America's Incredible Day

By Walter Isaacson.

When Ronald Reagan takes command and the hostages are finally freed

It was an extraordinary conjuncture of events, compressed almost beyond credibility: within a mere 41 minutes, a presidency began, an ordeal ended, and the nation was swept by a sense of shared emotion and exuberance not felt in years.

Even Ronald Reagan, at ease with the implausibilities of fictive film, would have rejected the script as beyond belief. At the approach of high noon, the hero strides to the podium. Gently, the sun tries to break through an overcast sky. With a resounding "So help me God!" he pledges to uphold the Constitution, and then calls for an "era of national renewal." He leaves the platform, with the U.S. Marine Band playing Hail to the Chief, and minutes later a plane half a world away finally lifts off from a Tehran runway, thus ending an ordeal that has sapped the nation's confidence for 444 agonizing days. Hollywood would not have touched such an improbable melodrama, but so it happened last week, and Ronald Wilson Reagan was the leading man.

Watching on television, getting the word from a neighbor or a passer-by on the street, listening to radios even at the Inaugural itself, Americans learned of the hostages' release and felt a surge of national relief, a rebirth of confidence and hope, however transitory, that rivaled the first landing on the moon. Here was a pageant awash with symbolism and reality that defined democracy: the orderly transfer of authority to the nation's 40th President. And it coincided with the news Americans had been waiting and praying for these long, agonizing, humiliating months. The 52 were free at last.

It was a dual extravaganza broadcast on split television screens and recorded in newspapers with double-decked banner headlines. Moment by moment on Inauguration Day, the stories, both intertwined and competing, unfolded, building to a happy ending. The final act began at 11:42 a.m. in Washington as a Marine baritone, Michael Ryan, launched into the third verse of America the Beautiful. 'O beautiful for heroes proved/ In liberating strife," he sang from the podium on the Capitol's West Front, where in minutes Reagan would be sworn in as President. At that moment, the news began to spread of a wire-service bulletin, "Hostages free." A murmur emanated from those in the vast crowd who had brought their radios.

Official confirmation of the report did not come until shortly after 12:33 p.m., when the first of two planes on the Tehran runway finally took off. The second, which actually bore the hostages, left five minutes later. Gary Sick, the National Security Council's chief Iran team member, relayed the word to Jimmy Carter as he rode toward Andrews Air Force Base for his flight home. James Brady, the new presidential press secretary, tapped Reagan on the shoulder as he entered the Capitol for a lunch with participants in the Inaugural ceremony and told him the news, relayed from the White House Situation Room through National Security Adviser Richard Allen. A few minutes later, Reagan told the press: "The word that we have is that both planes are airborne."

So began the end of the hostages' ordeal amid the cavalcade of Inaugural festivities that had started Saturday night. From the opening fireworks to the last dance, it was the biggest, most lavish, most expensive presidential welcome ever. All told, an estimated $11 million was spent on the eating, drinking and merrymaking (Carter's Inaugural celebration cost $4.8 million). Like all Inaugurals, none of it came out of taxpayers' pockets. Corporations and individuals gave the Presidential Inaugural Committee $8 million in interest-free loans, which will be partly paid off from the sale of souvenirs and tickets to the Inaugural events (top price: $1,000 per seat). Donations included 14,400 bottles of champagne from Almaden Vineyards, $13,000 worth of roses from the Society of American Florists and 3 1/2 tons of jelly beans from a California company called Jelly Belly.

Each day was crowded with scores of private parties for the 100,000 visiting celebrants. One Washington caterer, Ridgewell's, served 400,000 hors d'oeuvres at 56 parties. Hundreds of limousines were brought in from New York City and Philadelphia to meet the demand, while twice the usual number of private planes jammed Dulles National Airport.

Nancy Reagan was resplendent, wearing in four days dresses by Designers Bill Blass, Adolfo, and James Galanos and a mink coat given to her by her husband.

She imported two hairdressers, one from New York and one from Los Angeles, and took one of them along during a helicopter ride to an event so she could arrive freshly combed. The old Republican cloth coat that was good enough for Pat Nixon seemed destined for extinction.

