I honestly thought that Elizabeth would outlive Charles, but here we are.
Jimmy Two: America in Carter's Second Term
- Thread starter Vidal
- Start date
Easy mistake to make. But remember she was functionally semi retired for 50 years (bar meddling and drinking) Liz made it almost as far while still working at least 20 hours a week into her mid 90's.
In contrast Carter has also been able to pick and choose when he works, how he works for decades so he's probably had a more leisurely path to his astonishing age.
On the contrary, the Queen Mother continued to do a lot of public appearances, overseas tours on behalf of her daughter and acted as a senior councillor of state. Her final major public engagement seems to have been in Late 2001, but others continued until shortly before her death.
A belated message...
Happy 98th Birthday, President Carter
~ October 1st ~
I wanted to use President Carter's 98th birthday as an excuse to once again thank all of you for joining the Peanut Brigade and enjoying this alternate world that I have imagined. I personally think we are better off for Jimmy Carter's service to the nation - as a president and as an ex-president, but I love that we have established a community here of some 60-70 regular readers (at least based on the number of likes each chapter gets) who don't all agree about whether or not Carter was a good president or not. I think that's the whole point of gathering on this website -- to debate and think about what could have been.
Pretty soon, things are going to ramp up even further. I didn't anticipate the pace of this timeline being as slow as it has been, but life has been busy, and given my intense love of this subject and POD, I have been careful to make sure the research is thorough and the writing as close to my best as it can be for each and every chapter. It really has been a labor of love -- but it's been one that I am thrilled to undertake, and y'all commenting and debating and liking has really made it all more than worth it.
I did not imagine the extent to which people would engage with this timeline when I first posted it back in April.
Thank you again to everyone who has been a part of the ride, but most of all, please join me in sending our beloved 39th president some belated birthday wishes. From his deep care and concern for the Iranian hostages to his vision for energy independence and a balanced budget, he was a president of vision, and as an ex-president he has been such a force for moral clarity and moral good. Happy Birthday, President Carter!
The story continues on October 9th...
Happy 98th Birthday, President Carter
~ October 1st ~
Pretty soon, things are going to ramp up even further. I didn't anticipate the pace of this timeline being as slow as it has been, but life has been busy, and given my intense love of this subject and POD, I have been careful to make sure the research is thorough and the writing as close to my best as it can be for each and every chapter. It really has been a labor of love -- but it's been one that I am thrilled to undertake, and y'all commenting and debating and liking has really made it all more than worth it.
I did not imagine the extent to which people would engage with this timeline when I first posted it back in April.
Thank you again to everyone who has been a part of the ride, but most of all, please join me in sending our beloved 39th president some belated birthday wishes. From his deep care and concern for the Iranian hostages to his vision for energy independence and a balanced budget, he was a president of vision, and as an ex-president he has been such a force for moral clarity and moral good. Happy Birthday, President Carter!
The story continues on October 9th...
Thank you Vidal for helping create the community and bringing together talented writers
Thanks to you, Vidal, for the excellent work. I'm looking forward to reading the next update on the 9th.
Deleted member 145219
Almost there.A belated message...
I wanted to use President Carter's 98th birthday as an excuse to once again thank all of you for joining the Peanut Brigade and enjoying this alternate world that I have imagined. I personally think we are better off for Jimmy Carter's service to the nation - as a president and as an ex-president, but I love that we have established a community here of some 60-70 regular readers (at least based on the number of likes each chapter gets) who don't all agree about whether or not Carter was a good president or not. I think that's the whole point of gathering on this website -- to debate and think about what could have been.
Happy 98th Birthday, President Carter
~ October 1st ~
Pretty soon, things are going to ramp up even further. I didn't anticipate the pace of this timeline being as slow as it has been, but life has been busy, and given my intense love of this subject and POD, I have been careful to make sure the research is thorough and the writing as close to my best as it can be for each and every chapter. It really has been a labor of love -- but it's been one that I am thrilled to undertake, and y'all commenting and debating and liking has really made it all more than worth it.
I did not imagine the extent to which people would engage with this timeline when I first posted it back in April.
Thank you again to everyone who has been a part of the ride, but most of all, please join me in sending our beloved 39th president some belated birthday wishes. From his deep care and concern for the Iranian hostages to his vision for energy independence and a balanced budget, he was a president of vision, and as an ex-president he has been such a force for moral clarity and moral good. Happy Birthday, President Carter!
The story continues on October 9th...
How would James Earl respond to the 81 crisis in Poland? I think he would get along well, with John Paul.
8. You Talkin' To Me?
YOU TALKIN’ TO ME?
“Now I see it clearly. My whole life has pointed in one direction. I see that now. There never has been any choice for me.”
-Travis Bickle, Taxi Driver (1976)
“Now I see it clearly. My whole life has pointed in one direction. I see that now. There never has been any choice for me.”
-Travis Bickle, Taxi Driver (1976)
October 9, 1980
Grand Ole Opry — Nashville, TN
There he was. The candidate. He finished his speech and the audience cheered their approval.
