ON SUNDAY, NOV. 6, RONALD REAGAN AND HIS wife, Nancy, enjoyed a routine day at their ranch in California's Santa Yñez Mountains. The former President went horseback riding and chopped some wood. As has often been the case of late, the couple had no visitors and that night had a quiet dinner alone.

If there was anything remarkable about that Sunday, it was in its contrast to the commotion the 83-year-old former President had caused the previous day. In a touching, handwritten note released by his office in Los Angeles, Reagan had told the American people that while he felt "fine" now, he had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease, the incurable brain disorder that gradually—but relentlessly—renders its victims incapacitated and eventually results in their deaths.

It was vintage Reagan to deal forthrightly once again with a medical problem, just as he had done with all the lesser ailments that had plagued him over the years, including skin and colon cancer and an enlarged prostate. In the wake of the announcement, his office and presidential library were flooded with thousands of calls from well-wishers—from Barbara Walters to Merv Griffin—who took the opportunity to praise his bravery. "What he did was enormously courageous and selfless and typical of him," says old friend Charlton Heston.

Amid the outpouring of goodwill, there was the prospect that Reagan's candor might demystify a terrifying disease in much the same way that former First Lady Betty Ford had helped bring alcoholism and breast cancer out of the shadows and into the realm of public discourse. And painful as it was, the former First Couple clearly felt a sense of relief at finally disclosing the truth. When Nancy's former press secretary Elaine Crispen, who had no advance warning, learned of the President's announcement, she immediately called her ex-boss to offer support. "I almost felt like I was making a condolence call, but once she and I got beyond that and she assured me that he was feeling fine, we even laughed," says Crispen. "We started sharing stories, and she was in pretty good spirits."

It is unclear exactly when the Reagan family began to notice signs of deterioration in the former President's memory. Certainly during his Presidency, and especially in the last several years of his Administration, there were widespread reports of his inattentiveness during meetings and forgetfulness about policy details. All the same, most aides and many outside observers simply chalked up those lapses to his somewhat casual style of governing. "There were always gaps," says Reagan biographer Lou Cannon. "There were some days when he was sharp, some days when he wasn't."

Not long after he left office, though, there were some disturbing episodes. When he met Bill Clinton shortly after the 1992 election, he stopped mid-sentence and looked angry. "He said, 'I forgot,' " Clinton recalled. "He said, 'I lost my memory on that and it really makes me mad.' "

In January 1993, at a party to celebrate his 82nd birthday, Reagan gave a notably unsteady performance during his speech to the assembled guests, including Jimmy Stewart and former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. "At one point he forgot where he was in his [written] speech," says Paul Keeley, an actor who was moonlighting as a waiter at the Simi Valley event. "He looked up and seemed confused. Then he went back to the beginning and started reading from the top and didn't realize he'd done it." The room fell silent. "He went on to ad-lib some jokes," says Keeley. "People were very polite, but everyone was very aware of what was going on."

About a year ago, Reagan reportedly went to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minn., for a series of tests. The report came back that he was in the early stages of Alzheimer's. The decision was made to keep the diagnosis confidential, within Reagan's immediate family. Son Michael, 49, host of a syndicated radio talk show in Los Angeles, says that shortly after learning about the disease, his stepmother circulated a copy of The 36-Hour Day, a book that deals with the issue of caring for Alzheimer's victims.

As a manual, says Michael, the book proved enormously useful. "The last thing you want to do as a family member is misinterpret what is going on and treat the person like they're stupid or yell at them for not doing this or forgetting that when, indeed, they have a disease they have no control over," he says. "So we let him tell his stories. If he forgot something, then he would come back to it. You just have to be patient."

Reagan's daughter Maureen, 53, who lives in Sacramento, and Ron Jr., 36, an aspiring actor, have also rallied to his side. Even daughter Patti, 42, who recently posed nude for Playboy and has had, at best, strained relations with her parents, got in touch. "She's had several conversations with her family about this," says a friend. "She says they've been very pleasant."

At times, associates say, the former President can be his hale old self. "Five or six months ago I had a perfectly normal conversation with him," says one former aide in Washington. "It was not the kind of conversation where he could have learned his responses, and he was fine." Still, in his increasingly rare public appearances, including the funeral of former President Richard Nixon last April, Reagan looked distressingly feeble to those who observed him up close. Ultimately, Reagan himself decided that he wanted to share the news of his affliction with the American people rather than let speculation about his condition continue to build—as it did when he failed to campaign for Republican candidates this fall. Despite the somber nature of the announcement, Reagan managed to sound upbeat—almost jaunty. "I now begin the journey that will lead me into the sunset of my life," he wrote. "I know that for America there will always be a bright dawn ahead."

By starting that journey so candidly, Reagan may help banish much of the stigma that has long been associated with Alzheimer's. Often viewed as a psychiatric disorder by much of the public, Alzheimer's is in fact a neurological disease characterized by a deficiency in the brain of chemicals known as neurotransmitters, which allow brain cells to communicate with each other. When these cells stop communicating, says Dr. Zaven Khachaturian, director of the Office of Alzheimer's Disease Research at the National Institutes of Health in Bethesda, Md., the cells wither and eventually die. Although Alzheimer's can affect speech, personality and motor functions, the most conspicuous early symptoms usually involve memory loss. In the more advanced stages, that loss can be devastating. "You and I may forget where we parked the car, but an Alzheimer's patient can't remember if he drove that day," says Khachaturian. "He'll look at the car keys and forget what they're for."

In some cases, Alzheimer's patients have been frightened just by looking in the mirror. Because they have forgotten what their own faces look like, they believe there is a stranger in the room. Ultimately, the disease can completely disable patients by robbing them of the ability to feed or care for themselves. It usually leads to death eight to 10 years after it is diagnosed.

In the U.S., Alzheimer's afflicts some 4 million people. Though the disease is believed to be often inherited (Reagan's mother, Nelle, is thought to have suffered from Alzheimer's), it strikes all segments of the population. Among the many famous Americans who have suffered from Alzheimer's are actors Rita Hayworth, Dana Andrews and Edmond O'Brien, painters Norman Rockwell and Willem de Kooning and boxer Sugar Ray Robinson.

Researchers are hopeful that in the next few years an effective treatment for the disease will be developed. It will probably come too late to help the former President, but his family is determined to cherish the time they have with him while he is still reasonably healthy. Elaine Crispen says Nancy told her that Alzheimer's patients sometimes don't become debilitated for eight or nine years. "She mentioned that in that case, he would be 92 years old, and that would be wonderful," says Crispen. Michael says his daughter Ashley, 11, put it more simply when she was told of her grandfather's condition. "I'm going to love my grandpa," she said, "even if he doesn't know who I am."

BILL HEWITT
LYNDA WRIGHT and LYNDON STAMBLER in Los Angeles, ROCHELLE JONES and ALICIA BROOKS in Washington, and bureau reports

  • Contributors:
  • Lynda Wright,
  • Lyndon Stambler,
  • Rochelle Jones,
  • Alicia Brooks.
This week's cover

On Newsstands Now!

Saved by the Bell Reunion

The hookups, the meltdowns, the memoires

The case reveals what was really going on what they think of each other now!

Get 4 FREE PREVIEW Issues! Click here now