From The Center for Vision & Values, Grove City College
By Paul G. Kengor
Editor’s note: This article first appeared at The American Spectator.
The most important adviser to President Ronald Reagan in his takedown
of the Soviet empire has died at the age of 81. His name was William P.
“Bill” Clark, known to many as simply “Judge Clark,” and he was one of
the finest human beings and Americans that this country has ever known. I
can say that without exaggeration and with the intimate knowledge of
someone who became not only Clark’s biographer but a close friend.
Actually, it was hard to be otherwise. I never met anyone who didn’t
like and come to respect Bill Clark. Think about this: Could you name
another person, in the Reagan administration or out, praised by figures
as diverse as Edmund Morris and Cap Weinberger, Edwin Meese and Lou
Cannon, Maureen Dowd and Michael Reagan, Human Events and the New York
Times, Time and National Review, and even Jimmy Carter and George H. W.
Bush? As to the last pair, when we prepared the biography of Clark for
publication, it wasn’t a huge surprise when we got endorsements from
both Carter and Bush. Only Bill Clark could inspire something like that.
And yet, if you asked Bill Clark how that could be, he would smile and say, “They’re easily deceived.”
No, they weren’t. In Clark’s mind, however, they were. This was a
devoutly Catholic man of genuine saint-like charity and humility —
praise he would characteristically and insistently deny. In fact, the
biggest mistake I made in convincing him to let me be his biographer was
allowing him veto power over things he objected to. This wasn’t a
mistake for the usual reasons. Indeed, if I want to make a criticism of
Clark, he would say “much deserved.” The problem was Clark’s refusal to
let me commend him for things indubitably much deserved. Clark wouldn’t
even let me call me him a “devout” Catholic. If I recall, we settled on
“serious” Catholic. That, at the least, could be rightly said of a man
who built a church on his ranch outside Paso Robles, California, and
whose only real regret in life was that he didn’t pursue the priesthood,
leaving an Augustinian novitiate for good in February 1951.
But there was good reason for that, as Clark often noted. “It wasn’t
part of the DP, Paul,” he would tell me again and again. “Not part of
the DP.”
The “DP,” which Clark and Ronald Reagan pondered together, was the “Divine Plan.”
To that end, God had another route for Bill Clark: it was to become
first a lawyer, a rancher, and then connect with Ronald Reagan in a
fascinating ride that altered the course of history.
The two men took that ride together. Fellow ranchers, fellow
horsemen, fellow cowboys, they were kindred souls — some said like
brothers, others said like father and son. They seemed to intuitively
know what the other wanted. They were so close that Michael Reagan,
Ronald Reagan’s son, emailed me yesterday to say of Clark’s death: “I
have lost my father for the second time … Good bye friend.”
For Bill Clark, the partnership began when he helped Reagan’s 1966
campaign for governor. Once Reagan won, Clark was his top aide,
eventually chief of staff. Governor Reagan soon began appointing Clark
up through various levels of the California court system, all the way to
the state Supreme Court (thus the moniker “Judge Clark”). Clark loved
the work, and even commuted to Sacramento via a private plane he
regularly launched from the driveway-turned-runway of his ranch.
There was only one thing that could tug Bill Clark away from that
job: Ronald Reagan’s need for him elsewhere; his sense of duty to Reagan
and country. And so, when Reagan became president in January 1981, he
convinced — and it truly took convincing — Clark to come to Washington
to serve as deputy secretary of state. As Reagan put it, he needed
someone he could trust at State, an “America desk” at Foggy Bottom. Bill
Clark was that guy.
For the record, Clark first had to survive confirmation hearings
before he could take the job at State. That would have been easy if not
for a smarmy, smirking politician on the Senate Foreign Relations
Committee who deliberately tripped up Clark, turning the good man’s
appointment into an international spectacle that humiliated the
gentlemanly rancher and thrilled our enemies, especially the Soviets.
That man, whose charade that February day was one of the ugliest
displays in the history of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, was a
young senator from Delaware named Joe Biden.
Despite Biden’s antics, Clark’s performance at State blew away
everyone. From Time to the New York Times, he was heralded for his
steady hand, as Reagan’s reliable counsel. A year later, at the start of
January 1982, Clark became Reagan’s national security adviser, head of
the crucial National Security Council. It was there, in that seat, that
Clark and Reagan, along with the likes of Bill Casey at the CIA and a
group of superb staffers, laid the groundwork to undermine the Soviet
Union.
That story cannot be given due justice in this short tribute, but, as
a quick summary: The most consequential National Security Decision
Directives — NSDDs, the formal documents that created official Reagan
administration policy — were completed under Clark’s direction. Clark
oversaw the development of NSDDs 2 through 120. The goal of these NSDDs
was nothing short of revolutionary: to reverse the Soviet grip on
Eastern Europe, to liberate Eastern Europe, and even to bring “political
pluralism” (as one NSDD put it) to the Soviet Union. These were
dramatic objectives that no one but Clark and Reagan thought possible in
1982.
Beyond NSDDs, any student of the Reagan administration knows that the
really big things that happened in Reagan’s Soviet policy took place in
the two transformational years that Clark headed the NSC: the meeting
with John Paul II at the Vatican, the Westminster speech, the Strategic
Defense Initiative, the Evil Empire speech, NSDDs 32, 54, 66, 75, just
for starters.