Two secret service agents wearing their blue suits and aviators pushed the supporters away as the candidate made his way through the crowd. The man in the back with the green army jacket grinned. His moment was rapidly approaching. He unzipped his jacket and reached for the gun, but an agent spotted him and the would-be assassin took off into the crowd. He sprinted away — never to be found.
John Hinckley, Jr. had studied the scene not once or twice but dozens of times. His attempt would be different. He already knew that. He’d gone to Dayton, he’d tried to get close to the president, and he’d done it. He knew how to blend in — it wasn’t hard, not really. He’d wear his “Re-elect Carter/Mondale” pin, the green blazing off of his tan jacket. When the president hit his talking points, he’d cheer at all the right times, gradually moving closer and closer to the front. He’d get there early so there wasn’t that much ground to cover, but not too early so that he was directly before the president the entire time. As the president thanked everyone for coming and moved off the stage, he’d mingle with the crowd. Like all good Carter supporters, Hinckley would shout, “Mr. President!” and lunge forward to shake the president’s hand. But he wouldn’t. Instead, he’d fire his handgun, shoot the president two or three times — four if Secret Service allowed — and then he’d be caught, he knew — wrestled to the ground by one agent or another. But it wouldn’t matter. She would be his. She’d be so impressed. He’d succeed where Travis Bickle had failed. And Jodie — sweet Jodie — would not be able to ignore him any longer, for he would go down in history as one of just five men who killed the President of the United States.
• • •
Carter was buoyed with his usual confidence that day on the plane. Chris Matthews, the energetic young speechwriter who was eyeing a bigger job in a second term, handed Carter his remarks. The president cheerily read them over. Caddell came by with the latest poll numbers. It was all good news. Reagan was on the run. The war question continued to hang over voters, and the longer Carter could centralize it, the longer Reagan would be drawn into questions about his foreign policy. Voters preferred Carter on the issue by 2-1, including Republican voters. It was the same playbook Johnson had used against Goldwater, and it was finally beginning to work.
After the conventions, when Carter was able to point to measured military response as more successful than bravado, the president began to point to his diplomatic and military successes. Reagan felt that the issue was neutralized. Without the hostages, people would begin to focus on the mediocre economy. But fewer voters, they realized, were trusting Reagan to fix it. And more and more of them were worried about his long history of questionable remarks on foreign policy. The Star Wars speech from the primary campaign. His bluster on the Iranian issue. These concerns lingered in voters’ minds. Carter needed to keep them prevalent.
But it was Caddell who had the ingenious idea of tying them together — which had become the Carter strategy in the final month of the campaign. There was no reason to believe someone who was careless enough to bring us into unnecessary war would somehow be more cautious when it came to the economy. It was in a precarious state and a president who shot from the hip could do just as much damage to the economy as he could to international relations. On the stump, Carter began to hit the point. “You need a leader you can trust,” he said, “and not just to tell you the truth. You need a leader you can trust to make the right decision. When the phone rings in the Residence at 1am, you need to know the person at the other end is cut out to handle the crisis — whether it’s an attack on our embassy, a threat from the Soviets, or a stock market on the fritz.” Carter was the man Americans could trust in a crisis — regardless of its shape or scope.
Meanwhile, his opponent had stopped having fun. The usual cheery Reagan, quick to make a joke at his own expense, was exhausted. He found the press coverage of Carter overly fawning, and he thought they spent too much time praising Carter’s leadership during the Hostage Crisis. “It’s over,” Reagan grumbled to staff. “We get it. He won.”
All of the travel and demanding schedule was taking a toll on Nancy Reagan, the candidate’s wife. She could handle it, but she feared that her husband could not. As the Republican fell further and further behind, his wife became more involved in the day-to-day operations of the campaign. She wanted Kemp dropped from the ticket — a ridiculous suggestion. She wanted the candidate to hit Carter for “exploiting” the hostage situation. The candidate took the counsel of his advisors on that one and steered clear of the attacks. But Nancy Reagan felt the campaign slipping away and she moved in as much as she could to influence the campaign’s message, encouraging Reagan to take the attack to Carter as much as possible.
She also made demands about their travel schedule, insisting they stop spending so much time on the road. “When Ronnie has multiple events a day, he gets tired and frustrated. He’s no good on the stump when he can’t be himself.” Despite loud objections from the staff, Nancy got her way. Unbelievably, the campaign reduced the candidate’s travel by a third in the final month of the campaign. Carter, the energizer bunny of the race, added multiple appearances to each day. “I’ll sleep in November,” he told his staff.
• • •
Hamilton Jordan, traveling with Carter for the event in Nashville, began to run through the key points of the president’s brief. “You’re going to be taking questions,” he reminded Carter. “It’s a town hall format. You’ll be introduced by Bill Monroe. You’ve got to tie Reagan’s inability to handle foreign policy to an inability to handle domestic policy.” Between each reminder, the president replied, “Got it.” And Jordan continued moving through the list. Carter was energized. The polling was favorable. The reception on the ground was warm. Voters seemed eager to send him back for four years. He had never really imagined losing to Ronald Reagan, but now the idea seemed so ridiculous he didn’t have to. All it would take was a few more days.
