Sharing my Feb. 6 Birthdate with my Least Favorite U.S. President

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Ronald Reagan

Sharing my Feb. 6 birthdate with a number of well-known people is one of the most noteworthy aspects of my life. Among them are Tom Brokaw, Aaron Burr, Natalie Cole, Bobby Darin, Zsa Zsa Gabor, Kris Humphries, Bob Marley, Robert Redford, Babe Ruth and, the most famous, President Ronald Reagan.

So in 1988, as a columnist with the New York Daily News, I tried to call President Reagan on Feb. 6 to wish him happy birthday. Not because I liked the guy, which I did not. Or admired him. Uh-uh. Or thought he was a good president. No way. I really couldn’t stand him.

But since we happened to share the same birthdate, I figured we might exchange greetings. Why not? But I was wrong.

I got as far as an aide in the White House press office. I told her my name, the name of my paper and why I called. She put me on hold, came back a minute later and asked me what I’d just told her. So I told her again. 

She said she would try to get back to me. I said fine, hoping to at least get to talk with Press Secretary Marlin Fitzwater, or someone of that ilk. That’s their job, you know. But I never heard a word.

Not surprising. Why would the old President of the United States want to say a few words over the phone to a young newspaper columnist with whom he happens to share his birthdate? I wasn’t some big athlete who just skunked someone in some big game. It would take all of 30 seconds and we all knew how busy he was.

So what if the columnist was Black and Reagan had the worst standing among Black Americans than anyone since Sheriff Bill Conner. So what if the columnist wrote for the newspaper with the nation’s largest local circulation at the time.

Nobody had ever accused Reagan of having a whole lot of smarts. Not even when he was young, lucid, acting and bombing in a succession of some of history’s most ridiculous movies, such as 1951’s Bedtime for Bonzo. 

But had I succeeded in getting President Reagan to wake up long enough to rap with me about our shared birthdate, what would my conversation with the big guy have sounded like? How about the following?

President Ronald Reagan: Hello, Mr. Carter?

Richard G. Carter: Mr. President? Gosh, is that really you?

PRR: Uh-huh. What can I do you for?

RGC: Didn’t they tell you?

PRR: Yes, I suppose they did. But I forgot. How about telling me again.

RGC: Sure thing. Our joint birthdate. I wanted to wish you a happy, happy.

PRR: How about that? Well, a happy one to you, too. And it’s mighty white of you, Dick. Can I call you Dick?

RGC: Black, Mr. President. I’m Black.

PRR: Black, eh? Some of my best friends are your color. Some of my best enemies, too. But that comes with the territory when you’re the big guy. It’s a lonely job.

RGC: And some of my best friends are Republican.

PPR: Don’t tell me you’re a Republican, Dick.

RGC: Uh-uh. No way, Jose. Anyway, your job must be pretty tiring, huh?

PRR: Dadgumbetcha’, boy. But I take lots of naps.

RGC: Don’t call me boy.

PRR: Geez, I’m sorry, Dick. Did you say I could call you Dick, Dick? And why do you some of you people take such offense at being called boy?

RGC: What people is this you people?

PRR: Don’t tell me I goofed again. Why are you people so sensitive?

RGC: I mean, what do you mean, you people? That kind of bigotry is what kept us at the bottom of the totem pole so long.

PRR: Totem pole? They’re for Indians. I thought you said you’re Black.

RGC: Yes, well, moving right along. How does it feel to be 77, old man?

PRR: Old, man. Gorby’s really lucky.

RGC: And how’s Nancy, your ex-movie star spouse?

PRR: Terrific, Dick. She was really good on the screen. And how’s your wife?

RGC: Fine, sir. Like me, she’s a journalist. Thanks for asking.

PRR: A mere bagatelle, my boy. Oh, darn, I did it again. Sorry. But before I ring off, I’d like to ask one more thing. Man to man. None of that boy stuff.

RGC: You’ll never learn, will you Mr. President? Anyway, fire away, big guy.

PRR: Yowzah! Now why do black people dislike me so? Why do they think I’m insensitive to their concerns?

RGC: Maybe it has something to do with that night in Cleveland, when debating Jimmy Carter on national TV, you said you remember when you were young and America didn’t know it had a racial problem. 

PRR: Oh, no. Not that, again.

RGC: Oh, yes, Mr. President. That and about a zillion other things. Anyway, thanks for the talk. Have a hell of a happy.

PRR: You, too, my boy. Drat! I gotta’ stop saying that. I mean you too, Dick.

Well, that’s how it may have sounded had I gotten the chance to wish happy birthday to President Reagan on our shared Feb. 6. Uh-huh.