Judging from the number of pelts popping out of limos, a number of fur-bearing species might be in trouble, too.

Viewing all the pomp and folks from elegant circumstances, no less a Reagan partisan that Senator Barry Goldwater growled "ostentatious." He objected to such a public display of wealth "at a time when most people can't hack it." Marcia Carter, a Republican civic leader from Houston, agreed. Said she: "The thing that offended me most was the great extravagance at a time when we're supposed to be cutting the budget and showing restraint on all unnecessary frills." Robert Michel, the new Republican minority leader in the House, complained: "At these prices, only those of a certain economic stratum can attend."

But for others, the aggressive display of wealth and exuberance seemed perfectly justified. America was ready for a party, they argued, and since it was privately financed, Reagan and the Republicans were entitled to give any kind of bash they felt like--and could afford. Said Inaugural Co-Chairman Robert Gray: "There weren't any Government funds. These were citizens who wanted to celebrate. Just because we're conservative doesn't mean we should run around in sack cloth and ashes when we want to celebrate." Added Special Trade Representative Bill Brock: "It happens only once every four years. They deserve a good time."

In fact, the balls had a charitable aspect: the money raised at the satellite balls around the country went to local charities. As Reagan said at one of the balls, while his words were broadcast closed circuit around the country: "Here we are on the first night and there are communities that are keeping their money at home. We're going to do our best to see that the idea catches on."

The fun began with a bang--actually a shower of them them--Saturday night in the form of an $800,000 fireworks display, the biggest sky splash Washington has ever seen. Actor Efrem Zimbalist Jr., standing on a mammoth eagle-shaped podium on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, quoted from Reagan's acceptance speech to last summer's Republican Convention, the U.S. Army Band played Aaron Copland's Fanfare for the Common Man, and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sang God Bless America. Then the sparkling pyrotechnic finale burst across the sky.

Sunday night was more subdued, with the celebrants attending two candlelight dinners and joining the Reagans for a music and dance tribute at the Kennedy Center. To the accompaniment of a wide assortment of military ensembles, the $500-a-plate guests ate striped bass and medaillons de veau. Inside the concert halls, Mikhail Baryshnikov and Natalia Makarova danced, Roberta Peters and Grace Bumbry sang, and the Chamber Music Society of Lincoln Center and the National Symphony Orchestra performed.

Monday night it was Hollywood's turn, and the First Couple watched sitting on blue velour chairs. "This is the greatest collection of talent America could offer to any audience," intoned Producer Frank Sinatra, with considerable hyperbole. The highlights of the Capital Center evening were the impeccably timed humor of Johnny Carson and the richly satiric impressions of Rich Little. Said Carson: "This is the first Administration to have a premiere." Quipped Old Favorite Bob Hope: "I like to come to Washington once in a while. Why should my money travel more than I do?" The low points included a tasteless adaptation by Singers Donny and Marie Osmond of the rock song Johnny B. Goode into "Ronnie Be Good" and a dubious blackface routine by Ben Vereen. The Washington Star's David Richards described the event as "a three-hour endurance test without a commercial break." Washington Post Critic Tom Shales called the show "a tacky combination of a Hollywood awards show, a Kiwanis Clubs talent contest and a telethon stocked with fewer greats than near greats." Reagan, however, seemed to enjoy the extravaganza heartily, and even went home to his temporary quarters at Blair House to watch a replay of it.

At the very moment Reagan was falling asleep that night, Carter, on his second all-night vigil in a row, was finally clearing the last obstacle that stood in the way of the hostages' release. With him were his top aides, as well as Vice President Walter Mondale, whom Carter had invited to spend a final night in the Lincoln Bedroom. Instead, Wife Joan slept upstairs alone while Mondale stayed in the Oval Office through sunrise.

Reagan had just risen, eaten a light breakfast and begun to pack his suitcases for the move across the street, when the President called him at 8:31 to say the final difficulties had been overcome. The planes that were to carry the hostages, Carter knew, were already on the Tehran runway, and he hoped to have the satisfaction of ending the crisis "on his watch." Suddenly, he remembered the national Christmas tree, which had been kept dark in sympathy for the hostages.

