“I don’t know anything about public relations,” Mike said. “What
do you think you’ve been doing for the last seven years?” I
replied. It was 1974, the last of Ronald Reagan’s eight years as
Governor of California. We were both Assistants to the Governor,
Mike as Director of Administration (scheduling, advance, security,
political liaison); I was the new Director of Public Affairs (the
various communications functions). For years, Mike had kept a sharp
eye out for the settings in which Reagan would be appearing to make
sure they were as effective as possible.
We had been talking about the need for an office and management
plan for the soon-to-be Citizen Reagan. Mike said many
post-gubernatorial speaking invitations had been coming in. A radio
producer, Harry O’Connor, had proposed a program of daily
conservative commentary; a newspaper syndicate wanted a column from
Reagan. We began to develop a plan, with a pro forma budget and
staffing. We presented it to the Reagans at their home one weekend
that fall. They liked it. From that was born Deaver &
Hannaford, Inc. which opened for business in Los Angeles shortly
after Reagan left office in early January 1975. We managed his
public program from then until his successful 1980 campaign for the
presidency. Both of us had senior positions in the 1976 and 1980
campaigns.
It was in 1976 that Mike’s intuitive understanding of the
importance of impressions in campaigning came to the fore. It was
July in Kansas City, where Reagan was oh-so-close to winning the
nomination. Mike arranged for a specialist from New York to light
the corner of the Reagan suite where the candidate would be
interviewed by many news people. Rarely did aides to any candidate
think about lighting, flat or flattering. Mike did, and he did it
right.
After the Reagan victory, I assumed I would stay out to run the
company, but Mike wasn’t sure he wanted to go in to the new
administration. After much thought and discussion, he said one day
in late November, “I’ll go in, but only for a year.” That one year
became four-and-a-half years.
As the new president’s deputy chief of staff, Mike had as his
special province what might be called “presidential atmospherics.”
Because of his close relationship with both Reagans, he had a
well-developed sensitivity about what would work best for the new
president in his public appearances.
He understood that a public official, to be successful, had to
appeal to both the intellect and the emotions of the people he
served. He would never have called himself an “issues” man, but he
knew intuitively that sound content, presented in a setting that
made a positive impression, could succeed.
Countless examples of Mike’s talent for “impressionism”
presented themselves during his White House years. Examples:
Reagan’s signing of his historic tax bill on the patio in front of
his ranch house on a foggy morning in August 1981; the many
Morning-in-America settings in 1984, especially the president’s
deeply emotional tribute to “the boys of Pointe du Hoc” on the
cliffs of Normandy at the occasion of the 40th anniversary of
D-Day.
Not everything Mike planned went as intended. He was in charge
of advancing the Reagan visit to a cemetery — Bitburg — in
Germany in 1985. A combination of too much snow and too little time
caused him and his team to fail to see that a number of Nazi S.S.
troops were buried there. All hell broke loose. Mike took
responsibility without flinching.
Nevertheless, when he left office early that summer his world
looked very good. He opened his own company and began to pull in
clients. Alas, he caught the Washington hubris virus. He was
neither the first nor the last to do so. His normal caution left
him temporarily as he talked openly of his success and ability to
help clients get things done. He allowed himself to be photographed
for the cover of Time. The long knives came out in the
Democratically-controlled Congress. He was called before a
Congressional committee, then a grand jury. Before long he was
indicted and convicted of perjury. This brought a large fine and a
requirement to perform 1,500 hours of community service.
Over the next twenty years he went way beyond that requirement.
During his trial he admitted that he had succumbed to alcohol. He
went to a treatment center and, after that, participated actively
in Alcoholics Anonymous. He also became chairman of a Washington
substance abuse treatment center where he counseled residents and
often served them Christmas dinner.
Going through his ordeal, Mike learned humility and more than
atoned for his mistakes. Also, his talent for the “atmospherics” of
public communication never left him and he became a senior officer
of a large public relations firm.
After he was diagnosed with cancer last fall, he sent periodic
e-mail updates to a long list of friends and acquaintances. He was
optimistic when he had reason to be, but always noted that he was
taking things one day at a time. In his last e-mail, in early July,
he talked warmly of the vacation he and his entire family were
about to take at Fallen Leaf Lake, in the mountains above Lake
Tahoe.
Last Saturday, after returning to Washington from that vacation,
he died. He will long be remembered as the man who contributed much
to a great president’s success.