With his signature grin, he ran up the steps and onto the stage, waving to supporters who cheered him on. Among those applauding was John Hinckley, hoping to blend in to the sea of Carter enthusiasts. He was just days away, he figured, from marrying the love of his life. And only minutes away from assassinating the President of the United States and landing his spot in history. As Carter took questions, he listened intently. His mission was not ideological, nor was it driven out of a dislike of Carter the man. Carter was merely the most prominent man in America — the easiest way to guarantee the press coverage needed to propel Jodie Foster into his arms.
The questions Carter answered at the town hall covered the same issues that Americans had been focused on throughout his presidency, particularly the economy. Voters felt it was sluggish — not in a free fall but perhaps on the precipice. They asked about foreign policy, which was Carter’s favorite to discuss. Polling showed voters didn’t trust Reagan to keep the country out of war. Carter exploited this, highlighting his work on the SALT II treaty and reminding voters that he had brought the hostages home safely through a negotiated agreement. “A foreign policy that dictates shoot first, think and talk later cannot be trusted,” Carter reminded the audience.
As voters asked their questions, Carter asked them to repeat their name back to him and then used it throughout his answer. Every other sentence began or ended with the person’s name — they felt drawn in, and Carter excelled at the town hall format. The day’s event in Nashville was no exception with the president feeling the wind at his back. Election Day was nearing, and he was ready to win.
Carter thanked everyone for coming out to the Grand Ole Opry and reminded them to make sure they voted in November as he gave his final answer. The music played, and he began to wade into the audience, shaking hands on his way out the door. Hinckley was ready. While Carter bemoaned Reagan’s trigger-happiness, he had inched his way — gradually, without detection — closer and closer to Carter. His finger rested on the trigger.
“Mr. President,” he said just loud enough for Carter to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry.” Then, he fired three shots at Carter’s chest. The first shot pierced Carter by his left shoulder, a second struck the president’s chest, and the third missed altogether as one agent lunged at Hinckley. It wounded a different secret service agent near the president. Commotion ensued. Attendees screamed and raced for the exits. Agents wrestled Hinckley to the ground as he yelled, “Jodie! Jodie!” And Carter was whisked away, his condition unknown to those in attendance.
“He’s bleeding!” an agent yelled. They rushed Carter into an ambulance and off to the nearest hospital. The entire sequence of events had already been orchestrated. The agents knew where to go and what to do, but had hoped they’d never need to execute it.
The president was gasping for air while an agent who had been in Dallas in November 1963 was working frantically to shut down the perimeter around the Opry. “Deacon is down!” Another agent barked into his wrist. “I repeat: Deacon is down.”
Ronald Reagan was campaigning in Illinois, bringing the crowd to its feet. “A recession is when your neighbor loses his job, a depression is when you lose yours, and a recovery is when Jimmy Carter loses his!” Reagan said gleefully. During the cheers for the line, a staffer raced on stage and let Reagan know he needed to go. Reagan was confused but didn’t challenge the agent. “Folks,” he said, “unfortunately something has come up and I have to head out a bit earlier than planned. But thank you for coming, and please remember to vote. And may God bless America!” Those in the audience were confused and looked around. Were they in danger? An advance man for Reagan’s campaign ran to the microphone and informed them everything was fine, but the event had to end early. He apologized for the inconvenience.
Ed Meese was traveling with Reagan. “Governor,” he said, “President Carter’s been shot in Nashville. We have to get you back to the hotel.”
“My god,” Reagan said. “Is he alright?”
“We don’t know anything about his condition, but he’s being brought to the hospital.”
“Alright, let’s go,” he said, reaching for Nancy’s hand. It could’ve been Ronnie, she thought to herself.
In Nashville, the ambulance carrying the president and the First Lady rushed to the hospital. Rosalynn gripped Carter’s hand as his eyes opened and closed. “Jimmy, I’m right here. I’m right here, Jimmy, stay with me,” his wife pleaded, tears dripping from her cheeks onto his bare chest. Paramedics rushed to take vitals and treat him the best they could.
When he arrived at the hospital, they wheeled him in for immediate surgery. A bullet had fractured his shoulder and another had come perilously close to collapsing his lung. His injuries were not life threatening, but they were severe, and he’d need immediate treatment. Before he went under the knife, Carter invoked the 25th Amendment and transferred the duties of the presidency to Walter Mondale, who was making his way to the South Lawn via helicopter, where he would be briefed on the situation and then address the nation from the White House Press Room.
Stu Eizenstat was at the White House and got the Vice President up to speed, walking with him from the South Lawn into the White House — the roar of the helicopter whirring just beyond them. “The president is in surgery. His injuries don’t appear life threatening, but we can’t be sure.” Mondale nodded before turning around and witnessing the gates of the White House. Just beyond them, people were gathering with candles to pray for the president’s recovery. The Vice President touched his heart and pressed forward inside. He would need to inform them, and the rest of the nation, of Jimmy Carter’s condition.
