By B. John Zavrel
New York (mea) With the deathof Ronald Reagan, a remarkable homage will be in our mind: thegood-bye of Ronald Reagan Jr. to his father at thegrave.
The ceremony, which took placeon June 11, 2004 in a small circle of family and friends at theRonald Reagan Presidential Library at Simi Valley in California, wasa moving events which was watched on television by millions ofAmricans. A noble good-bye to a noble man, who was loved and admiredby many people around the world.
This is the text of the speechby his son Ronald Reagan Jr.:
"He is home now. He is free. In his final letterto the American people, Dad wrote, "I now begin the journey that willlead me into the sunset of my life." This evening, he has arrived.
History will record his worth as a leader. We herehave long since measured his worth as a man. Honest, compassionate,graceful, brave. He was the most plainly decent man you could everhope to meet.
He used to say, "A gentleman always does the kindthing." And he was a gentleman in the truest sense of the word. Agentle man.
Big as he was, he never tried to make anyone feelsmall. Powerful as he became, he never took advantage of those whowere weaker. Strength, he believed, was never more admirable thanwhen it was applied with restraint. Shopkeeper, doorman, king orqueen, it made no difference, Dad treated everyone with the sameunfailing courtesy. Acknowledging the innate dignity in us all.
The idea that all people are created equal wasmore than mere words on a page, it was how he lived his life. And helived a good, long life. The kind of life good men lead. But I guessI'm just telling you things you already know.
Here's something you may not know, a little RonaldReagan trivia for you, his entire life, Dad had an inordinatefondness for earlobes. Even as a boy, back in Dixon, Ill., hangingout on a street corner with his friends, they knew that if they werestanding next to Dutch, sooner or later, he was going to reach overand grab hold of their lobe, give it a workout there. Sitting on hislap watching TV as a kid, same story. He would have hold of my earlobe. I'm surprised I have any lobes left after all of that.
And you didn't have to be a kid to enjoy that sortof treatment. Serving in the Screen Actors Guild with his greatfriend William Holden, the actor, best man at his wedding, Bill gotused to it. They would be there at the meetings, and Dad would havehold of his earlobe. There they'd be, some tense labor negotiation,two big Hollywood movie stars, hand in earlobe.
He was, as you know, a famously optimistic man.Sometimes such optimism leads you to see the world as you wish itwere as opposed to how it really is. At a certain point in hispresidency, Dad decided he was going to revive the thumbs-up gesture.So he went all over the country, of course, giving everybody thethumbs up.
... and I found ourselves in the presidentiallimousine one day returning from some big event. My mother was thereand Dad was, of course, thumbs-upping the crowd along the way, andsuddenly, looming in the window on his side of the car, was thissnarling face. This fellow was reviving an entirely different handgesture. And hoisted an entirely different digit in our direction.Dad saw this and without missing a beat turned to us and said, "Yousee? I think it's catching on."
Dad was also a deeply, unabashedly religious man.But he never made the fatal mistake of so many politicians wearinghis faith on his sleeve to gain political advantage. True, after hewas shot and nearly killed early in his presidency, he came tobelieve that God had spared him in order that he might do good. Buthe accepted that as a responsibility, not a mandate. And there is aprofound difference.
Humble as he was, he never would have assumed afree pass to heaven. But in his heart of hearts, I suspect he felt hewould be welcome there. And so he is home. He is free.
Those of us who knew him well will have no troubleimagining his paradise. Golden fields will spread beneath a blue domeof a western sky. Live oaks will shadow the rolling hillsides. Andsomeplace, flowing from years long past, a river will wind toward thesea. Across those fields, he will ride a gray mare he calls Nancy D.They will sail over jumps he has built with his own hands. He will,at the river, carry him over the shining stones. He will rest in theshade of the trees.
Our cares are no longer his. We meet him now onlyin memory. But we will join him soon enough. All of us. When we arehome. When we are free."
Copyright 2004 West-Art, Prometheus 92/2004