"This Is the Vice President's Night"

By Hugh Sidey

The White House photographers watched Ronald Reagan through their long lenses in the final campaign hours as he sat on the stage in Long Beach, Calif., tiny American flag clutched in his hand. His 77 years and his flight west had wearied him. He had a wistful look, the collected melancholia of his political ending suddenly gripping him. Then came his turn on the podium.

He unlimbered, headed for the microphone and became transformed as he began to talk. The huge crowd fell silent. The photographers thought that they saw more color come into the President's cheeks, the wrinkles smooth out, the years fall away. Once again, Ronald Reagan was playing Hollywood's velvety- voiced crooner, delivering his favorite political tune.

He had come home. The true believers there, and later that day in San Diego, wept and shouted and chanted, "We love you!" White House chief of staff Ken Duberstein, a veteran of years of campaign hoopla, was stunned as the sound filled the hall. "I've never heard anything like it," remembered Duberstein. And then Reagan invoked the memories of his dead parents: "And I just hope that Nelle and Jack are looking down on us right now and nodding their heads and saying their kid did them proud."

Only Ronald Reagan among today's political powers could be so corny and survive, and be honored for the bathos. He is the architect of this age, not only of the bands and the movie blarney and the netted balloons that cascade over the gap-jawed audiences, but also of low inflation and entrepreneurship and peace and the biblical family virtues. What a performer.

Hurrying back to Washington, he shared dinner with his staff on Air Force One, still glowing from the grandest tributes he had ever received. Someplace over the Rockies he reflected on the reason for his full-spirited participation in this battle, traveling 25,000 miles, speaking at 30 rallies in 16 states and raising $10 million for the party. "You always think in this business that your policies will last," Reagan said. "About then, I remember my successor as California Governor, Jerry Brown. He went in and changed everything that I had ever done."

There was even then the unshakable feeling that Reagan had accomplished what no other President since Andrew Jackson had done: inspire enough affection for himself, and respect for his policies and presence, to anoint his successor. Jackson did it for Martin Van Buren, Reagan for George Bush.

REAGAN FOR RUSHMORE, read one of the last signs held up by the adoring crowds. "Did you see it?" asked his spokesman Marlin Fitzwater. Reagan ducked his head, smiled somewhat sheepishly. "I'm not ready for that."

On Election Day he never went to the Oval Office, a rare departure from his schedule. He stayed in the White House's private quarters, padding around some of the time in a jogging outfit, phoning old friends and sampling the early television bulletins. His pollster Richard Wirthlin came around, and the two men looked at the figures. A sudden drop in Bush support in some spots had caused overnight concern, but then the tracking data through the day showed a solid Bush lead. He cut the photo opportunities down to a lone picture of Nancy and him watching the early reports. "This is the Vice President's night," he said. "I don't want to intrude in any way."

Reagan took a little time to talk to his biographer Edmund Morris. It was one of those rare moments between the past and the future. The proceedings were declared secret, to show up in Morris' book a couple of years or so from now. Late in the afternoon Reagan got a call from George Bush. He took it in private, knowing it could be an awkward moment to share with the public. Bush said thank you for the victory to come, the victory that both could feel as the evening rushed in on them.

Reagan's election night was festive, Nancy in a long black skirt, some 30 guests from the staff, Cabinet and family. Almost before the group could make respectable headway through the buffet supper, Bush was declared a winner. The White House cranked out the canned victory statement. Reagan made the ritual calls to George Bush and Dan Quayle. His guests drifted into the night and toward the victory celebration in the White House West Wing and delirious parties up and down the capital's broad avenues. Ronald and Nancy Reagan stayed among the White House ghosts and their memories, the Reagan legacy now given a new lease on life.

Outside in the cool November night, the golden leaves of the maples and oaks drifting down, the sidewalk along Pennsylvania Avenue was nearly deserted, a few late workers hurrying for buses, cops loitering. Once again the world's greatest power had changed the guard with hardly a ripple.