He ordered the lights turned on as soon as they were freed, and Hamilton Jordan said he would try to find the National Park Service employee in charge of the tree. (It was later turned on.) At 9:26 a.m., the Reagans crossed Lafayette Square to attend St. John's Episcopal Church, where home-town Preacher Bonn Dement Moomaw and the Rev. Billy Graham were preaching. To those back in the White House, it became apparent that the Iranians were procrastinating--no doubt as a final insult. "They clearly can't know the Inauguration schedule," Jordan muttered. They seemed to, however, and the Iranian news agency Pars soon claimed that the knowledge was being used to deny the President any final glory. Later, it was reported that the Iranians may have delayed the departure because of unruly crowds at the Tehran airport. Mondale, now dressed in his formal morning suit, tried to lighten the air by mimicking a waiter. "Can I bring you coffee or a pastry?" he asked several Oval Office visitors jokingly.

Just after 10:15, Jordan requested that all remaining aides leave, saying Carter wanted to have some time alone. Five minutes later, after Carter had left for the living quarters to await Reagan, his secretary, Susan Clough, cleared his desk, and silent stewards moved about stripping the office clean.

When the Reagans arrived, Carter looked exhausted and Rosalynn's cold smile appeared pasted on. She shook hands with Nancy, but no words beyond hellos were exchanged. It is not known whether the incoming and outgoing Presidents said much to each other as they rode together in a limousine toward the Capitol.

Reagan had contingency plans for announcing the hostages' release at the ceremony, should word come shortly after noon. A military aide was assigned to keep Republican Senator Mark Hatfield, the chairman of the swearing-in ceremony, informed. If the news were to come during the Inaugural Address, Hatfield was to slip Reagan a note. Hatfield had another contingency plan: if the weather had been bad, he would have moved the ceremony into the Rotunda. In 1841 William Henry Harrison, 68, spoke for 1 3/4 hours in a cold rain on his Inaugural Day. He contracted pneumonia and died a month later.

Hatfield's plans were not needed. Reagan brought California with him. The balmy 56DEG weather made it one of the warmest Inauguration Days in U.S. history. The Joint Congressional Committee on the Inauguration had broken with tradition, choosing the Capitol's ornate West Front, with its sweeping vista of the Mall and the monuments beyond, looking symbolically west across America. A dispute over whether the building should be expanded westward has prevented repair of structural problems there. Vast drapes of red-and-white bunting were installed to hide the beams that prop up the fac,ade.

Reagan's audience, estimated at 150,000, stretched far down Capitol Hill, past the brooding statue of Ulysses S. Grant, past the edge of the great Reflecting Pool. Directly in front of the podium was a huge tiered platform for the instruments of Reagan's true audience: millions of television viewers. As the Marine Corps Band played stirring renditions of Yankee Doodle and The Battle Hymn of the Republic, official guests in solemn procession arrived to take their positions. The Senate strode in with Leader Howard Baker in front, carrying his omnipresent 35-mm camera. Then came Vice President-elect Bush, President Carter, Vice President Mondale and the Justices of the Supreme Court. Finally, to the strains of the U.S. Army's Herald Trumpets playing Jubilant, Reagan arrived on the podium at 11:39 a.m.

Repeating after Chief Justice Warren Burger, Reagan, at 11:57 a.m., took the oath of office in clear and measured tones. As the 21-gun howitzer salute began that followed the oath taking, Private Citizen Jimmy Carter stepped forward and shook the new President's hand.

Reagan's speech was a simple, clear, 19-min. 53-sec. repetition of much of his campaign rhetoric. He thanked President Carter for a smooth transition, outlined the severe economic problems facing the nation, pledged to begin immediately the task of righting the economy, and claimed that government had long been the cause rather than the solution of problems. He concluded with a vintage Reagan evocation of the basic strengths of America and the heroism of its people.

