The Gipper's Final Flight

By Hugh Sidey

The sinking California sun turned soft red and a breeze ruffled the hillside when Ronald Reagan was laid to rest on the magnificent stage created for his last bow. As the final taps floated out over the shimmering Pacific Ocean, Nancy Reagan held the flag from his casket close to her. She was worn but still resolute from the long week of farewell.

His body had ridden the dark caisson up to the U.S. Capitol Rotunda in Washington, and the riderless horse, with Reagan's boots turned backward in the stirrups, had walked behind it. Tens of thousands of people queued up there to give their salutes and mumbled little tributes to this man they thought of as a neighbor. The Washington National Cathedral was filled with the world's power fraternity, including President George W. Bush and all the living former Presidents--Bill Clinton, George H.W. Bush, Jimmy Carter, Jerry Ford--and some who had tried but failed--Al Gore, Bob Dole, Walter Mondale. After the service, Reagan's casket was clamped to the floor in the back of a plane that is used as Air Force One, and he began his journey home with family, old friends and staff.

The travelers came back to the casket alone or in clusters to stand for a moment beside the man they had followed and worshipped. They reached out to touch the flag, and they wept, but they were not broken people. More often than not they whispered their undimmed gratitude. "Thank God I knew him. He changed my life."

Merv Griffin, one of the honorary pallbearers, beamed his persistent humor at former Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, telling how he had gone to London's Berkeley Square in search of the nightingales made famous in a song, A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square. "But I only found pigeons," he said, chuckling. The very game Thatcher had arrived on board with the formidable hat she wore in Washington stowed in a sturdy box where it would remain for the rest of this journey of tribute, which she insisted on making despite a series of small strokes that had restricted her public life. An examination of the guest book from Blair House, where Nancy stayed last week, showed that Thatcher's touch for brevity and devotion was still intact, though she did not have the strength to talk in the cathedral and had them play her recorded speech. "To Ronnie," she wrote. "Well done, thou good and faithful servant."

Nancy spent some of her time watching a replay of the cathedral service on a giant TV screen and reading letters of condolence from famous friends like Billy Graham and Queen Elizabeth. At one point Nancy and the children, filled with their sense of loss but not muted by it, gathered around the casket and seemed to reflect Reagan's own advice to look to the future. They talked of son Ron's television career and Patti's writing.

The streaking 747 was so far ahead of schedule that a swing over Tampico, Ill., Reagan's birthplace, was wedged into the flight plan. The pilot dipped the plane's wings, and Nancy called out, "Quick, get Ron and Patti to take a look." They gazed silently out the windows. The tiny cluster of buildings on a land-sea of vivid green summer corn quickly slid beyond view. "A lot of corn," said Nancy. Mike Deaver, who had served Reagan so loyally, wore the cuff links that he had given Reagan on his 75th birthday. Nancy had recently returned them. Deaver wore them for the first time on this flight. "I don't think I will wear them again," he said quietly.

The riding boots used in the procession were being taken back home. The travelers reverently hefted them, explored the soles. The boots were made by the Dehner Co., of Omaha, and their style was explained by young Ron. "These are English riding boots. Dad also used an English saddle, which pushed him forward, and he clamped the horse between his legs." The boots had been washed but expressly not polished for their journey through Washington streets. Spots of wear showed on the leather, which was buckled around the rider's legs.

So many old Reagan stories were told, so many laughs remembered, that the flight seemed far too short. The plane eased down into Simi Valley in a salute to the thousands waiting beside the highways to see Reagan come home. Flashes from the cameras of the people clustered below could be seen from the plane, a ritual of reaching out to one of their own who had climbed to the world stage and become a great star beyond the imaginations of even these California dreamers.