When Clark left the NSC position in late 1983, in part due to
pressures from White House “moderates” and “pragmatists,” the men
surrounding Clark were devastated. They sensed a looming apocalypse;
they thought everything they had gained under Clark was suddenly dead. I
sat in the tack barn of Clark’s ranch one hot summer day and read their
pleas — long, heartfelt, heartbroken letters (which Clark kept). His
faithful lieutenants were sure all was lost. Two men, however, were not
crestfallen at all: Bill Clark and Ronald Reagan. They just smiled. They
were confident the plan was in place. The groundwork had been laid. The
DP was ready to prevail.
Clark’s service to Reagan wasn’t over. He went on to serve a short
but successful stint as secretary of interior, replacing the embattled
James Watt. He also quietly served Reagan throughout the second term in a
number of fascinating trouble-shooter and advisory roles that ranged
from China’s Three Gorges Dam to Saddam Hussein to Iran-Contra.
Virtually none of these tasks made the newspapers, and weren’t supposed
to.
But then, alas, came another fascinating twist in the DP. It was what
Clark later called a “wake-up call,” or, in his penchant for acronyms,
an “AFE” — an Action Forcing Event.
It was March 7, 1988. The 56-year-old Clark taxied into position on
the dirt landing strip of his ranch. He decided he was substantially
finished with government service and was looking forward to life at the
ranch, working cattle, planting olive trees, and developing a vineyard.
But his sense of duty to God and country seemed unclear, unsettled.
Something wasn’t right.
The night before, Clark had returned from a trip to Europe. He felt
jet-lagged, not especially sharp, but his desk at the office in town was
piled high with work, and he needed to pick up some fuel. He stepped
into his plane and ran up the engine. Early into takeoff, the plane got
caught in a crosswind. “I knew right away that I was in trouble,” said
Clark. “I lost control.” At about 60 miles per hour, the plane crashed
into a supply building to the right of the runway.
Bill Clark lay unconscious in a mangled mess of smoking metal. Ribs
broken, shoulder separated, skull fractured, and soaked in blood and
fuel, he was alive but hardly out of danger. The engine, simmering hot,
was pushed back against his legs, while fuel from the fractured
wing-tank sprayed on to the unconscious pilot. For some reason, the
plane hadn’t burst into flames. “It should have lit up,” Clark later
marveled.
A briefcase in the seat next to Clark contained a Dictaphone/recorder
that activated from the force of impact when the plane hit the ground.
The audiotape still survives. On the recording, Clark can be heard
groaning and calling for help.
Clark’s only coherent plea, “God, please help me!” is immediately
followed by the sound of the door being ripped off the plane. Jésus
Muñoz, long-time ranch hand and dear friend of Clark to his final hours,
had happened upon the crash and raced to the scene. He yanked the door
from its hinges and somehow extricated Clark before the plane burst into
flames.
Clark remained unconscious for an hour-and-a-half before waking in
the intensive care unit at a nearby hospital. He thanked God and then
made a decision he had been discerning: He would no longer delay in
building that chapel he had thought about over the years. That brush
with death, said Clark, was “a little wake-up call … God’s wake-up
call.”
“Look,” he told me one summer at his ranch, shyly, sheepishly. “I’m
no saint… but the incident helped me decide to go ahead and build the
chapel.” To borrow from one of his inspirations, Mother Teresa, he
determined to do something beautiful for God, on the ranch property, the
same ground where his craft smashed.
Today, that chapel, financed solely by Clark, sits off Route 46 in
central California, at the entrance to Clark’s ranch. It’s called Chapel
Hill, and is admired by the community and, surely, by the God that
Clark dedicated it to.
It contains artifacts collected by Clark and his late wife: originals
from 14th to 17th century European monasteries, a special replica from
St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York, surplus ceiling and stone remnants
from the William Randolph Hearst collection at nearby San Simeon. On the
exterior of the church is a ceramic mosaic of Saint Francis’ Peace
Prayer. It was a prayer that Clark and Reagan prayed together. It’s also
reflective of the Franciscan friar’s frock that hangs in the closet of
Clark’s ranch house, given to him long ago, but which, having decided
not to pursue the priesthood, Clark always felt unworthy to don.
In fact, it’s all so magically and providentially Saint Francis-like.
In the hospital, having received God’s “wake-up call,” Clark
experienced a Francis-like epiphany, as he felt God calling him to build
his church.
Clark gave God that church, and God gave Bill Clark 25 more years.
Clark gave God that church, and God gave Bill Clark 25 more years.
Fittingly, and finally, it’s in that chapel that the funeral service
of Bill Clark, Ronald Reagan’s indispensable man and kindred soul,
seriously devout Catholic and seriously good man who literally made the
world a better place, will be held this week.
Call it the DP. All part of the DP.
Dr. Paul Kengor is professor of political science at Grove City College, executive director of The Center for Vision & Values, and New York Times best-selling author of the book, “The Communist: Frank Marshall Davis, The Untold Story of Barack Obama’s Mentor.” His other books include "The Crusader: Ronald Reagan and the Fall of Communism" and "Dupes: How America’s Adversaries Have Manipulated Progressives for a Century."
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