Killing Reagan (24 page)

*   *   *

Agent McCarthy, the recipient of John Hinckley's fourth bullet, checked out of George Washington University Hospital on April 7. He will spend the rest of his life joking that the Devastator round ruined his new woolen suit. More important, the Secret Service will soon begin showing new agents videotape of the Reagan assassination attempt, pointing to the way McCarthy shifted his body into a linebacker crouch, with arms up and legs slightly wider than shoulder width, to protect the president. In doing so, Tim McCarthy exposed himself to the bullet. The round spun McCarthy as it entered the right side of his abdomen, knocking him to the ground. In a split second, the .22-caliber slug hit a rib, punctured a lung, passed through his diaphragm, and came to rest in his liver. The surgery at George Washington to remove the bullet lasted a little more than an hour.

As Ronald Reagan speaks to Congress, Tim McCarthy has no regrets about what transpired. The devout Catholic father of two young children is a product of his rigorous training and is already making plans to get back on the job.

In this way, McCarthy and Ronald Reagan are two very similar Irishmen.

*   *   *

Ronald Reagan continues his speech: “Sick societies don't produce dedicated police officers like Tom Delahanty.”

*   *   *

Officer Delahanty is also of Irish descent. He is considered an “exemplary officer” by his superiors, having received more than thirty commendations during his seventeen years on the force. But the Washington Metropolitan cop earned instant retirement when John Hinckley's second bullet struck him in the neck. His injuries make it impossible for him to stay on the job.

Delahanty wasn't supposed to be at the Hilton on March 30. When the forty-five-year-old Pittsburgh native reported for work that fateful morning, he assumed that he would be doing his usual job with a canine division in Washington's Third District.

But Delahanty's dog was suffering from heartworms. Kirk, as the mixed-breed canine is known, lives with Delahanty and his wife, Jane, in suburban Maryland. Delahanty chose to leave him home for the day and then accepted an assignment from the department's Special Services Division specifically to work the Hilton detail.

Secret Service protocol stipulates that an agent never turn his back on a crowd when a president is present. But Tom Delahanty and the other Metro police working the Hilton never received that training. This may have saved his life. The bullet that went into his neck as he turned to gawk at President Reagan would have hit him in the throat had he been facing the shooter.

That is small solace for Delahanty. The bullet lodged in the lower left neck, dangerously close to his spinal column. Doctors at Washington Hospital Center initially decided against removing it, and only upon learning that the unexploded Devastator might detonate at any minute did the surgeons reverse that decision. As a safety precaution, they performed the operation wearing bulletproof vests.

However, by the time Delahanty was released from the hospital on April 10, the Devastator had left its mark. Irreversible nerve damage to his left arm means he must retire from the force. The department is also retiring Kirk, who will live out his days with Tom and Jean Delahanty.

Even in retirement, though, the incident haunts Officer Delahanty. He clearly proved himself to be far better in the protection of President Reagan than John F. Parker, the Washington Metro policeman who went drinking before President Abraham Lincoln was shot in Ford's Theater in 1865. Yet the Secret Service is now saying that Hinckley could have been stopped. All it would have taken was for Delahanty and the other Metro Police officers on the rope line to continue facing the crowd as Ronald Reagan departed the Hilton.

It is a question that will dog Thomas Delahanty the rest of his life.

*   *   *

Ronald Reagan pauses for emphasis. His eye contact with Congress is intense. He is firmly in control of the speech. “Sick societies don't produce … able and devoted public servants like Jim Brady.”

*   *   *

As Ronald Reagan speaks his name, Press Secretary James Brady lies in a bed at George Washington University Hospital, his head resting at a twenty-degree angle to ease the pressure on his damaged brain.

Brady was pronounced dead by the media after John Hinckley shot him in the left side of the forehead. But those early reports were erroneous. Even as President Reagan speaks, Jim Brady is beginning a recovery process that will last a lifetime. The bullet that struck him was the only Devastator to explode on impact, sending shards of metal into his brain.

