—a career, followed by a happy marriage. Still, some women have never
forgiven me for making that choice, or for saying that my life really began when I married Ronnie. But for as long as I can remember, I have wanted to belong to somebody, and to have somebody belong to me. I never wanted to go it alone.

  It’s also possible that some of the reporters who wrote about me then felt that our marriage was at least partly an act. She can’t possibly be that crazy about him after all those years, they seemed to be saying. And the way she looks at him when he’s giving a speech. Come on! They’re actors, after all, and for them this is just another role.

  But it wasn’t—and it isn’t. Eventually people got used to our relationship and accepted it; I guess they came to think that nobody could be faking it that well—or for that long!

  Another point that Kay Graham mentioned was that when Ronnie and I first moved to Washington, I was pretty much of an unknown quantity. “Just about the only thing we knew about you was that article by Joan Didion in the Saturday Evening Post.”

  I winced when I heard Kay say that. Back in 1968, Joan Didion had spent a day with me at our house in Sacramento. I thought our conversation had gone well, and I had enjoyed the time we spent together. But a few weeks later, when I read her article during a flight to Chicago, I was shocked to find that it was dripping with sarcasm: “Nancy Reagan has an interested smile, the smile of a good wife, a good mother, a good hostess, the smile of someone who grew up in comfort and went to Smith College and has a father who is a distinguished neurosurgeon (her father’s entry in the 1966–67 Who’s Who runs nine lines longer than her husband’s) and a husband who is the definition of Nice Guy, not to mention Governor of California, the smile of a woman who seems to be playing out some middle-class American woman’s daydream, circa 1948. The set for this daydream is perfectly dressed, every detail correct.… Everyone on the set smiles, the social secretary, the state guard, the cook, the gardeners.”

  Well, I was doing an interview, and yes, I had smiled when I opened the door to welcome Joan Didion. That, apparently, was my big mistake, for elsewhere in the article, my smile was described as “a study in frozen insincerity.”