Booking the Reagan Administration

So they read their horoscopes. Big deal. This is America. We’re all crazy. We expect rich people especially to be crazy. What good is money if it can’t buy idiosyncrasy?

Do we really want to know any more about Nancy and Ronnie? We’ve been inside the White House staff. We’ve been inside the sex lives of the President’s children. We’ve been inside Nancy’s closet. We’ve even been inside the President’s colon.

I’m actually beginning to feel sorry for the Reagans. You know what happens to the frying pan when the Teflon wears off. The eggs stick to it like glue. Now we are getting endless revisionist versions of the Reagan years--eggs, warts, astrologers and all.

So what is left to know?

We have yet to hear from all the President’s lovers. I keep waiting for the first kiss-and-tell book from one of Reagan’s old leading ladies. Can’t you just see Bonzo autographing copies of the best seller “Bedtime for Us”?

We’ve heard from only two of the Reagan brats. Where’s the rest of them?

When is young Ron going to explain that his father forced him into a life of ballet and journalism? When is Maureen going to claim that her daddy made her a feminist by locking her in the White House with the ghost of Elizabeth Cady Stanton?

I’m waiting for the cook to reveal that the President ate jelly beans with cottage cheese and catsup. I’m waiting for the fashion designer who claims that Nancy made him sew her gown with his bare hands while she pointed her tiny little gun at him. I’m waiting for Cap Weinberger to tell us that Reagan thought he was ordering the “Star Wars” video, not the Star Wars weapons system. I’m waiting for the George Shultz book claiming that Ronnie personally tattooed that tiger on his tail.

Most of all, I’m waiting until nothing is published but books debunking the Reagan Administration. The Best Seller List might look like this:

--”Vanna Speaks About Ronald Reagan.”

--”Been Trickled Down So Long It Looks Like Up to Me.”

--”The Art of the Squeal.”

--”The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the White House.”

--”Sid and Nancy and Ronnie.”

--”The Unbearable Lightness of Being President Reagan.”

--”The Last Emperor’s Wife’s New Clothes.” . . .

Many moons ago, when the Reagan presidency was in its infancy and the moon was in Aquarius, some of us were not thrilled. We did not like the Ron man. We did not think there was major brain activity. Or even mini-major. And we were worried.

We wanted to be proved right, but we feared it would take a nuclear war. Somehow, sitting there staring at a mushroom cloud and saying, “See, told ya so,” wasn’t a satisfying prospect.

But this is not the way the Reagan years are ending. Instead of a bang, we are getting an endless stream of whimpers from Reagan’s inner circle of wimps. I suppose it is important that the whole truth come out, but my question is this: Why didn’t they tell us about it years ago?

At least Stockman spilled his guts early on. But Speakes, Regan, et al. do not speak well for the Reagan years. Remember the claim that Reagan’s real skill was that he surrounded himself with good people? I guess the only thing you can say about this Administration now is that the whole is equal to the scum of its parts.