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Nancy Reagan
and the
Ark of the Covenant
1.
February 2nd. 1981. Los Angeles. I’m back in California for the first time since my husband started his new job. And thank goodness, too. At the end of the day, LA is the only place I ever really want to be.
I remember when Ronnie told me he was considering running for governor, I asked him, “Are you crazy? You know we’d have to live in Sacramento, right? Some sacrifice just to pick a new state bird.”
But Washington D.C.? It’s like Sacramento had a baby with hell.
I was walking around with my old girlfriend Margaret Athelton. She and I met when I started dating Ronnie in the 1940s. She worked at the MCA talent agency by day and the FBI by night. She was Ronnie’s contact when he needed to report any new communists in Tinseltown.
At first, I hated Margaret. In her defense, it was never really about her. I was just fed up living with Mr. Spy. As soon as the FBI gave him a code name, he suddenly went from informant to international man of mystery.
They say that those who can’t do, teach. Well Hollywood has its own little version of that. Here, those who can’t fight get to play action heroes. The town is full of these aggressive little busters standing on appleboxes and throwing scripted punches. You never think that you are going to marry one of these appleboxers, but then you get pregnant and the decision is made for you.
2.
So not only was I married to one of these wannabe tough guys, but now he was actually being called on to be a secret informant for the FBI. Every straight man’s dream!
“Honey, why don’t you call me Agent T10. Yeah, pretty sexy, huh?”
No. Not sexy at all.
I don’t know any women who find spies sexy. I know women who find Sean Connery sexy, but it’s never about him slipping notes under government doors. I think that the only reason men think spies are sexy is because it seems like the safest way imaginable to cheat on your wife. Fake name. Far off country. Your wife couldn’t find out if she tried.
I’ll tell you this for free! Anyone who does find spies sexy would be cured of that after half a day at the CIA. They don’t look like Sean Connery at all. It’s like a math camp got stranded on a desert island; just a bunch of balding, emaciated nerds rehashing fights from ten years ago. At least in Lord of the Flies, the kids have good enough sense to straighten up and act embarrassed once a real adult shows up.
But when I finally got to spend some time with Margaret, I realized that she was the only person I could commiserate with about Ronnie. Sure, I was the one who had to defend him at parties when he got into fights about the Blacklist, but she was the one who’d have to take down his official accusation as he told the FBI that whatever actress he’d been yelling at the night before was a communist.
In much the same way that the enemy of my enemy is my friend, I am forever bonded to anyone else mildly annoyed by my husband. If you hate my husband, we are enemies for life. But if you think he walks on water, then I know you don’t know him at all.
3.
When I first got to Hollywood, it was easy making friends. There were thousands of women my age all fighting for the same thing, waiting at the same auditions, getting lunch at the same commissaries. When I started booking real roles, though, it created some tension. Jealousy always does. Nobody could play a tolerant wife as spartanly as me. You know, Reverend Pat Seawall said that it was like God had closed my mouth Himself.
So it was nice to have a work friend I never had to compete with. On Saturdays, we’d drive up to Santa Barbara, get cheddar salads at this cute Greek place on the pier, and complain about everybody we knew. Those trips are still some of my finest memories.
As we walked around the studio lot, Margaret told me about how everything was changing in Hollywood, how a new generation of kids had just appeared out of thin air and shaken everything up. She’d given me the exact same speech every time I’d seen her for the past fifteen years. I could probably repeat it back to her word for word, but I don’t believe it. Sure, there are new actors and directors, but they seem as big of bastards as ever. And it’s not like all the old studio hands disappeared into thin air. Hell, most of them got promoted. But when your friendship is based on complaining, it’d be rude to bog down your friend with something as silly as details.
After lunch, Margaret asked if I had time to see a new movie she’d been working on. I didn’t have time, but Margaret twisted my arm and I suddenly found myself in a tiny screening room on the Paramount lot. Margaret could probably make me do anything. I thank my lucky stars every time I see her that the Scientologists haven’t gotten to her yet. She’s too powerful a weapon.
4.
The movie was called Raiders of the Lost Ark. It’s about an archeology professor with a whip who is trying to get the Ark of the Covenant before his French rival can find the ark and give it to Hitler. Of course liberal Hollywood’s answer to the Nazis is a humanities professor with bondage gear!
The professor’s name is Indiana Jones–probably because Nebraska Williams didn’t fit on the poster. His friends call him Indy for short because, I guess, his middle name is even more embarrassing.
