He escapes death—and gains the strength to reshape the economy
By Joseph P. Shapiro and Jodie T. Allen
Ronald Reagan never saw the man drop into a shooter's crouch with a double-handed grip on a .22-caliber pistol. Firecrackers going off, the president thought, at the sound of two quick pops, a pause, and then four more. But he could smell the gunpowder, feel the concussion of the blasts, and hear panicked bystanders scurrying for cover.
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Within seconds, Secret Service Agent Jerry Parr was shoving him into the presidential limousine. "You son of a bitch, you broke my ribs," Reagan cursed in pain, as Parr lifted him from the car floor. When Reagan started coughing up dark-red blood, Parr knew from his medical training that it was coming from his lungs. Both men thought the bullets had missed and that the agent had, indeed, broken the president's ribs. The limousine was speeding back to the White House, but Parr ordered the driver to head instead to George Washington University Hospital, about three minutes away. The decision saved Reagan's life.
On the 70th day of Reagan's presidency—March 30, 1981—Americans still had doubts about their new leader. Was this man, just turned 70 and the oldest ever to be elected president, up to the physical rigors of the job? Did the likable ex-movie star have the real-life grit to right a nation reeling from economic downturns and growing doubts about its own greatness? Those questions lingered that misty spring day as Reagan left a meeting of trade union representatives to tepid applause and walked into the line of fire of a would-be assassin outside a Washington, D.C., hotel. Reagan had played heroes in the movies. His celluloid stalwarts shrugged at death. Lawman Frame Johnson cleaned up the Old West; special agent Brass Bancroft broke up a spy ring; even dying Notre Dame football player George Gipp inspired his team to "win one for the Gipper." Now Ronald Reagan would become a real hero.
At a dark moment, he reassured Americans—neither he nor the presidency ever looked weak. When his limo arrived at the hospital, Reagan walked into the emergency room. Once inside the double doors, and just out of public view, his knees buckled. Doctors feared a heart attack. His symptoms were classic: trouble breathing, chest pain, and pale skin. The president was hoisted onto an examination table, and nurses quickly snipped off the crisp new blue pinstripe suit he had worn that day for the first time. Only then did a doctor notice the bloody vertical slit, like a jagged buttonhole, just below the president's left armpit—the bullet's entry wound. Gently rolling Reagan from side to side, doctors saw that there was no exit wound.
The president came far closer to death than hospital and White House officials ever let on. He lost over half of his blood. At first, nurses could not get a blood pressure reading and feared that Reagan was on the edge of shock, a life-threatening condition caused by a loss of blood so severe that there is not enough to keep the body's vital organs working. His left lung filled with blood, and a chest tube was inserted. Nine times out of 10, that reinflates the lungs, which will then close injured vessels and halt the bleeding—but not this time.
