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TIME: Almanac 1990s
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<text id=89TT0323>
<title>
Jan. 30, 1989: The Gipper Says Goodbye
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1989
Profiles
Jan. 30, 1989 The Bush Era Begins
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
NATION, Page 24
The Gipper Says Goodbye
</hdr>
<body>
<p>As a new cast moves onstage, the Reagans leave to a standing
ovation
</p>
<p>By Hugh Sidey
</p>
<p> Ronald Reagan hesitated for a moment in the cool luminance
of the Oval Office, his last minutes as President ticking by.
Tears welled in the eyes of the few aides who surrounded him,
but Reagan was busy reaching into his coat pocket as he fished
out a white laminated card.
</p>
<p> The President looked up, some of that gentle mirth tugging
at his mouth even in this melancholy pause on his way out of
power. "Who do I give this to?" he asked quietly. He held up his
authentication card for the launching of nuclear missiles, the
card that must be inserted into the "football" toted with tender
care by an ever present military assistant to certify the
command to strike at an enemy. Reagan had dutifully carried the
card for eight years. Its unimportance at his parting was
perhaps the most powerful statement of this singular leader's
legacy. The world moves toward peace, and the paraphernalia of
nuclear command, which once held the world in its thrall, is
almost an afterthought.
</p>
<p> "You can't get rid of it yet," answered his national
security assistant, Lieut. General Colin Powell. "After the
swearing-in of President Bush, a military aide will take it
from you." Almost reluctantly, Reagan tucked the card back in
his pocket. He took one more sweeping look around the room where
he had exercised the globe's greatest power so long and so
exuberantly, slowly squared his shoulders and walked out to the
sun-streaked colonnade that links the office with the mansion.
White House staff members crowded against the glass doors and
windows, some of them openly weeping.
</p>
<p> As he had done hundreds of times before, Reagan walked along
the Rose Garden, savoring the crisp morning air and glancing at
gardener Irvin Williams' meticulous winter designs. But this
time Reagan slowed, turned right and left to wave one more time.
Halfway down the colonnade, he suddenly faced away, picked up
his gait and, never looking back, went to meet the Bushes and
take them to the Capitol to yield the presidency to his
personally chosen successor.
</p>
<p> Rarely if ever in 200 years has there been such an
affectionate farewell from the nation and from the White House
staff, such a graceful and rancorless transfer of authority and
such pageantry unmarred by national turmoil or brutal winter
weather. It was a class act from the President and his lady, in
its own way one of the hardest things the two old troupers ever
had to do.
</p>
<p> The last hours of the Reagans were crammed with thunderous
tributes and then dozens of tiny, human gestures of thanks. The
Notre Dame football team, voted the national champion, came by
and left Reagan the blue-and-gold letter sweater of George Gipp.
Suddenly make-believe was real; the latter-day Gipper finally
had the authentic article, and he clung to it reverently as the
team departed. The apt gift touched him almost as much as
anything that happened in the parting.
</p>
<p> Time and time again, Reagan edged over to the White House
windows to look down the South Lawn, over the fountains and past
the Washington Monument, on to the Jefferson Memorial, where the
bronze figure of the great Virginian stands resolutely. Often
when Reagan came to work he would offer his assessment of the
weather, determined by how clearly he could see Jefferson in the
Potomac River Valley. In the finale, Reagan loitered more than
ever in his private study next to the Truman Balcony, often with
Nancy beside him and a fire burning in the fireplace. Once, when
an aide found him in reverie at the study's window, he asked the
President, "What are you thinking about?" Reagan turned around,
smiled and replied, "Everything."
</p>
<p> On several mornings before he left, Reagan brought his
friendly squirrels a double ration of acorns. He spread them
out on the veranda beyond his window and watched the scramble.
His staff found a squirrel-size sign that read BEWARE OF DOGS
and placed it along the squirrel path. When President-elect
Bush came around for his final minutes with his old mentor and
boss, Reagan pointed out the sign, mindful that the Bushes will
move in with a pregnant English springer spaniel named Millie
and before long the grounds will swarm with puppies. "I'll keep
the sign right there," promised Bush.
</p>
<p> In all Reagan's long life, humor has never deserted him. And
it did not in his last act. At one of the farewells, his staff
gave him a bridle, leather gloves and other equipment for his
passion of horseback riding. Reagan quipped that when he reached
his ranch, he would get the horse. Not to be outdone, two Reagan
aides the next morning burst into the Oval Office dressed in a
horse costume, the new gear in place. Reagan took one look,
laughed heartily and, without missing a beat, turned to his
mischievous chief of staff, Kenneth Duberstein, and hauled out
the quintessential Reagan chestnut one more marvelous time.
</p>
<p> "Ken," he said, "I always told you there was a pony in there
someplace."
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>