At the beginning of the movie, Indiana Jones is in the jungles of Peru to steal a precious golden artifact. He follows a tattered old map to the hidden entrance of an ancient temple and fights his way through the spiders and spider webs clogging the entrance.
Now, this is one of those movies where the main character is supposed to be the smartest person in the world. But, the people making the movie aren’t the smartest people in the world. To be clear, I’m not trying to call anyone an idiot. I’m just saying that Hollywood isn’t exactly where America stores its greatest geniuses. So they are a little limited in terms of just how smart of a character they can create. The closest they can get is someone who walks into the room and always immediately knows the perfect thing to do. In the temple, Indiana sees a beam of sunlight and knows, “Well this is obviously a booby trap.” Of course, in the movie, it turns out to be a trap. But that doesn’t make any sense. He puts his hand in the light and it triggers a wall of spears. How? Did his shadow press a button? More to the point, does this trap only work during the day? Because night generally is the best time to steal something. That is just bad planning.
As a bit of an expert on booby traps, I can tell you that this movie does not have the sort of thing you want. The next trap is just a big hole in the ground you have to jump over! Are we creating an obstacle course or are we trying to stop intruders? When I die and am laid in my tomb, you won’t find any traps that can be defeated by a teenager with a modest track and field background. If you want to defile my corpse, you’re going to have to send the pros.
5.
This is probably the right time to admit that I do have some history with the actor who plays Indiana Jones. Harrison Ford is part of that Joan Didion crowd down in Los Angeles. These folks have adopted all of the disgusting intellectualism and antiestablishmentarianism of the hippies, but taken out all the smiles. If you want to see a modern artist having a grumpy day, Joan Didion’s home is the place to be.
I have had a few run-ins with Joan in my life and I have to admit that I find her a pretty impressive woman. I mean, she is so dedicated to eating cigarettes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner that I am impressed she has time to write such bitchy drivel.
For those of you who don’t know, I helped to build a new governor’s residency while Ronnie was in charge of California. Now everyone is wailing and whining just because it cost over a million dollars and no governor ever actually lived there. I can’t understand why everyone wants to blame me, though! It isn’t my fault that Jerry Brown would rather sleep in some cheap apartment by the capital like a mid-tier mistress.
Personally, I think that having been born and raised in Sacramento, Joan just isn’t comfortable with anyone having a beautiful home. It would explain her open-door flop-house in Los Angeles, I can tell you that.
Luckily, Joan isn’t in this movie at all. Frankly, the movie seems pretty dedicated to keeping their ladies-onscreen quotient down to one. I just want you to know that when I’m treating him like he has fleas, it is because he lies with dogs.
That said, you can’t deny, he is gorgeous in this movie.
6.
Now, I don’t know if you’ve seen Raiders of the Lost Ark, but to be honest, the whole beginning is more than a little cuckoo! Indiana Jones makes his way through all these traps and obstacles, but then the golden statue is on a pedestal in the middle of the room. Why? Even when I go somewhere awful like Iowa, my hotel room still has a safe in the wall.
Indiana finally gets to the idol and tries to swap it for a bag of sand so none of the booby-traps notice, but of course that doesn’t work! Instead, he and his companion have to sprint away before they are crushed by a big, stone ball. Not to be the “I know everything about booby traps lady,” but you would be shocked how many of these traps are defeated by two men sprinting. For your own safety, I am warning you: do not bring this sort of flag football energy to my tomb. If you want my secret jewels, you better bring the Mission Impossible team.
When Indiana finally gets outside, a French Archeologist with a wino face and a condescending attitude is waiting for him. The French cheat has brought dozens of men with weapons to surround Indiana and steal the idol that Jones had just taken fair and square. Indiana hands over the gold idol, gets up, and sprints away. As Jones runs through the forest, the French Archeologist sends his armed backup to hunt down and kill him.
Now, I know that Indiana is supposed to be the good archeologist and the French guy is supposed to be the bad archeologist, but they are still both archeologists, right? It’s hard to imagine any peer reviewed journals are going to publish this French guy’s papers after he starts killing the competition. But maybe I’m wrong. I’m always shocked at just how permissive some French universities are willing to be.
Luckily, Indiana Jones is able to run to safety. If you’d believe it, the main character of the movie gets through this introductory scene without dying. Frankly, all of the men hunting Indiana maintain a respectful distance for the entire chase. Even the men with bows and arrows, who could easily stand still and try to shoot the single man running through an empty field, opt to jog behind him. He gets to his plane unscathed and they take off just in time. What a shock!