Meanwhile, the Reagan team was in an information blackout. The candidate decided to fly back to California. He assumed that he would not be able to campaign for the next day or two, and so he wanted to be home. Nancy had supported the decision. His advisers were more cautious, weary that the time away from the trail could cost the campaign. But Reagan didn’t think he had a choice. His opponent had just been shot.
The campaign was weighing whether or not issue some kind of statement. The truth was, they didn’t know enough to have Reagan go in front of the cameras. They decided he’d make short remarks from the tarmac before boarding the plane to California. He stepped up to the microphone and began, “My fellow Americans, this is a perilous hour in our history. My heart goes out to Rosalynn Carter and the president’s children. And my prayers are with him — and our nation. We are praying for a speedy recovery.” It was all most Americans would hear for at that moment, the networks cut from Reagan to the White House, where Walter Mondale was set to give a more thorough report on the president’s condition.
“My fellow Americans: This evening, while campaigning in Nashville, President Carter was shot by an assailant. We are not yet prepared to release that suspect’s name, but he has been apprehended by law enforcement.
“The gunman’s bullet struck the president’s shoulder, fracturing it, and a second bullet struck the president in his chest. We do not believe his injuries are life threatening, but the president is currently undergoing surgery in Nashville. In the meantime, I want to confirm that he has signed a letter transferring the responsibilities of the presidency to me. Our invocation of the 25th Amendment is the only responsible course of action given that the president is under an anesthetic, and as soon as he has emerged from surgery and is feeling better, I will transfer the duties of the office back to him.”
Mondale continued, “I want to assure the American people tonight that the man who is responsible for this attack will be brought to justice. He will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. An attack on our president is an attack on our nation.
“My heart is with Rosalynn and the Carter children, and my thoughts and prayers are with the president. I know I join all Americans in wishing this wise and compassionate leader a speedy recovery. Thank you, and good night.”
The Vice President refused to take any questions and then returned to the Oval Office for a meeting with his staff and the president’s. Mondale needed to call foreign leaders. His first call was to Anwar Sadat. Then, he called America’s allies, including Begin, to inform them of the situation. He told the military to monitor Eastern Europe to ensure there was no Soviet troop movement or attempt to capitalize on the situation.
Reagan, meanwhile, boarded his plane and headed home to California. The presidential campaign was on pause.
• • •
The president had faced death before. It was December 12, 1952, and Lieutenant Carter was in the Navy, serving as a nuclear engineer. In Ottawa, Canada, a supervisor of the Chalk River Laboratories confused some numbers on a machine’s buttons, and a nuclear disaster commenced. A million gallons of radioactive water poured out and threatened the Ottawa River, potentially exposing the entire city to radioactive fallout.
Jimmy Carter and his team of twenty-four men answered the call. They were broken into teams of three, and each team would have ninety seconds to do their part to contain the accident. Scientists estimated that a minute-and-a-half was all that the human body could stand. Carter and his group completed their task with one second to spare. [1]
In 1952, Carter was in control of his own fate. His hands were responsible for removing bolts and pipes as the radiation seeped into his body. If he stayed too long, if he was exposed to too much, it was because his mind and his hands had been too slow. Now, as the doctors wheeled him into surgery, his fate rested with the hands of others. A doctor’s set of hands would cut him open, remove the bullet, and sew him back up.
An image appeared hazily in his mind as the stretcher carrying his body neared the operating room. Carter appeared to himself as a young boy, barefoot in a creek in his hometown of Plains. It was not an hour before daylight — the sun was well in the air, beating down on him. His toes wriggled slightly at the thought of the mushy creek floor oozing between his toes. The water was warm. The sun was bright. He heard a faint yap.
Young Carter turned and could not decipher the origin of the sound, but he knew it. This was a familiar dream of his. A rabid dog lurked somewhere — and then he saw it. Surely, this pup was innocent. The dog playfully stumbled its way to the boy until Carter realized it was, indeed, rabid. In those days of his childhood, he’d seen rabid dogs — often approached from an automobile — shot dead on Main Street. He’d heard the legend of the man bit by the rabid dog, knowing death was imminent, who chained himself to a tree while he was still sane and threw away the key so that when he turned rabid, he would not be able to attack his wife and children. Carter could not afford to be bit. He had to run.
And as the boy turned to run he found that the familiar creek floor suck him in like quicksand. The warm water turned thick like molasses. He couldn’t get out of the creek. He couldn’t run. Frantically, he turned behind him. The puppy was gone.
Still, he knew that it would be back. It was adorable, it was lackadaisical, but it was a rabid dog — and it would be back.
The water was still thick. The floor still sucked him in. He tried harder and harder to break himself free, but he couldn’t. The dog returned. He looked in its eyes as its mouth opened — any appearance of innocence disappeared as rabid drool dripped from its teeth. It was going to bite Jimmy. He was going to die.
And then a bright light pierced the image. Was this death?
If it was death, it was familiar to Carter. His mind was filled with a bright white light, but he had the sense that he was home. It smelled like his old family home in Plains, and the bustling that he heard echoing through this vacant space was vaguely familiar. He felt warm. It was the middle of the summer in the South — a time when every available hand was needed in the fields.
