Betty Ford: First Lady Page 9

  When the Fords moved into their new house in late 1955, it was only the second home on the block, “surrounded by empty lots and mounds of red Virginia clay,” Betty recalled. It was the perfect playground for two little boys “to go out in cowboy hats and discover snakes.”

  Betty and Jerry had been trying—without success—to have another baby, but no sooner had they moved into the new house, then Betty discovered she was pregnant again.

  This time she longed for a girl. She went through her entire pregnancy imagining, and really expecting, that this next baby would be a “dear little pink-wrapped bundle,” whom she intended to name Sally Meigs Ford: Sally, in honor of her favorite neighbor back in Grand Rapids; and Meigs, to honor her stepfather, Arthur Meigs Godwin, who had just passed away the previous December. But when the little bundle arrived on May 19, 1956, it was another boy. Of course they were happy to have another healthy child, but Betty had been so certain that she was having a girl, she and Jerry hadn’t even discussed names for a boy. So, the baby remained nameless for a couple of days until Betty and Jerry finally decided to call their third son Steven Meigs Ford.

  Nineteen fifty-six was a presidential election year, and Jerry was running for his fifth term. He loved the legislative life, and in his memoir, he wrote, “My seat in the House seemed safe; every time I ran for reelection, the percentage of my winning margin was larger than in my first race.” Continually earning the respect of his peers, he was given additional responsibilities by being appointed to influential subcommittees. When he envisioned what his future held, he wrote in hindsight, “I dreamed of becoming Speaker of the House.” On the personal side, “Betty and I were as happy as we could possibly be.”

  What he didn’t recognize was that his wife wasn’t nearly as happy as he thought. While Jerry was flourishing in his career, Betty was struggling. She had what she thought she’d always wanted—a house and children, and a husband who adored her—but when a bunch of their friends went off on a trip to Hawaii, she was filled with envy. With three children under the age of six and house payments on a congressman’s salary, the Fords couldn’t afford lavish vacations. Perhaps it was postpartum depression, or something else, but Betty recalled that several months after Steve came along, she began to feel “the tiniest bit sorry for herself.”

  During the fall of 1956, Jerry spent weeks in Michigan campaigning while Betty was home with the children. A few months earlier, she learned that her stepfather had left her some money in his will, and while the prudent decision would have been to use the money to pay off the house, Betty and Jerry decided they’d splurge on a much-needed vacation once the election was over. Clara would move into the house while they were gone, and even though Steve was only six months old, she assured Betty it was no problem for her to handle all three boys.

  On November 6, 1956, the country voted overwhelmingly to give President Eisenhower another term in office—sending Adlai Stevenson to defeat a second time—and Michigan’s Fifth District kept Jerry Ford in his seat as its congressman. Shortly thereafter, Jerry and Betty set off for a three-week European vacation along with their good friends Jack and Phoebe Stiles.

  It was Betty’s first trip to Europe, and the first real vacation she and Jerry had ever taken together. They drove all over Spain, stopping in Madrid, Mallorca, and Barcelona, and then into Italy, traveling from Naples up to Venice. Betty marveled at the arts, the architecture, and the shopping—she took up collecting demitasse spoons from each locale—but everywhere they went, she had a problem with turista. At least, that’s what she thought it was. She just couldn’t stomach any of the Spanish or Italian delicacies. By the time they arrived at their final destination—Vienna, Austria—however, she had come to the conclusion that perhaps it wasn’t the food that was causing her daily nausea.

  When they got home, Betty went straight to the doctor. Sure enough: she was pregnant.

  Throughout this pregnancy, Betty didn’t dare allow herself to dream of a girl. Jerry’s mother had given birth to four boys, and that was probably her destiny as well. Like her first three children, this fourth baby was in no hurry to come into the world. It was a typically hot and humid Washington summer, and by July 6, 1957, Betty woke up “so swollen and sweaty,” she thought she could not stand it another day. “I started to cry,” she said. “I cried so hard I went into labor.”