“The bear,” as Brady calls himself, was comatose when the Secret Service brought him into George Washington University Hospital. Parts of his skull were missing, and his brain was visible. His eyes were swollen shut, and his breathing was rapid and shallow. Nerves were severed by the passage of the bullet, and a blood clot was forming on his brain.

The trauma team cut off Brady's blue business suit and stashed it in a plastic bag beneath the gurney. A catheter was installed, as were intravenous lines to replenish fluid and blood. But it appeared to be all for naught. James Brady's brain was swelling dramatically, squeezing the brain stem out through the bottom of the skull.

But Brady was in luck. He is right-handed, and while the bullet destroyed those portions of the brain that govern left-handed function, it spared those areas specific to right-handed behavior. He was also shot at a time of day when the hospital was at full staff, including a brain surgeon, allowing him to receive immediate assistance.

Within ten minutes, the trauma team stabilized Brady's condition.

But at 5:13 p.m., as word of Brady's grave condition leaked, Dan Rather of CBS News told America, “It is now confirmed that Jim Brady has died.”

This was news to Sarah Brady, who was sitting with a social worker outside the emergency room.

It was also news to Dr. Arthur Kobrine, who was leading the surgical team then removing pieces of Brady's skull to relieve pressure on the brain.

Remarkably, the operation was a success. And though James Brady was still suffering in the hospital, he was alive. Amazingly, he will eventually recover a great portion of his brain function.

James Brady, the fourth Irish American shot by Hinckley, is also now forcibly retired. For the rest of the Reagan administration, the person taking his place will always be known as “acting” press secretary, out of respect for Brady.

*   *   *

Ronald Reagan is almost finished. “Sick societies don't make people like us so proud to be Americans and so very proud of our fellow citizens.”

With those words, Reagan publicly puts the assassination behind him.

“Now, let's talk about getting spending and inflation under control and cutting your tax rates.”

*   *   *

Three months later, standing in the Rose Garden at 10:55 on a sultry Washington summer morning, Ronald Reagan shows that he has rebounded from the shooting—and is not a man to be taken lightly.

“This morning at 7 a.m.,” the president tells reporters, “the union representing those who man America's air traffic control facilities called a strike. This was the culmination of seven months of negotiations between the Federal Aviation Administration and the union. At one point in these negotiations agreement was reached and signed by both sides, granting a $40 million increase in salaries and benefits. This is twice what other government employees can expect. It was granted in recognition of the difficulties inherent in the work these people perform. Now, however, the union demands are 17 times what had been agreed to—$681 million. This would impose a tax burden on their fellow citizens which is unacceptable.”

In Moscow, the Soviet leadership is watching this speech very carefully, even though it is a domestic matter. They are still unconvinced of Ronald Reagan's toughness. They do not know what sort of man he truly is. He may have survived an assassination attempt, but until now his leadership has not been tested by political crisis.

Shortly after Reagan won the election, the leadership of the Professional Air Traffic Controllers Organization demanded a 100 percent pay increase. These federal employees are not just responsible for the safety of America's skies but are also vital to national security, thanks to the military jets that rely on their guidance. PATCO was the rare union, along with the Teamsters, that supported Reagan during the election, and he sympathizes with their pay request. But it is too much. Such an enormous raise at a time when he is committed to cutting taxes is impossible.

So Reagan delivers an ultimatum: “If they do not report for work within 48 hours, they have forfeited their jobs and will be terminated.”

A total of thirteen thousand air traffic controllers are now on strike. Their goal is to bring America to its knees, forcing Reagan to surrender. The threat of a major air disaster looms, an event that could destroy public faith in the president.

This is what the Soviets are watching so closely. If Reagan backs down, they will know how to negotiate with him in the future.

Understanding he is being personally challenged, Reagan is furious at the union. It has crossed the line. He may appear affable and easygoing, but he has a long history of holding tight to his convictions. In his mind, there can be no backing down. As he tells Secretary of Transportation Drew Lewis, quoting the words of his presidential idol, Calvin Coolidge, “There is no right to strike against the public safety, by anybody, anywhere, at any time.”