A pain throbbed in him, and Carter felt he knew where this memory would take him, and then he heard the words that confirmed his suspicion. They came from his father, known to all as “Earl.” The words tied the same knot in his stomach that they did all those years ago: “The rest of us will be working while Jimmy lies here in the house and reads a book.” Jimmy. Not “Hot” or “Hot Shot,” as his father so lovingly referred to him in the wandering days of his youth. And then there was that diction — “lies here” — as if he wasn’t in pain. As if he were lazy. His father thinking he was lazy? Hot couldn’t stand the thought.
For days, Carter’s wrist had been in intense pain. He’d gone to his mother, a nurse, but she thought little of it. He’d gone to the doctor, but they provided no remedy. Now, he traipsed around outside searching for a cure. He tied his hand to a fencepost with his belt and lifted his arm, forcing the stiff wrist to bend. Pus burst out, carrying with it a half-inch splinter of wood. The grin that would one day launch him into the White House sprang across his face.
Hot raced back to his bicycle and took off, pedaling so hard he thought his legs might break off, towards the fields so that he could return to work — so that his dad could see him being useful. At the cotton field, Hot showed Earl Carter the splinter and said he was ready to return to work.
“It’s good to have you back with us, Hot,” his father smiled approvingly. [2]
In the operating room, the doctors and nurses around him could’ve sworn they saw the president smile.
October 10, 1980
Rancho del Cielo — Goleta, CA
“I mean what the Hell are we supposed to do?” Meese asked aloud. Reagan didn’t know. Nancy paced frantically on the other side of the room.
She could not believe that the President of the United States had been shot. It could have been her Ronnie. She did not doubt his campaign, or the country’s need for his leadership, but she feared what could happen to him if he won. Would Ronnie survive a four-or-eight-year presidency?
The candidate himself was less concerned with his own mortality and was instead focused on that of his opponent. “We can’t wait forever,” Reagan conceded.
Michael Deaver was concerned that the Carter campaign would drag out the president’s recovery. “We can’t be sidelined by this. Yes, a day or two away from the campaign is appropriate, but we have to get back out there. We can’t lose this time.”
No one seemed to notice that Nancy Reagan had slipped away from the conversation and towards a private room elsewhere in the Reagan home. She placed a phone call.
“Joan, it’s Nancy,” she said when the person on the other end of the line picked up. “Thank you for making time for me.”
“Of course,” came the reply.
“Joan, I need to know: If something like this were to happen to Ronnie — would you know? Would you be able to see it?”
The woman on the other end of the line was Joan Quigley, an astrologer whom Nancy Reagan had met years before. As she sat in her living room, Quigley explained her science to Mrs. Reagan. Yes, she said, if she had been observing President Carter over the last few days she could have foretold the attempt on his life, and, yes, came the answer: She could come to Ronald Reagan’s side, observe his energy, and foretell anything that may be awaiting him.
Nancy asked if she had any predictions about the rest of the campaign. “Oh, it’s grim,” Quigley said solemnly. “I’m not sure that both candidates will make it to Election Day. The energy now is…” Quigley paused. Nancy heard only a slow and challenging breath come across the line. “The energy now is morbid,” Quigley finished.
Mrs. Reagan thanked Quigley for her time and placed down the phone.
“Ronnie,” she said, storming back into the meeting, “there is nobody here who wants you to be President of the Untied States more than I do, but I want you alive even more than that, and you will not — you will not — resume campaigning for a few more days, and when you do, we will enhance your Secret Service protection. And I don’t want you keeping the schedule we’d set — you were getting too run down anyway.” Sensing Meese and Deavers’ hesitance, the candidate’s wife turned to them. “And I will not hear that this election’s outcome depends on an extra speech in Mississippi or in Ohio. The people know Ronnie, and he will win, and putting his life on the line so a few more people can shake his hand is not a trade we should be willing to make.”
Reagan laughed. “Well, fellas, you heard the boss!”
• • •
Jimmy Carter pushed up his eyelids and saw the warm and doting face of his dear Rosie. She smiled. “He’s awake,” she said, and the Carter children came from their seats to their father’s side.
“How are you feeling?” Rosie asked.
“I’m alright. I guess I made it?” he said with a smile.
Tears in her eyes, Rosie nodded. “You did, Jimmy. Oh, I knew you would.”
Carter looked around at the room around him. Like all hospital rooms, it was white — even presidents couldn’t avoid the sterile and depressing decor kept for patients everywhere. He saw the nervous glances from his children. “I’m fine,” he reminded them. “Really.” Carter took their hands and led them in a prayer of thanks.
His doctor came in as the family finished their prayer. “Mr. President, I’m glad to see you’re awake.”
“I’m glad I’m awake, too,” the president quipped.
“Yes, well. We’ll need to keep you another day, but then I expect we can transfer you to Walter Reed.” Carter nodded appreciatively.
Carter called for his staff after a few more moments with his family. “I need to talk to Fritz.”
The Vice President was working from his office when the president phoned him. “Fritz, how are you?”
