Still, there was plenty of wildlife around. One morning, there were four gopher snakes outside the President’s front door, just off to the left in the grass. Nonpoisonous, they can get to at least six feet long. Unless they are provoked, they will not normally bite a human. The snakes that morning were mating in a big ball, and the President found that fascinating. Leaning over with his hands on hips, he got really close. About that time, Mrs. Reagan emerged from the house and pleaded, “John, can you get him away from them?”
“Mr. President,” I said, “we should back away.”
Nevertheless he wouldn’t move. “Gopher snakes won’t hurt you.”
Another time when we were out for a ride, we saw a bobcat and her three young cubs. They walked right across the trail we were riding on.
One day when we were coming in from a ride, we saw a hawk soaring and circling. The President pointed it out. “John, that hawk sees something.” When we got to a clearing where we could see the ground, the hawk folded it wings and dove. It grabbed a huge gopher snake with its talons and then started flapping its wings so it could carry the snake off, but the snake was about five feet long and was really wiggling. The hawk tried to fly away with the snake, but soon dropped it because it was just too heavy for him to lift, giving the snake his chance to slither away.
For the agents, an occasional rattlesnake and the dangers of riding a horse weren’t the only challenges at the ranch. Getting there could be tricky. The winding road was nearly impossible for Reagan’s limo, and the drivers had a heck of a time making that large vehicle take those hairpin turns. Besides the narrow road through the canyon and up the mountain, the only other way to get to the ranch was by helicopter. While Reagan was still the president-elect, he rode up like the rest of us, though he never minded. He wasn’t given a military helicopter yet. Once president, however, he arrived on Marine One every time except once during his presidency. Still, the members of the presidential entourage had to travel up that treacherous one-lane road. That was the worst part of the job. Three shifts a day would go up that road in Chevy Suburbans. The strain on the vehicles was so great that every ten thousand miles the tires and brakes had to be replaced.
After he left the White House, the President always looked forward to the drive up the winding road. Mrs. Reagan would fall asleep just about every time, but not him. He would just stare out the window, enjoying nature. From the second he left his house, he would time the drive, and when we got out of the car he would say, “Well, you’ve got the record time for getting me here.” Of course, then the guys driving started to compete with one another to see who could get him to the ranch the fastest.
The ride from the President’s Bel Air residence to the ranch has sixty-five-mile-an-hour speed limits, and it would be very embarrassing if the California Highway Patrol stopped us. “Guys,” I said, “we do sixty-five miles an hour!”
Members of Reagan’s Secret Service protective detail loved going to the ranch. It was an opportunity for us to get out of our suits and bulletproof vests and put on our jeans, boots, T-shirts, and baseball caps. However, I still insisted on some decorum, and I had to get creative to find a way to conceal our weapons. Most agents have their weapons on their right hips, and vests that always conceal them. The vests also conceal their radios. For me, it worked to have my radio on my left hip, the wires running underneath my shirt up into my right ear. I said, “You guys all go down and buy those sleeveless denim vests.” I suggested Jedlicka’s, the local Western shop in Santa Barbara owned by my friend Si Jenkins, where I had purchased many of the riding supplies for the President and the Secret Service. In no way did I want the President and First Lady to see reminders that, even though private, this was a dangerous situation. There was no need to do that. Everybody agreed to my request.
From a security standpoint, the ranch was a double-edged sword. It was so remote that most people didn’t even know where it was. If I gave someone the address, they wouldn’t be able to find it. That was good. There was incredibly thick brush all around. No one could drive up there or could come up the side of the mountain. You could only drive the main road, and that was always secure. We also had the FAA put out a P52 Notices to Airmen (NOTAMS) stating to aircraft that they were in restricted airspace and could not go below two hundred feet over the ranch. Once, a pilot violated the P52, flying just yards above the helicopter landing. He was arrested and lost his pilot’s license.
The FAA runs a VORTAC (short for VHF omnidirectional range/tactical aircraft control) up on the highest spot on the ranch. A VORTAC is like a road sign. Pilots flying overhead home in on that VORTAC, and from that they receive all the directions and then proceed to their destinations. We went to the FAA to see if the VORTAC could be moved. They said they could move it but then started to explain just what it would take. They told us that the nuclear submarines use it to triangulate location, and when Vandenberg Air Force Base launches their missiles and rockets, they go by that VORTAC signal. The list of uses for that VORTAC went on and on until finally we said we did not want to cause all those disruptions. The government ended up paying the President to have that VORTAC on his land. That mountain range is one of the best for it, and years earlier, before he was president, when they had wanted to put it up he had said okay. Still, to this day, it is a very important piece of machinery. They come up there all the time to fine-tune it.
Our biggest security concern was the President’s daily horse riding, which presented all sorts of challenges. We had to make sure that the rugged area was secure and that there were no physical hazards that could harm the President. Then there was also the matter of the horses themselves. Where they in good shape? How were their temperaments? The President was determined that not only he and Mrs. Reagan would have a good time but we all would. He wanted to make sure we were all enjoying ourselves while on the job.
He would usually come up for his rides like clockwork at nine a.m. and would return in time for lunch at noon. In the early days, he would sometimes also ride in the afternoon. Before a ride, we would study the big detailed map on the wall in the tack barn and carefully devise where we were going to ride that day. Wanting my input, he’d ask, “Well, what if we go here, and then if we go left we’ll be over where that tree is, and then, after that, what if we go there?”
I always answered, “Mr. President, that’s fine with me.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, maybe we can go—”
“Sir, you can do whatever you want. When we reach where you want to go, and if you want to change the route, I can change my men around. Don’t worry about it. Whatever you—”
Then he would say, “I want the fellows to have a good ride too.” He was so nice and enthusiastic about everything.
“Sir, we’re not here to have a good time.”
He’d look at me and say, “Though we are having a good time.”
“You’re the one, sir, who must enjoy this. You do what you like, and we’ll be able to stay right with you.”
However, that never would satisfy him, and he persisted, “No, I want you to have a good ride also.”
Finally I would say, “I’ll have a good ride no matter where you go, because I’m on a horse.” It was then he would stop talking and just smile, because that was exactly how he felt too, and he liked that.