He had written nearly all of the speech himself, based on notes and research supplied by various aides. Reagan was so intent on maintaining secrecy about the contents of the speech that he insisted on keeping the file cards on which the speech had been typed with him at all times. Staffers were concerned he would forget the cards at Blair House, where they had been stashed in a drawer, but he remembered to bring them with him.

It was not the kind of virtuoso performance Reagan had demonstrated his mastery of in the campaign: it was low-keyed, somber in places, and direct, as he called "for an era of national renewal," while warning that many of the problems besetting the nation, especially inflation, would not yield to quick solutions.

The speech's virtue was its simplicity and the palpable sincerity of its author, his belief in America and its possibilities. "We are too great a nation to limit ourselves to small dreams," he said. "We are not, as some would have us believe, doomed to an inevitable decline." Effectively, he cited the simple patriotism of Private Martin Treptow, an obscure World War I hero (see box) to illustrate his conviction that every American can lend a hand and make a difference.

To one line, which denounced discrimination, he added a reference to "bigotry," explaining to his speech assistant that "there's been such an increase in anti-Semitism around the world," which should be denounced also. He promised that the burdens of righting the economy would be shared equally by all, and said that he would not ignore the needs of the nation's poor and disadvantaged: "How can we love our country, and not love our countrymen? And loving them, reach out a hand when they fall, heal them when they're sick, and provide opportunity to make them self-sufficient so they will be equal in fact and not just in theory?" Reagan did not attempt to reconcile his attack on government, which is the main agent in society for aiding the needy, with his concern for the poor. He gave no fresh ideas, nor did he indicate any imaginative approaches for resolving the problems of the economy without placing a greater burden, at least in the short run, on those who depend on government for their subsistence.

Immediately after the speech, Jimmy Carter, avoiding reporters, went to the gray limousine without a Presidential Seal that was to take him to Andrews Air Force Base for the trip back to Georgia. On the way, with Mondale by his side, Carter heard by phone of the hostages' departure from Tehran. He and Mondale looked at each other--and cried.

At the Air Force base, where Carter received a 21-gun salute, his eyes brimmed with tears again. "My heart is filled with the realization of what it means to be free and be a citizen of the greatest, strongest, most decent nation on earth," the former President told the crowd.

Amy, too, was weeping at the runway, upset at leaving her friends, six of whom had come to see her off. Carter embraced her, stroked her hair, and finally stood on the steps to make an announcement: "Come on everybody. This is a time to be happy. Get on board." The six children scampered up the stairs and flew off to Plains. They returned with the plane that night.

A cold, persistent rain was falling in Plains when the former President and his expanded entourage finally arrived. Carter, in a raincoat, and Rosalynn, holding two red Georgia camellias, walked proudly and slowly down Main Street greeting the 3,500 friends who showed up to welcome them home. "Coming back to Georgia is a happy experience for me," he said, "and I thank God for it."

In Washington, meanwhile, as a smiling Reagan made his way inside the Capitol after the ceremony, chatting with a handful of aides and Senators and their wives, Press Secretary Brady brought him the news of the hostages' departure. Cautioned Reagan: "Wait until they have cleared Iranian airspace so we can take that last little deep breath."

As he had promised he would do often, Reagan made use of the ornate President's Room of the Senate, which had last been used for a bill-signing by Lyndon Johnson. There, beneath the frescoes of Constantino Brumidi and the busts of two slain Presidents, James Garfield and William McKinley, the new President signed an Executive Order that puts a freeze on federal hiring. Said he: "It will be the first step for controlling the growth of the Federal Government." Reagan had hoped to sign other Executive Orders immediately. A "first days" task force had worked out plans for such moves as the elimination of the Council on Wage and Price Stability. But the past few weeks had taught the Reagan team the difficulties of taking swift, decisive action. The council, for instance, cannot be disbanded until its congressional funding runs out in five months.

Reagan went from the Senate to the Capitol's resplendently renovated Statuary Hall for lunch with congressional leaders and Inaugural participants. Each table had a bouquet of California roses, freesias and anemones, with crystal ware from the House and china from the Senate. For the ladies, there were small silver-plated boxes filled with jelly beans. The elegance of the setting, however, was no match for the exquisite announcement Reagan made at the end. Said he, as Carter was flying into the Georgia rain: "With thanks to Almighty God, I have been given a tag line, the get-off line everyone wants at the end of a toast or speech. Some 30 minutes ago, the planes bearing our prisoners left Iranian airspace and now are free of Iran. We can all drink to this one."