Relief flushed across Mondale’s face. “I’m well, Mr. President, but more importantly: How are you?”
“Well, I’m alive. They’re keeping me another day, but then I’ll be out of here.” Carter could feel Mondale’s smile from the other end of the line. “Listen,” he said, “you’ve got to be out there now — more than before. I don’t care what anyone thinks, people aren’t going to vote for me just because they feel bad for me. We need to be campaigning just as hard as before, and I’m not sure how far the doctors will let me push it.”
“You should rest, Mr. President.”
“We can’t let up,” he continued, ignoring the advice, “The Reagan people won’t — that’s for sure. Let’s make sure we’re doing everything we can between now and Election Day. You let me know what you need.”
The Vice President nodded. He should have expected this kind of a response from the president. “Absolutely, Mr. President. Be well.”
When the line went dead, Carter put down his phone and rolled over in bed. He needed to be on the campaign trail, and he would be, but for now he needed rest.
News that the president was awake spread quickly from the Nashville Hospital in which he recovered. Press Secretary Jody Powell confirmed that Carter had been awake, briefed on his condition, and that he’d called Vice President Mondale. No, he said, Ronald Reagan had not tried to call the president. Yes, the President was aware of what was happening and was eager to be back on the campaign trail. No, he wasn’t sure when exactly the president would resume a full schedule.
With the president confined to the hospital, his team began to discuss the next steps they should take. They knew that the president would be eager to get back on the trail, but they wanted to make sure he was physically up to the job. Between Carter’s collapse at a marathon and his altercation with a wild swamp rabbit, there was already cause for concern about the president’s physical abilities. Given their opponent was a 69-year-old, the Carter team doubted the press would dwell on these issues too much, but the fact remained they couldn’t afford another misstep.
The Carter team had reason to be optimistic. Their attacks on Reagan’s foreign policy were sinking through — especially with the hostages released — and they were even having success in hitting Reagan on the economy. Carter had a slight edge over Reagan in most of the polling — nationally and in competitive states. His team did not want to disrupt the momentum they had felt building. But they also knew that the assassination attempt had changed everything.
Jerry Rafshoon believed that it was time to drop the focus on negative campaigning. “He can’t come out from the hospital — after nearly dying — and immediately start griping about his opponent’s tax plan. It’s unfathomable!”
Jordan didn’t agree. “Reagan can’t hit back, it’s the perfect time to attack!”
Jordan had a point. It was Reagan who would come off the worse for attacking a man who had just escaped a would-be assassin’s bullet.
Rafshoon was shaking his head, pacing frantically around the room. “Don’t you people see? When Jimmy Carter walks out of that hospital he will have more sympathy from every American than he’s ever had — even on the day they took the hostages. We have to do everything we can — absolutely everything we can — over the next 25 days to keep as much of it as possible. If he walks out of this hospital and gives the media exactly what they want to keep their stupid ‘Mean’ narrative alive — we’re toast. Absolutely toast. This is our chance to turn the page and run the general election on our terms.”
Caddell nodded in agreement. “Jerry’s right,” he said. “The president’s strength is that people like him. We have to make sure they keep liking him as long as possible, and there’s a lot of goodwill that’s going to come from this. It won’t be enough — on it’s own — to win him back the White House, but if we do what we can to preserve that sympathy, he’ll win. He’ll win comfortably.”
Jordan didn’t like it. “We’re getting through on this Reagan stuff! People are opening their eyes — realizing he’s full of shit.”
Again, Caddell agreed. “And we can have Mondale hit Reagan, we can have surrogates out there, we can throw in a few lines in the stump speech. But we have to use this as an opportunity to reset the narrative and stop the press’s stupid obsession with calling the president mean.”
“And you suppose Reagan is going to play nice? He’ll be way too happy to walk all over us if we let him,” Jordan countered.
Caddell sighed. “If Ronald Reagan wants to get out on the campaign trail and attack a man who has just been shot, who just brought 52 American hostages home — unharmed, I might add — a couple of months ago, then I assure you — I promise you — that you will not need to pack up your office.”
“We’ll take it to the president. We’ll let him decide,” Jordan said, ending the conversation.
October 11, 1980
Vanderbilt University Medical Center — Nashville, TN
Carter’s staff met for their first strategy meeting with the president since the assassination attempt. Caddell, Jordan, and Rafshoon huddled around the president. Jody Powell joined by phone.
Caddell got the meeting started after the pleasantries were over. “Mr. President, we need to alter our plan for the final days of this campaign. The doctors think you can leave Walter Reed on October 17th, and then we’ll have just 18 days to get you reelected. When you leave here, you will have more public sympathy and support than you have had at any point in your presidency — including the taking of the hostages. In my opinion, we can’t do anything to disrupt that.
“As you know, in the days before the attempt on your life, there was a growing narrative that you were mean. For whatever reason, the press seemed preoccupied on this idea that your campaign had turned into a lazy attempt to tear Reagan down. It was misguided. You know it, I know it — we all know it,” Caddell said with a look at Jordan. “It was stupid. I hear all of that. But the polling showed it was sticking. If you leave this hospital and start hitting Reagan on this issue and that, it will only cement the perception of you as petty and mean-spirited. You’ve just been shot. If you come out of this hospital humble and gracious for your second chance at life, we will win this election. Like it or not, that’s what this election will come down to.”
