Wait! The Fellas Have Another Great Idea

“You’re not going to believe this,” said George, bartender here at the Bel-Air Hotel for more than 40 years. And at first I didn’t.

But ever since New Hampshire, nestled in this oasis of refined elegance in the winding streets off Sunset Boulevard, late at night when everyone else has gone home, the ghosts of Ronald Reagan’s “kitchen cabinet” meet here for cigars and martinis.

George, who’s a long-time pal, let me listen in on the three old honchos--wealthy car dealer Holmes Tuttle, businessman Justin Dart and Union Oil president Cy Rubel.

I took copious notes.

“Fellas, the handwritin’s on the wall,” says Dart. “We’ve got to get us a sure thing. After the last seven years, Ronnie wouldn’t settle for anything less. I think I may have just the man for us. Somebody who’d make Ronnie real proud.” He pauses to take a drag on his H. Upmann for dramatic effect. “Charlton Heston,” he says finally. “He was president of the Screen Actors Guild, too, you know.”

Tuttle raises his eyebrows. Rubel moves to the edge of his seat.

Dart continues: “All of them Washington boys are always saying things like, ‘The question for America isn’t whether God’s on our side, it’s whether we’re on God’s side.’ Chuck brought them Ten Commandments down off Mt. Sinai. Just imagine the contrast of Al Gore debating the man who parted the Red Sea. Plus, Chuck ain’t a lawyer.”

“I believe you’re on to something,” says Tuttle.

“The Christian Coalition folks would love him,” says Rubel.

“And he’ll bridge the racial gap,” adds Dart. “In 1963, when Al Gore was sneaking smokes behind the gym at St. Albans, Chuck was leading the Hollywood contingent to Washington for Rev. King’s ‘I Have a Dream’ speech.”

“A Republican who marched in the civil rights movement,” says Tuttle. ‘Imagine that.”

“I believe he’s a supply-sider, too,” says Rubel. “ ‘Government’s too big, spends too much’--he’s got the whole mantra down.”

“Didn’t they give him an Oscar for ‘Ben Hur’?,” asks Tuttle. “Even Ronnie never won one of those.”

“Chuck sure can read a TelePrompTer,” says Dart, motioning for another round of Bombay Sapphire.

Cigar smoke, banned in L.A., fills the room tonight.

“How about that picture Chuck did with Orson Welles--’Touch of Evil’? He’s this crusader against law enforcement corruption. There’s your black helicopter vote,” says Rubel.

Speaking of conspiracy theorists, I want to interrupt and remind them about Heston being in Oliver Stone’s latest film, but Tuttle raises his hand.

“How about that Carol Reed movie where he plays Michelangelo? We’ll sew up the NPR and National Endowment for the Arts constituency for sure.”

The drinks arrive.

“If people think McCain’s war record means something in a general ‘lection,” says Dart, “why, hell--Chuck was Old Hickory. He won the Battle of New Orleans!”

To that, the men lift a toast.

“Hear, hear,” says Tuttle.

“How about his personal life, Jus?” asks Rubel. “You know, Ronnie sowed his share of wild oats before Nancy. Remember Doris Day and the Garden of Allah?”

They all have mischievous grins.

“Never even been divorced,” says Dart. “Married to the same woman for 50 years. Bring on Matt Drudge.”

“Chuck used to be a Democrat, too,” says Tuttle.

In unison: “Just like Ronnie.”

What was I hearing? The last meeting like this was 1964, up at Reagan’s house in the Palisades. Holmes Tuttle told him, “Ronnie, you don’t ever have to worry about money.”

Now, Tuttle is saying, “Tell Chuck he doesn’t ever have to worry about money.”

Eerie.

“He’s runnin’ the NRA and advertisin’ Bud Lite on the radio,” says Dart. ‘The angry white males will love it.”

“That’s it, then,” says Tuttle. Dart and Rubel nod in agreement. “The answer to the GOP’s presidential problem: Bring back an actor. And Chuck’s our man.”