  It was a Saturday, and, fortunately, Jerry was home, but he had promised to take Mike and Jack to a ball game. It wasn’t just any ball game. The perennial cellar-dwelling Washington Senators were playing the visiting first-place New York Yankees, starring the boys’ idol, Mickey Mantle, and the center fielder was on a streak. The night before, he’d just made his thousandth career hit.

  When Betty realized she was in labor, Jerry rushed her to the hospital, “not because the birth was so imminent,” she recalled, “but because the ball game started at one o’clock.” He had her admitted and then rushed back home to pick up the boys and take them to the game.

  The Yankees won, 10–6, and by the time Jerry returned to the hospital, Betty had delivered a healthy, blue-eyed baby girl. “She was born in the seventh-inning stretch, so we didn’t disturb anybody,” Betty quipped. They named her Susan Elizabeth Ford, and now, finally, their family was complete.

  6

  * * *

  Wife and Mother

  In Congress, Gerald R. Ford Jr. took on more and more responsibility and continued to earn the respect of his peers. He had a small staff at the office, but there were certain things that a congressman’s wife was expected to do. Whenever constituents visited the nation’s capital, they’d inevitably want to stop in and say hello to their congressman, and because Jerry represented such a small district, he’d met many of the voters over the years, and they felt like he was a friend. They’d expect Jerry to get them tickets to tour the White House—which back then he could easily do—and then Jerry would give Betty a call to ask if she’d take them around town.

  “I don’t know how many times I went to Mount Vernon,” Betty said. “After a while, I just drove the people out there and sat in the parking lot reading a book while they trudged through George Washington’s front parlor and back bedrooms.”

  Many of the wives did the same things to support their husbands in Congress, and it had become a common practice for members to add their wives and other relatives to their payroll. At one point, Betty was doing so much on his behalf that Jerry considered adding her to his paid staff. His trusted administrative assistant, John Milanowski, advised against it.

  “I know it’s legal,” John said, “and I know that other members are doing it.” But not only would it be misunderstood in his conservative district, Milanowski added, “It’s contrary to your whole philosophy of public service.” Jerry agreed, and Betty never received a nickel for the countless hours she acted as chauffeur and gracious tour guide.

  As Jerry’s prominence increased, Betty took on greater responsibilities—not because her husband requested it, but because she realized there was a choice to be made.

  “I saw that I would have to grow with Jerry or be left behind,” she said. “And I had no intention of being left behind.”

  She became the program chairman for the Congressional Club, which entailed putting on cultural programs without any budget. Her experience organizing dance recitals on a shoestring all those years ago became very useful, but Betty also learned she could raise funds by “begging and borrowing from museums and friends.”

  When she realized that the Democratic wives were more effective in raising money, Betty took it upon herself to “shake up the Republican wives.”

  “If anybody asks you to do anything,” she’d tell them, “say yes. Get off your duffs.” She coerced a lot of her Republican counterparts into modeling in fashion shows that raised money for various charities. She’d show them how to walk up and down the runway with their backs straight, one hand on a hip, and they got so they enjoyed it.

  Betty’s great sense o
f style and fashion was talked about around town, and at one point, a reporter from Ladies’ Home Journal pitched the idea for a story on the secrets of this fashionable congressman’s wife. Photos were taken of Betty and three-year-old Susan to appear in the magazine a few months later.

  Meanwhile, Americans had just elected a new president. It was a stark change, going from the seventy-year-old Dwight D. Eisenhower and his matronly wife, to John F. Kennedy and his wife, Jacqueline, who brought youth and glamour to the nation’s capital. When JFK and Jackie moved into the White House in 1961, the country was fascinated by them, and the press couldn’t get enough.

  The cover article for the April 1961 edition of Ladies’ Home Journal was “Jacqueline Kennedy: From Wedding to White House, a Look Inside Her Private Picture Albums.” The magazine printed a captivating head shot of the new first lady on the cover with a banner proclaiming: “This Is the President’s Favorite Photograph of His Wife.”