February 2nd. 1981. Los Angeles. I’m back in California for the first time since my husband started his new job. And thank goodness, too. At the end of the day, LA is the only place I ever really want to be.
I remember when Ronnie told me he was considering running for governor, I asked him, “Are you crazy? You know we’d have to live in Sacramento, right? Some sacrifice just to pick a new state bird.”
But Washington D.C.? It’s like Sacramento had a baby with hell.
I was walking around with my old girlfriend Margaret Athelton. She and I met when I started dating Ronnie in the 1940s. She worked at the MCA talent agency by day and the FBI by night. She was Ronnie’s contact when he needed to report any new communists in Tinseltown.
At first, I hated Margaret. In her defense, it was never really about her. I was just fed up living with Mr. Spy. As soon as the FBI gave him a code name, he suddenly went from informant to international man of mystery.
They say that those who can’t do, teach. Well Hollywood has its own little version of that. Here, those who can’t fight get to play action heroes. The town is full of these aggressive little busters standing on appleboxes and throwing scripted punches. You never think that you are going to marry one of these appleboxers, but then you get pregnant and the decision is made for you.
2.
So not only was I married to one of these wannabe tough guys, but now he was actually being called on to be a secret informant for the FBI. Every straight man’s dream!
“Honey, why don’t you call me Agent T10. Yeah, pretty sexy, huh?”
No. Not sexy at all.
I don’t know any women who find spies sexy. I know women who find Sean Connery sexy, but it’s never about him slipping notes under government doors. I think that the only reason men think spies are sexy is because it seems like the safest way imaginable to cheat on your wife. Fake name. Far off country. Your wife couldn’t find out if she tried.
I’ll tell you this for free! Anyone who does find spies sexy would be cured of that after half a day at the CIA. They don’t look like Sean Connery at all. It’s like a math camp got stranded on a desert island; just a bunch of balding, emaciated nerds rehashing fights from ten years ago. At least in Lord of the Flies, the kids have good enough sense to straighten up and act embarrassed once a real adult shows up.
But when I finally got to spend some time with Margaret, I realized that she was the only person I could commiserate with about Ronnie. Sure, I was the one who had to defend him at parties when he got into fights about the Blacklist, but she was the one who’d have to take down his official accusation as he told the FBI that whatever actress he’d been yelling at the night before was a communist.
In much the same way that the enemy of my enemy is my friend, I am forever bonded to anyone else mildly annoyed by my husband. If you hate my husband, we are enemies for life. But if you think he walks on water, then I know you don’t know him at all.
3.
When I first got to Hollywood, it was easy making friends. There were thousands of women my age all fighting for the same thing, waiting at the same auditions, getting lunch at the same commissaries. When I started booking real roles, though, it created some tension. Jealousy always does. Nobody could play a tolerant wife as spartanly as me. You know, Reverend Pat Seawall said that it was like God had closed my mouth Himself.
So it was nice to have a work friend I never had to compete with. On Saturdays, we’d drive up to Santa Barbara, get cheddar salads at this cute Greek place on the pier, and complain about everybody we knew. Those trips are still some of my finest memories.
As we walked around the studio lot, Margaret told me about how everything was changing in Hollywood, how a new generation of kids had just appeared out of thin air and shaken everything up. She’d given me the exact same speech every time I’d seen her for the past fifteen years. I could probably repeat it back to her word for word, but I don’t believe it. Sure, there are new actors and directors, but they seem as big of bastards as ever. And it’s not like all the old studio hands disappeared into thin air. Hell, most of them got promoted. But when your friendship is based on complaining, it’d be rude to bog down your friend with something as silly as details.
After lunch, Margaret asked if I had time to see a new movie she’d been working on. I didn’t have time, but Margaret twisted my arm and I suddenly found myself in a tiny screening room on the Paramount lot. Margaret could probably make me do anything. I thank my lucky stars every time I see her that the Scientologists haven’t gotten to her yet. She’s too powerful a weapon.
4.
The movie was called Raiders of the Lost Ark. It’s about an archeology professor with a whip who is trying to get the Ark of the Covenant before his French rival can find the ark and give it to Hitler. Of course liberal Hollywood’s answer to the Nazis is a humanities professor with bondage gear!
The professor’s name is Indiana Jones–probably because Nebraska Williams didn’t fit on the poster. His friends call him Indy for short because, I guess, his middle name is even more embarrassing.