After lunch, Reagan dropped by the office of House Speaker Tip O'Neill, who asked him to autograph some Inaugural programs. This would be the quid pro quo, O'Neill joked, for the votes that the President would soon be seeking on the Hill. Quipped Reagan as he signed: "One vote, two votes, three votes--at this rate I'm way ahead."

Then came the parade. Thousands waving American flags, and a few waving ERA-YES banners, lined the route from the Capitol to the White House to cheer the Reagans and Bushes in their sun-roofed limousines. The excitement infected the effervescent Vice President in particular; he leaped up and down waving both arms as if he were doing the butterfly stroke. Reagan expressed his joy with equal vigor when he got to the White House reviewing stand. There, he clapped to the beat of the bands, sang along with their songs, and became teary-eyed. The 8,000 or so marchers came from military units, service academies and high school bands--including the one from Reagan's home-town high school in Dixon, Ill. To the delight of the equestrian President there were plenty of horses, 26 mounted units in all. Still, from the U.S. Army's Herald Trumpets salute of Hail to the Chief io the Mormon Tabernacle Choir's rendition of The Battle Hymn of the Republic, the parade ended within 15 seconds of its scheduled one hour.

At the White House, the last load of the Carters' belongings was trucked out and the first load of the Reagans' rolled in. A number of eager Reagan aides also took up their posts. Five workers entered the Oval Office just as Dominador Julian, who has served every President since Eisenhower, was polishing the brass doorknob. They rearranged the furniture as Reagan had specified, moving the sofas into a conversation area. They also took on the Cabinet Room, replacing the portraits of Jefferson and Truman with those of Eisenhower and Coolidge. As Reagan explained to his Cabinet at their first meeting the following day: "Eisenhower is up there because I beat him for $10 the first time we played golf." The Coolidge painting, he said, was a tribute to silent Cal for reducing the national debt. Nameplate medallions were screwed onto the backs of chairs in the Cabinet Room, readying them for their new occupants. An announcement was made that there would be a scheduling meeting in the Roosevelt Room. "Where is the Roosevelt Room?" someone asked. Shirley Moore, secretary to Top Aide Michael Deaver, received her first phone call. The caller wanted Hamilton Jordan. "He's not here any more," she said. The caller asked for Jack Watson then. "No, they're all gone now," she said. "We're the new folks in town, and we're in charge now."

That night came the Inaugural balls, which have been part of the Inauguration since James and Dolley Madison had one in 1809. For Reagan, there were ten balls around Washington (plus local versions in 83 cities via a closed-circuit TV hookup), the most ever, and the price of admission was $100 per person, also the most ever. The balls were generally glamorous, and most participants, at some point in the evening, had a good time. But many of the affairs were disorganized, and all were jampacked. Texas Millionaire John Bartlett, for example, was one of the unfortunates at the Sheraton-Washington Hotel, the most chaotic ball of all. He had paid $12,000 for six box seats, but when he left the main room briefly he found he could not get back in: 6,000 people were trying to get into a room that was far too small for so many. Tempers flared at many points in the evening. Said Bob Hope, surveying the scene at the Kennedy Center ball: "It looks like Macy's basement out there."

Nancy Reagan, her hair swept back into a chignon anchored by four pearl-and-diamond clasps, and wearing a stunning beaded, one-shoulder James Galanos gown, stayed at her husband's side as they visited all ten balls. At a few stops, Reagan spoke of the hostages--"prisoners of war," he purposefully called them--but generally he kept to an aw-shucks-so-glad-you're-here routine. Said he to guests at the Washington Hilton: "I've finally decided that I'm not going to wake up. It isn't a dream." The Reagans danced, at last, at their eighth stop, the party in the ornate Pension Office Building, to Moonlight Serenade, and again at the Smithsonian's American History Museum to You 'II Never Know.

