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.
This early rescue gave Ronald Reagan one of his first tastes of notoriety: the front page of the Friday, August 3, 1928 Dixon Evening Telegraph carried a top-of-the-fold headline that read “James Raider Pulled From the Jaws of Death,” about the rescue made the previous evening by “Life Guard Ronald ‘Dutch’ Reagan.” It informed residents that Dutch had notched his twenty-fifth save.
This was Reagan’s first page-one headline. He shared the top-of-the-fold with King George, who was reportedly enthusiastic about the Kellogg-Briand Pact to “outlaw war,” and with the customary story on election fraud in Chicago. He was a news story for the first time—thousands more would follow. He had made the front page, as a hometown hero, early in life. And this would not be an isolated occasion for the Dixonite: The Telegraph continued to broadcast Reagan’s heroics as he continued to make saves, each time updating Dutch’s rescue tally to the wonderment and amusement of the locals.8 Such episodes forged in the young man a supreme confidence that never left him, one that would forever affect Ronald Reagan’s actions, from Dixon to Hollywood, and eventually all the way to Washington.
WHEN THE REAGANS ARRIVED IN DIXON IN 1920, THEY FELL IN love with Lowell Park. That first summer, Jack, Nelle, and sons Neil and Ronald drove to the park in the Model T, as the youngest Reagan, nine-year-old Dutch, dreamed about working there one day.
In the spring of 1926, as a sophomore in high school, Dutch’s big chance arrived. There was a vacated lifeguard job at Lowell. The teenager applied through beach owner Ed Graybill, who had doubts about Reagan’s age. Graybill first checked with Dutch’s dad: “Give the kid a chance,” Jack Reagan prodded. “He can do it.” Graybill hired him, and never regretted his decision. His wife, Ruth, later remembered of Dutch:
Even as a high school sophomore, he was a perfect employee. He was my boy. He was wonderful— dependable and polite. I never heard one complaint about him. He always knew his duties. We never had a basket of clothes left due to a body being at the bottom of the river. That was because we had a good lifeguard…. He was dependable and firm…. He would give out orders—“stay inside the lifeline”—and he meant it. When the beach was not busy, he taught kids to swim. And if he was in a jovial mood, he’d start walking like a chimp and give us a little entertainment.9
Prior to Reagan, there had been many baskets of clothes left behind, as several people had drowned in the river in the immediate summers before Reagan’s arrival.10 But once Dutch joined the ranks of the lifeguards, all that changed. This sense of purpose played a formative role in Reagan’s life. Of all his jobs prior to adulthood, Reagan most enjoyed “my beloved lifeguarding,” as he later referred to it—“maybe… the best job I ever had.”11 It was a job he did not consider work, despite toiling riverside seven days a week, ten to twelve hours per day, typically 10 am to 9 pm, for a mere $15–16 a week plus so-called “meals,” which usually meant something from the snack stand.12 It was a grueling schedule, but despite its difficulties Reagan kept it up, continuing it for seven summers until he finished his education at Eureka College in 1932.
Local resident Burrel J. Reynolds remembered being watched by Dutch. “I was seven or eight and couldn’t swim,” said Reynolds sixty years later, “but I’d go in deeper water. He’d blow a whistle—blow you in. He was always after me.”13 Not all were so appreciative. Most, in fact, never thanked Reagan. Some were too embarrassed, especially the guys, who usually only thanked him grudgingly at the urging of girlfriends. He came to learn that many people seemed to hate being saved. “[A]lmost every one of them,” he claimed, “later sought me out and angrily denounced me for dragging them to shore. ‘I would have been fine if you’d let me alone.’”14
But it was not his job to let them alone. For seven summers, Ronald was the rock at the Rock River, always watching, always there. During his sevenyear tenure, Reagan saved the lives of seventy-seven people as a lifeguard, a number he held dear. “One of the proudest statistics of my life is 77,” he said many decades later.15
Actually, Reagan may have short-changed himself. He netted a seventy-eighth save at the river a year after he left the job. He had returned to Lowell to visit the new lifeguard—a buddy. His friend asked him to watch the water for a minute while he used the bathroom. “Would you believe I had to go in and make a rescue while he was gone?” Reagan later told an inquirer.16 And there were still others yet to come in the years ahead, as Reagan would make rescues at pools in Des Moines, Iowa and even in Sacramento, California, the latter as a 56-year-old governor.17
Saving a drowning victim is not an easy task under any circumstance, but it was especially difficult in the treacherous Rock River with its swirling currents and murky, dark water. Downstream from the river was a dam. When the sluices were opened, the normally slow current quickly picked up its tempo. Reagan remembered the “deeper thrust” this created in the water. The area surprised swimmers by sloping off just a few feet from the edge. Dutch learned that the shortest route from shore to shore was never a straight line but a swooping upstream arc.18 This swift-moving body of water is so thick, with currents so strong and dangerous, that swimming there today is banned and has been for years.
