Reagan: The Ayes Have It

When did I first hear “the President”? I didn’t notice, so I have forgotten. Nowadays I can’t avoid it. “The President,” for your information, is the man who was known, until January 1981, as Ronald Reagan, and who will in all likelihood be known by that name again in January 1989. But for the duration he is, to all those who work for him—from the White House basement to the farthest reaches of commissions and semiprivate corporations—“the President.” Not “President Reagan,” not “Mr. Reagan,” not “Reagan,” not “Ron.” They say it, not just on the job, which might be understandable, but among themselves; to ink-stained wretches like me. Ronald Reagan has become like YHWH, possessor of an Unnamable Name.

This ubiquitous locution, symbol of all that is stupid and stupefying about Washington, marks one sort of limit on the Reagan Administration’s record. “Power does not corrupt,” a tough young conservative told me. “First it deranges, then it corrupts.” Yes, deranges even us. The best crumble only at the edges (even my informant says, after hours and over drinks, “the President”). The worst scheme, backbite, seduce secretaries, promote secretaries, go to the right parties, seek the right parties, enjoy the right parties, leak to the press, appear in the “Style” section, grow in office. Isn’t this the behavior of every large organization, more or less? Yes, but in Washington, unlike Los Angeles, or Houston, or New York, or other places, there is only one, vast umbrella organization. Washington is our last and largest company town, except that instead of sweated Slovak miners, it is filled with junior and senior executives. All we like sheep have gone astray.

About the Author

Richard Brookhiser

Historian Richard Brookhiser is a senior editor of National Review and a senior fellow at the National Review Institute.

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When did I first hear “the President”? I didn’t notice, so I have forgotten. Nowadays I can’t avoid it. “The President,” for your information, is the man who was known, until January 1981, as Ronald Reagan, and who will in all likelihood be known by that name again in January 1989. But for the duration he is, to all those who work for him—from the White House basement to the farthest reaches of commissions and semiprivate corporations—“the President.” Not “President Reagan,” not “Mr. Reagan,” not “Reagan,” not “Ron.” They say it, not just on the job, which might be understandable, but among themselves; to ink-stained wretches like me. Ronald Reagan has become like YHWH, possessor of an Unnamable Name.

This ubiquitous locution, symbol of all that is stupid and stupefying about Washington, marks one sort of limit on the Reagan Administration’s record. “Power does not corrupt,” a tough young conservative told me. “First it deranges, then it corrupts.” Yes, deranges even us. The best crumble only at the edges (even my informant says, after hours and over drinks, “the President”). The worst scheme, backbite, seduce secretaries, promote secretaries, go to the right parties, seek the right parties, enjoy the right parties, leak to the press, appear in the “Style” section, grow in office. Isn’t this the behavior of every large organization, more or less? Yes, but in Washington, unlike Los Angeles, or Houston, or New York, or other places, there is only one, vast umbrella organization. Washington is our last and largest company town, except that instead of sweated Slovak miners, it is filled with junior and senior executives. All we like sheep have gone astray.