an excerpt from Newsweek re: Ronald Reagan: American Dreamer
All his life he was a dreamer, and his imagination had sustained him through the decades in ways big and small. In a remarkable letter written from the Sherry-Netherland Hotel at the corner of 59th Street and Fifth Avenue in Manhattan on a July day in the 1950s, Reagan displayed his gift for softening the rough edges of life with visions of better things. He was lonely, in the city for an acting job, and had to eat alone. Afterward, back at the hotel, he wrote Nancy about the evening he wished he'd had—with her.
"Eight million people in this pigeon crap encrusted metropolis and suddenly I realized I was alone with my thoughts and they smelled sulphurous," he wrote her. "Time was not a healer. When dinner time finally arrived I walked down to '21' where I ate in lonely splendor. It was at this point with self-pity coming up fast on the rail that you joined me. Yes, you and I had Roast Beef ... Wanting only half a bottle of wine we were somewhat restricted in choice but we politely resisted the 'huxtering' of the wine steward ... and settled for a '47 'Pichon Longueville.' It was tasty, wasn't it?"
The meal done, Reagan's imagination kept the movie going. "We walked back in the twilight and I guess I hadn't ought to put us on paper from there on," he continued. "Let's just say I didn't know my lines this morning. Tonight I think we'll eat at the hotel and you've got to promise to let me study—at least for a little while. I suppose some people would find it unusual that you and I can so easily span three thousand miles but in truth it comes very naturally. Man can't live without a heart and you are my heart, by far the nicest thing about me and so very necessary. There would be no life without you nor would I want any."
All his life he was a dreamer, and his imagination had sustained him through the decades in ways big and small. In a remarkable letter written from the Sherry-Netherland Hotel at the corner of 59th Street and Fifth Avenue in Manhattan on a July day in the 1950s, Reagan displayed his gift for softening the rough edges of life with visions of better things. He was lonely, in the city for an acting job, and had to eat alone. Afterward, back at the hotel, he wrote Nancy about the evening he wished he'd had—with her.
"Eight million people in this pigeon crap encrusted metropolis and suddenly I realized I was alone with my thoughts and they smelled sulphurous," he wrote her. "Time was not a healer. When dinner time finally arrived I walked down to '21' where I ate in lonely splendor. It was at this point with self-pity coming up fast on the rail that you joined me. Yes, you and I had Roast Beef ... Wanting only half a bottle of wine we were somewhat restricted in choice but we politely resisted the 'huxtering' of the wine steward ... and settled for a '47 'Pichon Longueville.' It was tasty, wasn't it?"
The meal done, Reagan's imagination kept the movie going. "We walked back in the twilight and I guess I hadn't ought to put us on paper from there on," he continued. "Let's just say I didn't know my lines this morning. Tonight I think we'll eat at the hotel and you've got to promise to let me study—at least for a little while. I suppose some people would find it unusual that you and I can so easily span three thousand miles but in truth it comes very naturally. Man can't live without a heart and you are my heart, by far the nicest thing about me and so very necessary. There would be no life without you nor would I want any."
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