  The edition flew off the shelves. As it happened, inside was a two-page spread about the little-known wife of the representative from Michigan’s Fifth District. The headline read: “How Does She Dress So Well and Not Spend a Fortune?”

  Presented as “the busy wife of a congressman and four young children who stair-step from three and a half to eleven years old,” the article detailed Betty’s “expert wardrobe management” secrets on a budget amid an array of stunning photos that proved the point. There was Betty modeling “an irresistible pink suit” purchased for $49.95 to wear to her frequent meetings and luncheons; and another photo of her looking glamorous in a white chiffon evening dress—“just $40.00 on sale”—accessorized with matching turquoise stole and shoes. There was a full-length photo of Betty and her adorable towheaded daughter, Susan, in matching lavender dresses. Betty’s secrets included buying a few new pieces each season in classic neutrals and changing the look with colorful shoes, stoles, and jewelry. She confided that she buys expensive long evening dresses only when they’re on sale. For daytime, her usual attire was a good suit or a casual dress and sweater. “Slacks are fine to wear around the house,” she was quoted as saying, “but for all outside activities, taking the children to the dentist, and so on, I wear a dress.”

  It was Betty’s first appearance in a national women’s magazine. She thought it was fun—a one-off experience—never imagining that thirteen years later, every national publication in America would be clamoring to have her on its cover.

  During the Eisenhower administration, Jerry and Betty received few invitations to the White House because, as Betty recalled, “the party in power doesn’t do as much entertaining of its own people as they do of the opposite party; it’s the opposition you have to convince on legislation.” But with the election of JFK, a Democrat, the tables turned.

  When Jerry first arrived in Washington in 1949, he was assigned an office in the Old House Office Building, on the southwest side of the Capitol. His office happened to be across the hall from John F. Kennedy’s. At that time, Kennedy was a junior congressman from Massachusetts, and they often walked together to sessions. Even though they represented different parties, the two found common ground. They had a great deal of respect for each other and became friends.

  “The Kennedy White House was much more sophisticated than the Eisenhower White House had been,” Betty wrote. With Jacqueline Kennedy as first lady, the parties were more lavish, more lively, and invitations to state dinners were coveted. In July 1961 President and Mrs. Kennedy hosted Pakistan’s president, Ayub Khan, in what would be one of the most memorable state dinners of all time, and Jerry and Betty were lucky enough to be among the mere 137 guests.

  The dinner was held at Mount Vernon, something Betty noted was an achievement in and of itself. “I don’t know how Mrs. Kennedy ever got the ladies of the Mount Vernon Association to let her give a dinner there,” she wrote. “They’re a very elite, very closed society; in order to belong, your heritage probably has to go back to George Washington, or one of those soldiers who was in that boat with him when he crossed the Delaware.” Indeed, it was the first time the mansion had been used for a social function since the 1920s.

  The elaborate event began with the guests being transported up the Potomac split among four different US Navy yachts used by the White House: the Honey Fitz, Sequoia, Patrick J., and the Guardian. Live music played aboard each yacht—an accordionist on one, a Marine Corps trio on another—as waiters served drinks and hors d’oeuvres during the hour-long cruise to George Washington’s historic home. When the flotilla arrived at Mount Vernon, dozens of limousines were waiting at the boat landing to take the guests up the hill to the mansion.

  For all the times Betty had visited Mount Vernon, this occasion was unlike any other. Mrs. Kennedy had gone to great lengths to create the colonial atmosphere of the eighteenth century, with soldiers in Revolutionary War battle dress firing musket salutes, a fife and drum corps, and waiters in period tailcoats and white gloves serving mint juleps.

  “It took you back in time,” Betty recalled. “You could just imagine what it would have been like on a southern plantation long ago.”

  The plated three-course dinner was served outdoors under a large green tent on the lawn, with the guests seated at round tables. Twinkling white lights adorned the trees, and once the sun set, the atmosphere was magical. After dessert, everyone moved across the lawn to a natural amphitheater to listen to a performance by the National Symphony Orchestra.