In defiance of Reagan, more than eleven thousand air traffic controllers ignore his warning and continue to walk the picket lines. Forty-four hours later, Reagan makes good on his promise.

They are fired.

All of them.

“I'm sorry,” Reagan tells the press. “I'm sorry for them. I certainly take no joy out of this.”

Later, Reagan will reflect on this day with a sense of justification: “I think it convinced people who thought otherwise that I meant what I said.”

Especially the Soviets.

George Shultz, who will one day serve as Reagan's secretary of state, will call this “the most important foreign policy decision Reagan has ever made.”

The brutal firings send a signal worldwide: Ronald Reagan is back, and he is just getting started.

 

21

H
OUSE
OF
C
OMMONS

L
ONDON
, E
NGLAND

A
PRIL
3, 1982

11:19
A
.
M
.

Margaret Thatcher is terrified. Heart racing, but appearing calm on the outside, the British prime minister rises to speak. She is dressed immaculately, in a dark-blue suit accompanied by her trademark pearl necklace and earrings. Thatcher's reddish-brown hair, held in place by copious amounts of hair spray, rises several inches off her forehead and rings her face like a lion's mane. French president François Mitterrand likes to say that Thatcher has “the eyes of Caligula and the mouth of Marilyn Monroe,” in reference to her cunning and her offbeat look. Those traits are very much in evidence today.

Mrs. Thatcher leans forward, her weak chin and blue eyes on full display. For the first times in fifteen years, Parliament is meeting on Saturday. Both sides of the chamber are filled, the elected members sitting comfortably on benches padded in green leather. They have come to debate whether Britain will go to war. But there is another issue at stake today, one that few in this room will say out loud: Margaret Thatcher's political career could be all but over.

“We are here,” Thatcher begins, “because for the first time in many years, British sovereign territory has been invaded by a foreign power.”

And it is all her fault.

Just yesterday, the Falklands, a collection of mountainous, windswept islands in the South Atlantic that Britain has controlled for nearly 150 years, were invaded by hundreds of Argentine commandos, infantry, and armored vehicles. Margaret Thatcher knew the Argentine military government had been rattling its sabers over the Falklands to deflect the public's attention from the country's wretched economy. But she did not take the threat seriously, believing the islands insignificant and of no military value.

“I thought that they would be so absurd and ridiculous to invade the Falklands that I did not think it would happen,” she will later tell a board of inquiry, adding that when she realized the invasion was imminent, “it was the worst, I think, moment of my life.”
1

Eight thousand miles away from London, the British Union Jack no longer snaps in the South Atlantic wind. It has now been replaced by the blue-and-white Argentine triband. In response, patriotic outrage seethes on the streets of Britain, almost all of it directed at Thatcher. In desperation, the Iron Lady has reached out to Ronald Reagan, asking the United States to help Britain retake the Falklands. But her fellow world leader and ideological soul mate is refusing. In fact, Reagan even suggests that Great Britain relinquish its claims to the Falklands, seeing the islands as a vestige of Britain's colonial past.

But Reagan is being shortsighted. This is about more than the Falkland Islands. This is about salvaging national pride at a time when Britain's global status is sinking and when its “special relationship” with the United States is overwhelmingly lopsided in America's favor. To allow a nation such as Argentina, and its arrogant military ruler, General Leopoldo Galtieri, to dictate terms is unthinkable to the British population.

No, this is a time for war, even if Margaret Thatcher and Great Britain must go it alone.

Thatcher has been prime minister for almost three years, and her conservative policies are fast losing popularity. The daughter of a grocer seems to have forgotten her humble beginnings.
2
Her greatest success has been in cutting taxes for the rich while trimming services for the poor. Up until now she has shown little interest in foreign affairs and has been a lackluster leader on both the domestic and international stages. Her nation's mood matches her dour performance. With unemployment hovering in double digits, the people of Britain are defeatist and cynical, a far cry from the plucky can-do spirit that buoyed Great Britain in World War II. Opinion polls show that if an election were held today, Margaret Thatcher would lose to her liberal opponents in a rout.