Carter nodded and waited for the rebuttal he knew was coming. Jordan, his legs spread and hands folded leaned forward to look at the president. “Sir, I don’t agree. There is no better time to hit Reagan than right now, when he can’t hit you back. This clown is dangerous. We shouldn’t let up on him. We should double down.”
The president was a fighter, and deep in his bones he believed that Ronald Reagan would be an inept president, but he was also a numbers guy. Everything Caddell had told him was rooted in the polling and the focus groups. If people thought he was too mean, he’d have to be nicer.
“Alright. I’m not ready to make a decision. Let’s see how it all plays out. Should we debate him?”
After weeks of intense back-and-forth, the two campaigns had agreed to a debate on October 15th, but now Carter was slated to still be in the hospital. They’d need to reschedule.
Carter’s team had been anxious to debate their opponent. Rafshoon had authored a memo months earlier that laid out the case simply: Carter was the smarter candidate, therefore he’d be the better debater. The entire staff agreed there was no way Carter could lose a debate to Reagan. Now, their chance to take him on one-on-one was in trouble.
A chorus of yeses greeted the president’s question, but organizing a debate would require the cooperation of the election’s other half. Carter deputized Rafshoon to reach out to Reagan’s team and get the debate rescheduled.
Michael Deaver answered the phone on the first ring.
“Deaver.”
“Mike, it’s Jerry. I wanted to talk to you about the debate.”
“Go ahead.”
“The president won’t be out of the hospital in time, but we’d like to reschedule it. Are you amenable to that?”
“I don’t know, Jerry, I’ve got to check with the team.”
Rafshoon rolled his eyes. “Would you do that, Mike?”
He did, and once more the Reagan campaign couldn’t agree on how to proceed. Lyn Nofziger was apoplectic that Deaver had even left the possibility open. “What are we going to do? Debate him two days before the election? We can’t do it. Carter canceling the debate is the best thing that could’ve happened. We say we couldn’t fit it into the schedule — that we’ve already got the schedule booked — and we move on.”
Dick Wirthlin, believed they needed the debate to reset the narrative. “We’ll get more numbers today, but I suspect we’re going to be behind by at least 10 points. We need the debate to come back.”
“And what if he blows the whole thing?” Nofziger asked. “You remember how prep was going before. He couldn’t fill up time. Half of his answers said nothing. If we put him out there face-to-face with a guy who just got shot, there’s no way he can win.”
Stu Spencer wanted the debate. He’d been working with Reagan before the assassination attempt to get him ready, and he was convinced that Reagan would beat Carter’s stilted and academic responses. “Our guy’s the one people like.”
Deaver sided with Nofziger, and together they decided to go to the one person had the ultimate influence: Nancy.
“Mrs. Reagan,” Deaver said, “thank you for taking the time to talk with us. We wanted to bring you up to speed on the debate situation.”
“That’s right, Mrs. Reagan,” Nofziger continued. “I’m worried about whether or not the press will be able to judge the Governor fairly when he’s standing on stage with a man who just survived an assassination attempt. Fair or not, the Governor just won’t look presidential up against Carter.”
“And who knows if there’s another kook out there like this Hinckley fella who wants to get another shot at Carter. We should spend the rest of the campaign doing our own thing.”
The candidate’s wife bristled at the suggestion.
“I’ll talk about it with Ronnie,” she said, but before she did, she dialed the phone and called someone else.
“Joan.”
“Joan, it’s Nancy Reagan. How are you?”
“I’m doing well, Mrs. Reagan, how about yourself?”
“I’m worried sick. Ronnie’s team came to me and asked if we should reschedule the debate.”
“Oh dear,” Quigley said. “When would they want to do it?”
“Well, they didn’t say, but the president is in the hospital until the 17th, and then I would imagine his team would want a few days for preparation.”
Quigley’s silence sent a chill down Nancy’s spine. “Joan? Joan, are you there?”
Quigley clucked her tongue. “Mrs. Reagan, please listen to me very closely. Starting October 22nd, Mercury will enter retrograde. Do you understand what that means?”
Nancy pulled the phone close to her. “No.”
“Mercury is the God of Communication. When the planet is in retrograde it is rotating in the opposite direction and much can go amiss. I would not advise your husband to appear on national television for a debate during that time. His message will be misunderstood.”
Nancy’s chest tightened at the thought of a rescheduled debate costing Ronnie the presidency. “Thank you, Joan. Thank you very much.”
After she hung up the phone, she went straight to her husband and told him in no uncertain terms that debating the president closer to the election was out of the question. It was too risky, she said, and there won’t be enough time to recover if things go wrong. The candidate pushed back, believing he could best Carter in a debate, but Nancy was adamant and finally her Ronnie decided to trust her instinct. The word trickled down to Reagan’s staff: Do all that you can to stall. There will be no debate.
