Memories on an Anniversary

By Hugh Sidey

Ronald Reagan has been producer, director and star in the first act of one of the most extraordinary political dramas this nation has seen. At noon on Wednesday, Jan. 20, with no special fanfare planned, the President completes a year in office, only one-fourth of his allotted term. The impact on Reagan of this first year is subtle, hard to detect by even those close to him. He tells more jokes than he used to, perhaps as a diversion from grim dilemmas and grimmer decisions. His infrequent secret moments may have lower depths than before.

In appearance, he looks untouched by cares. His hair is still untinted, swears Barber Milton Pitts. Aides believe that a daily gymnasium routine as a substitute for ranch work has actually distributed his 183 lbs. a little better than when he relied solely on riding and chopping brush for his exercise.

Only tiny chest scars remain from his gunshot wound. The 11 Ibs. he lost while recuperating from the assassination attempt have been regained, and then some. "No Mexican lunch today," he declared with resignation recently, surveying the White House menu. "I gained five pounds over Christmas."

Reagan's most enjoyable moment last year may have been on the Fourth of July. Standing with friends on the Truman Balcony, he watched fireworks burst over the Washington Monument and Lincoln Memorial. "He was ecstatic," claims one pal. Says another: "He is a ceremony freak."

The back lawn of the White House blossoming in spring could be his favorite White House view. The Red Room surely is his (and Nancy's) special one among the public chambers. She may have had the best time on her own at the royal wedding in London. She went a little batty over the Queen Mother; a portrait of the lovable old lady is in Nancy's office.

If pressed to vote for their favorite films, the first couple would probably bring up the British production Chariots of Fire and the Australian movie Breaker Morant before any of the Hollywood flicks they were able to see in private screenings at the White House and Camp David.

The Reagans were hit with hurricane force by the shootings of Pope John Paul II and Egypt's President Anwar Sadat, something beyond their imaginations even after Ronald Reagan himself was wounded. They were lofted to heights of delight by Ella Fitzgerald and Lionel Hampton, two entertainers at the White House who took them way back when.

Reagan is fascinated with twelve tiny bronze saddles, lent to him by Walter Annenberg, that are now ensconced in the Oval Office. Both he and Nancy had their most pleasurable art experience when they first saw Jamie Wyeth's moody whiter painting of the White House done for their Christmas card.

When offered a pet for the White House, Nancy demurred. "It is wrong for me to have a dog in the White House," she said. "I want my dogs to be able to run." She doted on the novel Spring Moon, Bette Lord's story of a Chinese family through several generations, and she read deeply in White House lore. She declares that she has not yet heard a strange sound or witnessed an odd event she could claim was ghostly.

Now that he has presidential reference points, the President talks less of his experiences as Governor of California. His interest in foreign policy has expanded, his respect for Secretary of State Alexander Haig deepened, his liking for Secretary of the Treasury Donald Regan grown. He has developed, too, more sympathy for--of all people--Jimmy Carter.

Reagan is less critical of the United Nations and the Third World than he once was. He has concluded that he cannot revive the economy, improve defense and influence the world quite as easily and quickly as he thought. He has sampled loneliness and found a certain camaraderie with leaders of other nations that he had not expected.

Ronald Reagan still reads the comic strips and he still eats jelly beans, scooping a dozen into the palm of his left hand, popping them one by one into his mouth with his right hand. Most decisions during his first twelve months involved one-scoop problems. Ready or not, 1982 may be a two-scoop year.

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