At the beginning of the movie, Indiana Jones is in the jungles of Peru to steal a precious golden artifact. He follows a tattered old map to the hidden entrance of an ancient temple and fights his way through the spiders and spider webs clogging the entrance.
Now, this is one of those movies where the main character is supposed to be the smartest person in the world. But, the people making the movie aren’t the smartest people in the world. To be clear, I’m not trying to call anyone an idiot. I’m just saying that Hollywood isn’t exactly where America stores its greatest geniuses. So they are a little limited in terms of just how smart of a character they can create. The closest they can get is someone who walks into the room and always immediately knows the perfect thing to do. In the temple, Indiana sees a beam of sunlight and knows, “Well this is obviously a booby trap.” Of course, in the movie, it turns out to be a trap. But that doesn’t make any sense. He puts his hand in the light and it triggers a wall of spears. How? Did his shadow press a button? More to the point, does this trap only work during the day? Because night generally is the best time to steal something. That is just bad planning.
As a bit of an expert on booby traps, I can tell you that this movie does not have the sort of thing you want. The next trap is just a big hole in the ground you have to jump over! Are we creating an obstacle course or are we trying to stop intruders? When I die and am laid in my tomb, you won’t find any traps that can be defeated by a teenager with a modest track and field background. If you want to defile my corpse, you’re going to have to send the pros.
5.
This is probably the right time to admit that I do have some history with the actor who plays Indiana Jones. Harrison Ford is part of that Joan Didion crowd down in Los Angeles. These folks have adopted all of the disgusting intellectualism and antiestablishmentarianism of the hippies, but taken out all the smiles. If you want to see a modern artist having a grumpy day, Joan Didion’s home is the place to be.
I have had a few run-ins with Joan in my life and I have to admit that I find her a pretty impressive woman. I mean, she is so dedicated to eating cigarettes for breakfast, lunch, and dinner that I am impressed she has time to write such bitchy drivel.
For those of you who don’t know, I helped to build a new governor’s residency while Ronnie was in charge of California. Now everyone is wailing and whining just because it cost over a million dollars and no governor ever actually lived there. I can’t understand why everyone wants to blame me, though! It isn’t my fault that Jerry Brown would rather sleep in some cheap apartment by the capital like a mid-tier mistress.
Personally, I think that having been born and raised in Sacramento, Joan just isn’t comfortable with anyone having a beautiful home. It would explain her open-door flop-house in Los Angeles, I can tell you that.
Luckily, Joan isn’t in this movie at all. Frankly, the movie seems pretty dedicated to keeping their ladies-onscreen quotient down to one. I just want you to know that when I’m treating him like he has fleas, it is because he lies with dogs.
That said, you can’t deny, he is gorgeous in this movie.
6.
Now, I don’t know if you’ve seen Raiders of the Lost Ark, but to be honest, the whole beginning is more than a little cuckoo! Indiana Jones makes his way through all these traps and obstacles, but then the golden statue is on a pedestal in the middle of the room. Why? Even when I go somewhere awful like Iowa, my hotel room still has a safe in the wall.
Indiana finally gets to the idol and tries to swap it for a bag of sand so none of the booby-traps notice, but of course that doesn’t work! Instead, he and his companion have to sprint away before they are crushed by a big, stone ball. Not to be the “I know everything about booby traps lady,” but you would be shocked how many of these traps are defeated by two men sprinting. For your own safety, I am warning you: do not bring this sort of flag football energy to my tomb. If you want my secret jewels, you better bring the Mission Impossible team.
When Indiana finally gets outside, a French Archeologist with a wino face and a condescending attitude is waiting for him. The French cheat has brought dozens of men with weapons to surround Indiana and steal the idol that Jones had just taken fair and square. Indiana hands over the gold idol, gets up, and sprints away. As Jones runs through the forest, the French Archeologist sends his armed backup to hunt down and kill him.
Now, I know that Indiana is supposed to be the good archeologist and the French guy is supposed to be the bad archeologist, but they are still both archeologists, right? It’s hard to imagine any peer reviewed journals are going to publish this French guy’s papers after he starts killing the competition. But maybe I’m wrong. I’m always shocked at just how permissive some French universities are willing to be.
Luckily, Indiana Jones is able to run to safety. If you’d believe it, the main character of the movie gets through this introductory scene without dying. Frankly, all of the men hunting Indiana maintain a respectful distance for the entire chase. Even the men with bows and arrows, who could easily stand still and try to shoot the single man running through an empty field, opt to jog behind him. He gets to his plane unscathed and they take off just in time. What a shock!
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