October 17, 1980
The White House — Washington, DC
Marine One descended onto the South Lawn of the White House, rustling the branches and conducting the blades of grace in a dance under the roar of the helicopter. Vice President Mondale and his wife, Joan, were waiting along with a number of staffers to welcome the president as he returned home from Walter Reed.
The entire campaign had been upended in the time since Carter left the White House for that event at the Grand Ole Opry. Hinckley’s bullet had turned a dead even race into Carter’s election to lose. The polling had been volatile for much of the campaign. At the end of his momentous summer, in which he’d brought the hostages home and celebrated at the Democratic Convention, Carter led Reagan by 21-points in the campaign’s internals. By the time he’d been struck by Hinckley’s bullet, that lead was down to just 5%. Now, Carter was back in the lead by 14-points. Caddell warned Carter and the team that the numbers were soft — they couldn’t count on winning by 14% on Election Day.
The president believed the surest way to put the election away was to take Reagan on face-to-face in a debate. He believed he was the smarter candidate, and so he had no hesitations about challenging Reagan on stage. Reagan’s team, however, was failing in their efforts to convince the candidate he needed to debate Carter. They knew the problem was Nancy Reagan. Someone had gotten to her, and she’d convinced the Republican nominee that he could never win a debate against a man who had just been shot at — no matter how charming he was. Nofziger and Deaver were relieved, but others on the campaign were infuriated by Reagan’s reticence.
Carter’s team was growing frustrated by their stalling, and the president had authorized them to start leaking details of Reagan’s stonewalling to the press. Now, every day, the first question Nofziger got asked was: “Is Ronald Reagan too afraid to debate the president?” Nofziger bristled at the question, saying that the Reagan team was doing everything it could to get the debate rescheduled.
Not so fast, said Jody Powell. “Let me be clear, in case there’s any doubt amongst the Reagan people: Jimmy Carter is ready to debate. He believes the American people deserve a debate. And he will meet Ronald Reagan wherever he needs to, whenever he needs to, to make sure the American people hear from both of them directly.”
The Reagan camp had no comment.
Now, as he walked out of Marine One carrying his own briefcase, Carter felt the wind at his back — literally the breeze of the helicopter, yes, but also the momentum of the campaign. Hinckley’s bullet had reset the narrative, just as Caddell said it would. Gone were stories about Carter’s meanness. Instead, the papers carried articles about young Amy, just shy of her thirteenth birthday, reading to her father at his bedside. Rosalynn Carter had appeared on the morning shows to assure Americans of her husband’s recovery.
“He’s very focused,” she told them. “He’s on the phone so often that his doctors are telling him he’s doing too much. He’s very involved in the day-to-day operation.”
Polling showed that 70% of Americans believed Carter was a strong leader — a number unfathomable to the Carter campaign just six months ago, but the successful negotiation of the hostages’ release and the survival of an assassination attempt had done a lot to change public perceptions of the 39th president. Only 42% of Americans believed Reagan had similar traits.
Carter knew the numbers would come back to Earth, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel good about them now.
He’d watched the floundering of the Reagan campaign from his hospital bed. Reagan took most of the days off from the campaign trail, returning only yesterday for the Al Smith Dinner, which Mondale attended in Carter’s place. Reagan had given a great performance and reminded the audience of his natural charisma. Mondale had held his own, getting in his jokes about the Republican nominee. The Reagan team cut many of the candidate’s references to Carter.
Carter and his team agreed to revert to a Rose Garden Strategy for the next week in an effort to show the president was recovered and capable of doing the day-to-day tasks required.
On Monday, there would be a cabinet meeting. On Tuesday, he had a bill signing and a news conference. On Wednesday, he was hosting a number of governors at the White House to discuss energy policy. On Thursday, the president was meeting with Ted Kennedy for a discussion about health care reform, and then they would fly to New York for a joint campaign appearance. Kennedy had initially been hesitant to do it, but after the assassination attempt he assumed Carter would be reelected, and he wanted to begin talks about health care in the second term.
Then, Carter would be back on the campaign trail and voters would see a new him. There would be no attacks on Reagan, no accusations of racism, no insinuations about his ability to do the job. There might be some needling about the lack of a debate, but Jimmy Carter was going to stay above the fray. They wouldn’t be calling him mean anymore, and if everything went according to plan they’d still be calling him “Mr. President” for the next four years.
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[1] The story of Carter’s success at Chalk River has sort of become an internet meme of late, but I relied on Jonathan Alter’s account of the story in His Very Best (84-86) for my summary here.
[2] Carter’s relationship with his father is a fascinating read. While I think most presidents have a sort of interesting relationship with their father, or the absence of their father, few have written so candidly about it. There are exceptions, of course. Barack Obama is one. Jimmy Carter is another. The anecdote about the splinter is a prominent part of Carter’s beautiful and instructive memoir of his youth, An Hour Before Daylight (80-82).
I sense a new conspiracy, Astrology is a plot by the liberal media. Glad Jimmy is okay and I guess a 'Thank you?' to John Hinckley for his service to the Re Elect Carter campaign. I hope he gets a comfy padded cell. Looking forward to term #2.