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The Crusader
Ronald Reagan and the Fall of Communism
By Paul Kengor HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.
Copyright © 2006 Paul Kengor
All right reserved. ISBN: 0061136905
Chapter One
Rock River Rescuer
Stepping out of his house the morning of August 2, 1928, Ronald "Dutch" Reagan was expecting another scorcher. As he walked across the street to the Graybills' to catch his ride to the river, he noticed that it was yet another muggy Thursday in Dixon, Illinois. It was a typical midsummer afternoon in the Midwest, humid beyond any reasonable expectation, and with the advent of air-conditioning still years in the distance, the best form of escape could be found in a Ford automobile with windows open amid a breezy drive to the river at Lowell Park.
At Lowell, there were shady trees, cool water, and people, all kept under the watchful eye of seventeen-year-old Dutch Reagan. Already tall, he hovered above the swimmers in a ten-foot-high chair perched on the grassy banks, making himself a beacon for all to see. His height was emblematic of his swimming prowess, and a key factor in his swimming successes. At the YMCA in January, Reagan had sprinted to victory in the 110-yard freestyle by a half-length of the pool. When competing in the annual Water Carnival at the Rock River on Labor Day, he took first in the longest competition--the 220-yard River Swim.1 He still holds the record for swimming fastest from the park entrance to the river's farthest bank and back. So adept were hisswimming skills that he was allegedly approached by an Olympic scout who invited him to work out with the team preparing for the 1932 games--an offer Reagan said he refused because he could not give up his summer pay.2
On this August day, the river's rough waters and undertows were particularly active. Scattered throughout the choppy waters were hundreds of swimmers, and through the spectacles that rested atop his nose, Dutch gazed at the clusters of people, aware that he could not slack off for a moment. Reagan's regular pattern for patrolling the waters was tested on such a chaotic summer afternoon. According to the Dixon Telegraph, on a day like this Ronald Reagan often single-handedly watched over 1,000 bathers at a time, with no assistant.3
His most difficult concerns were toddlers who ventured too far out (there were legions of them) and adults cocky enough to think they could conquer the depths of the treacherous river. Toddlers that failed to listen were an easy nab for Reagan, who was vigilant in pulling them back right away before they disappeared into the murky water. Dutch always followed with a quick lesson to the child about wandering out.
Unfortunately, the adult swimmers were not as easy. They were bigger and stronger. If not secured in the right position, they tended to pull and grab, putting the lifeguard's own life in peril. A panicky six-foot-frame was the worst foe. Among them, the end of the summer brought brawny farm boys to the water, just finished with the annual harvest; they invariably underestimated the river, not giving it the respect Reagan learned to grant it. Once in the death grip of a current, they became exhausted, went vertical, and began struggling and clawing frantically. On more than one occasion, Dutch belted them with a right cross to the jaw in order to facilitate a safe rescue.4 The unorthodox method was effective: Reagan never lost one.5
On occasion, there was another type of swimmer, a more unusual "rescue"--young girls who "accidentally" found themselves in peril to try and catch Dutch's eye.6 "I had a friend who nearly drowned herself trying to get him to save her!" said one woman, recalling an occurrence that was not infrequent. "He was everyone's hero," said a Reagan schoolmate. "Every girl was in love with him. He was a handsome young man, built like Mr. Perfection, tanned to the hilt."7
On afternoons like this August 2, Reagan felt like the burning sun would never set. Mercifully, it finally obliged, quickly growing dark until the swimming section, which was surrounded by tall, full trees and lush, thick hills was covered in shadow. This meant that the area Dutch surveyed got darker quicker than the rest of flat, open Illinois.
With nighttime upon the beach, it was now officially after-hours. A party of four, two girls and two boys, were looking to have some fun. They giggled as they surreptitiously slipped into their bathing suits down shore. They entered the beach area from the side and quietly made their way into the deceptively gentle surf, in defiance of beach rules. Among them was Dixonite James Raider, who was not the proficient swimmer he figured.
It was 9:30 PM, the end of another very long day, and Dutch and Mr. Graybill were closing up the bathhouse when they heard splashing in deep water: James Raider had been sucked under. Another member of his group tried to save him but could not and was forced to abandon efforts when he, too, almost drowned in the swift current.
Dutch sprinted to the water and dove into the darkness. With only the stars to light the way, Reagan relied on himself, on his inner eye, the one that knew the way better than anyone else. There was a major struggle in the black water. Witnesses recall noisy splashing, some yelling, and arms flailing in the air. Suddenly, a mass of human appendages began moving in their direction. The lifeguard wrapped one arm under the victim's arms and dug water profusely with the other, kicking his feet under the current as rapidly as he could. Raider was brought ashore. Young Ronald dragged him onto the grass.
Artificial respiration was started. The party was no longer in a partying mood; the festive tone had been muted by a sense of horror. They watched, hoped, and probably prayed. Raider responded, and there was a collective sigh of relief. An exhausted Raider was transported to his home with an unexpected new lease on life. Ronald Reagan headed home as well. When his parents, Jack and Nelle, asked about his day, he might have shrugged that it was not especially unusual. It was, after all, the second near drowning in two weeks.
Continues...
Excerpted from The Crusader by Paul Kengor Copyright © 2006 by Paul Kengor. Excerpted by permission.
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