  Betty shined at these types of social events, mingling confidently among old friends and introducing herself to those she hadn’t met before. At one point during the evening, she and Jerry were talking with their longtime friends Lyndon and Lady Bird Johnson, who were now vice president and second lady. They were having such a good time that the Johnsons invited Jerry and Betty to ride with them on their boat for the return trip. Naturally, the Fords accepted.

  But just as the guests were getting ready to leave, Jerry and Betty received a message that President and Mrs. Kennedy wanted them to go back on their boat.

  “Of course, they outranked the Johnsons, so it was the Honey Fitz for us,” Betty recalled. “I have no idea why we were so sought after, but I had a ball and danced all the way home.”

  Glamorous Washington soirees like the night at Mount Vernon were in stark contrast to Betty’s daytime activities shuttling between Congressional Club meetings, Parent-Teacher Association meetings, car pools, and Cub Scouts.

  “Being a housewife seems to me a much tougher job than going to the office and getting paid for it,” Betty was known to say.

  Muriel Humphrey, wife of then senator and future vice president Hubert Humphrey, recalled that Betty was willing to take on any job. There seemed to be a luncheon, a fashion show, an organizational meeting, or any number of obligations almost every day.

  “All of us were always rushing away from meetings to pick up children at school and get home in time to start dinner,” Mrs. Humphrey recalled.

  For Susan, the memories of her mother not being around began early. “I remember her clothes, the blue linen suits and the yellow linen suits, and her trying to get dressed in the morning, with Steve and me screaming at her ankles.” Betty’s obligatory outings were so frequent that the two youngest children would sometimes pretend they were sick, hoping their mother would stay home instead. It was especially difficult for the two youngsters because their father was gone so much too.

  Even as a junior member of the House, Jerry was constantly on the road. No matter where he was, though, he made it a rule to fly back and spend Sunday with the family. Growing up, Susan recalled that church on Sunday was expected. “You got up, you got dressed, and we went to church on Sunday.” Afterward, they’d come home, and Betty would cook up a big brunch of bacon and pancakes, or waffles with strawberries and sour cream. The Sunday evening meal was a big deal too.

  “Dad was always home for Sunday-night dinner,” Susan said. “It was taken very seriously.” During the week, it wasn’t unusual
for the kids to invite one or two friends over for dinner—and Betty always cooked extra just in case—but Sundays were strictly family time.

  Betty usually made a roast beef and mashed potatoes with gravy, served as the family sat around the table sharing the news of the week with one another. “I know that the children looked forward to those Sunday meals as much as I did,” Jerry remembered.

  If Sundays at 514 Crown View Drive were like a Norman Rockwell painting, the days in between were much more unpredictable. “Our house was chaos,” Susan recalled. “It was total chaos.”

  Somebody was always getting into trouble or doing something he or she shouldn’t, and when Susan was little, if the boys found out she’d tattled on them, they’d put her through the “truth test.” They’d grab her and hold her at the top of the laundry chute, her feet dangling as she kicked and screamed, threatening to let go if she didn’t confess.

  When Betty first became a mother at age thirty, she worried about every little scratch on the furniture, but by the time there were four children in the household, “you can forget about order,” she wrote. “You just have to hope you don’t crack your ankles stumbling over three bags of marbles and a Tinkertoy.”

  Like every mother, she had to be resourceful. One Christmas, they had been visiting relatives in Michigan, and Jack had received a terrific Roman gladiator’s outfit. They were having so much fun at Grandma and Grandpa Ford’s house that they were late leaving for the airport to catch the flight back to Washington. Jerry was racing to get there on time, and on the windy Michigan roads, Mike was getting carsick. They didn’t have time to stop, so Betty had to make a quick decision.

  “Jack, give Mike your gladiator helmet!”

  “He filled it up,” Jack recalled, “and I could never wear that helmet again.”