The next morning Reagan started his first full working day in the White House by presiding over the swearing-in of 39 staff members. The Marine Band provided ruffles, flourishes and Hail to the Chief upon his entrance. Reagan assured those assembled: "I don't expect every morning to be greeted by the Marine Band." Echoing a promise he has made several times in recent months, he admonished his staff not to make any decisions based on politics. "I don't say that we won't seek office ever again," he said, "but the decisions will be made on what is good for the people."

A Cabinet meeting that morning included a discussion of the hostage agreement--and a Waterford-glass jar of jelly beans placed in the center of the table. In an attempt to give the impression of swift, decisive action, Reagan ordered about 1,000 top federal executives be replaced, including 15 departmental inspectors general. Spokesman Brady said Reagan wanted that group replaced by people who are "meaner than a junkyard dog in ferreting out waste, fraud and mismanagement."

As usual, Reagan was not embarrassed to show an unfamiliarity with detail, reinforcing the impression that he has delegated most of the implementation of his economic philosophy to subordinates. Asked by a reporter during a photo opportunity whether he would soon have an expected new Executive Order on cost-cutting, Reagan shrugged. David Stockman, the OMB director, started nodding vigorously and Reagan added: "I have a smiling fellow at the end of the table who tells me we do." Indeed, the President that day issued a memorandum ordering agencies to cut their travel budgets by 15%, reduce spending on outside consultants by 5%, halt procurement of new furniture, and refrain from redecorating their offices. The Reagans' own $50,000 redecoration of their living quarters, however, is going ahead as planned.

In his first foray into the press room, the new President brought along Vice President Bush, whom he asked to head a task force to reduce Government regulations. In lieu of the running start they had hoped for, the new Administration was anxious to at least set off a flurry of visible activity to show that it means business when it comes to cutting spending and getting its economic show on the road.

One roadblock the Reaganites have faced in coming out with more substantive programs is the delay in putting their top management team in place. On Friday, finally, the President was able to announce a handful of sub-Cabinet choices. Among them was William Clark, a former aide to Reagan when he was California Governor, who was persuaded to leave the state's supreme court to become Deputy Secretary of State. More important, Reagan finally completed his top-level economic team with the selection of Washington University Professor Murray Weidenbaum, an expert on regulatory costs and a foe of excessive regulation, to head the Council of Economic Advisers (see ECONOMY & BUSINESS).

On Wednesday evening Reagan called the leaders of France, West Germany, Japan, Canada, Britain and Italy to assure them he looks forward to working with them. To West German Chancellor Helmut Schmidt he extended a formal invitation for an April visit, which was promptly accepted. Schmidt, who has not got along well with Carter, said this week that Reagan has "a very clear view of global American strategy." Reagan is expected to go to Canada soon to visit Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau. He has already scheduled meetings in the near future with Spanish King Juan Carlos, British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, Korean President Chun Doo Hwan and, this week, Jamaican Prime Minister Edward Seaga.

His diplomacy also extended to the Federal Reserve Board, which sometimes acts with the independence of a foreign government when it comes to controlling the money supply, a key item on Reagan's economic agenda. He crossed the street from the White House to the Treasury Building to meet Fed Chairman Paul Volcker, a Carter appointee whose term does not expire until August 1983. Also in attendance were Treasury Secretary Donald Regan, Weidenbaum and top White House aides. Reagan mntioned that he had recently read "a prediction that the price of gold was going to nosedive." Replied Volcker: "I would love to see that. It's got to. It's been under a lot of pressure." Then they settled for a 90-minute "get acquainted meeting" and discussion of economic policy.

So Ronald Reagan's first week as President began. "I wonder if they left us anything," he said to an assortment of aides on first sitting at the great oak desk ini the Oval Office. "Well, they've left me some paper clips." Then, to no one in particular he joked: "It's been a very wonderful day. I guess now I can go back to California. Can't I?" --By Walter Isaacson.

Reported by Douglas Brew and Neil MacNeil/ Washington

With reporting by Douglas Brew, Neil MacNeil

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