Author’s Note: The recent state funeral for Jimmy Carter and the second inauguration of The Orange One suggested this might be a good time to resurrect this piece. Originally drafted on June 11, 2004, it may have been inspired by David Corn’s June 9, 2004 column titled Reagan’s Bloody Legacy in TomPaine [dot] com, as I found a printout of that article alongside this one in my files.

“Goodbye, Ronnie,” said Mrs. Reagan, planting a soft peck on the cheek of the former president who had quietly slipped away moments earlier. She ran her hand gently through his fine mane of hair one last time, then stood up, took a deep breath, and sprang into action.

“Carlos,” she instructed her driver, “take this to the dry-cleaner. And tell them it’s a rush.”

Obediently, Carlos made off for the dry cleaner, the 40^th president slumped over in the passenger side seat of the SUV.

At the strip mall, Carlos struggled under the weight of the president’s body. He dragged it along the blacktop behind him.

“When do you need it by?” the dry cleaner asked.

“As soon as possible,” said Carlos. “We need to get it to Washington. There’s going to be a state funeral.”

“We’re backed up,” the dry cleaner responded humorlessly, handing him the ticket. “Thursday, after five.”

Back at the estate, the former first lady was busy making phone calls. The Reagans had had many dear friends and all of them were willing to help out during this sad time. Nancy broke the news to one friend after another. “He was a good man,” they said. “We’ll miss him.”

Mrs. Bush called and extended her condolences. After an awkward moment of silence, the current first lady raised the delicate subject of the arrangements.

“The president will be traveling this week,” she explained. “So, George was wondering if we could do the funeral on Friday.”

“He’ll be there,” Mrs. Reagan replied curtly.

Upon his return, Carlos conveyed the situation at the dry cleaner. “Can’t you do anything right?” Mrs. Reagan bellowed. She summoned her bodyguards, Lou and Vito.

“Go down to that dry cleaner and get the president,” she instructed them. “Now!”

The two beefy recruits told Carlos to leave the engine running as they made their way into the dry cleaner. They returned several minutes later holding the freshly-pressed president at both ends. Lou flung open the trunk of the SUV with his free hand, his other arm wrapped around the president’s feet. On the count of three, they tossed the one-time actor into the back of the truck. “Let’s get outta here,” Lou advised.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Reagan’s private secretary, Anne, had researched various options for getting the president’s body to Washington.

“There’s Fed-Ex express freight,” she reported. “Delivery guaranteed before 10:30 am the next day.”

Mrs. Reagan studied the numbers. “There all so gosh darn pricey,” she sighed. “Let’s go with UPS ground,” she at last concluded.

Anne set off to process the order and to book four first-class seats on the next available flight to Washington for Mrs. Reagan, her poodle Chanel, and Lou and Vito.

Suddenly overcome by the strain, the first lady rang for her valet Edgar. In no time at all a dry martini arrived and promptly lifted her spirits.

Arriving back at the house, Lou and Vito removed the president’s body from the truck, made their way through the garage and descended down the basement stairs. Groping in the dark for the light switch, Vito momentarily lost his grip of the president’s head. It smacked hard against the stairs.

“Pick it up!” Lou barked at his stunned accomplice.

After several minutes of searching, they uncovered beneath an old throw a dark pine box that the first lady had purchased years before for just this occasion. They opened it and dumped the body in.

Several hours later the brown-uniformed UPS driver came for the scheduled pick-up. He waited as Lou and Vito humped the box up the basement steps and heaved it into the brown van. Anne signed the release, describing the contents as documents.

In Washington the mood was somber. Crowds gathered outside of Blair House across from the White House awaiting the arrival of Mrs. Reagan and her entourage from the airport.

“We love you, Nancy,” they called out upon seeing her. “We miss him, too.”

The president’s body was scheduled to arrive in Washington in two days time, allowing ample opportunity for the first lady to catch up with old friends and to visit Rizik Brothers for a fitting.

Wednesday afternoon Reagan’s body was due at the Ellipse for the ceremonial procession to the U.S. Capitol where it would lie in state. But by three pm, with the horse-drawn caisson waiting patiently to receive the precious cargo, it was apparent that something was terribly wrong. Mrs. Reagan called Anne back in California.

“Find out from UPS what’s going on!” she commanded.

Anne dialed the 800 number. After what seemed like an eternity, she was finally put through to a customer service representative.

“Do you have the tracking number?” the UPS operator inquired.

Frantic, Anne dumped the contents of her purse onto the coffee table. Alas, no UPS slip.

“I don’t have it,” she sobbed. “I don’t know what I did with it.”

“Well ma’am, it’s going to be hard to locate that package without the tracking number,” the voice said through the phone.

“Wait!  Hold on,” she blathered.

Searching her coat pockets, she at last located the piece of paper. She gave the operator the number and was put on hold. After several minutes, he came back on the line. “I’m afraid we’re having some trouble locating that parcel,” he said. “We’ve put a tracer on it and should have an answer for you in forty-eight hours.”

“Forty-eight hours?” Anne shrieked. “But, but . . . people are waiting,” she cried hysterically.

“I understand, ma’am. We’re sorry for the inconvenience.”

Completely beside herself, Anne’s hand trembled as she dialed up her boss back in Washington.

“They WHAT?” screamed Mrs. Reagan.

Slamming down the phone, the first lady’s mind raced ahead in search of a solution.

“What if …” she pondered. “No one would know. It might just work.”

“LOU!” she roared. “VITO!”

The two henchmen appeared at her door moments later. She explained the plan.

Less than an hour later, the burly ones pulled up outside of Blair House in a black hearse. A titanium coffin gleamed in the back. Lou and the first lady exchanged knowing smiles. “Good work,” she whispered. “Let’s go.”

Later that evening at the Capitol, the vice president and other prominent Republicans paid tribute to the legacy of the 40^th president. Crowds of mourners lined up outside, waiting to enter the rotunda to pay their respects. The Democratic members of Congress maintained a silent vigil.

On Friday morning, inside the Advent Baptist Church at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in Southeast Washington, Pastor Ella Lightner was attending to some administrative business related to the celebration of life service for Ruby Mae Lee, a parishioner. She decided to rest for a bit and turned on the television to watch a few minutes of President Reagan’s funeral. Transfixed by the pageantry, she took no notice of the brown UPS truck that pulled up in front of her church. Nor of the driver in the familiar brown uniform, as he struggled to extract the long, pine box from the back of the vehicle. The sound of the buzzer jolted her.

“UPS!” the driver announced. “Outside delivery!”