Here's a part of a Politico story based on the book
here are the more interesting fragments
The Plot to Out Ronald Reagan
Politico
May 27, 2022 — A group of Republicans tried to stymie what they alleged was a nefarious homosexual network within the campaign of their own party’s standard-bearer. More than 40 years later, the story can finally be told.
It was 3:15 on the morning of June 26, 1980, and Congressman Bob Livingston was extraordinarily drunk, hiding in the congressional gym beneath the Rayburn House Office Building, petrified that a team of highly trained right-wing homosexual assassins working on behalf of Ronald Reagan was about to kill him.
This account of the alleged “homosexual ring” that controlled Ronald Reagan, and the efforts to expose it on the eve of the 1980 Republican National Convention that nominated him for the presidency, is compiled from interviews with several of the surviving participants and documents uncovered in the papers of former Washington Post Executive Editor Ben Bradlee. Appropriately for a story involving what was once considered the gravest sin in American politics, it has never been told until now.
But over dinner, three weeks before he and his fellow Republicans were to gather at the Joe Louis Arena in Detroit for their national convention, Livingston had something more urgent on his mind than the twilight struggle between capitalism and communism. For months, speculation had been mounting as to whom Reagan would choose as his running mate. The former governor of California needed a veep candidate who could heal the widening divide within the GOP between its moderate establishment and conservatives like himself. Some of the top contenders were former CIA Director George H. W. Bush, who had recently bowed out of the race for president, and former President Gerald Ford. But it was the serious consideration of a fellow House colleague — Rep. Jack Kemp — that most piqued Livingston’s interest. Bouchey’s group was informally advising the Reagan campaign on Latin American issues. Perhaps Bouchey had a window into its deliberations.
“Do you know anything about Kemp, is he AC/DC?” Livingston asked, referencing not the Australian hard rock band but the slang expression for bisexual.
“Yeah, I heard some things,” Bouchey replied. “That stuff’s been around.”
“That stuff,” or what Kemp adviser Jude Wanniski termed “the homosexual thing,” had dogged the upstate New York congressman and former professional football player since the fall of 1967, when the syndicated newspaper columnists Drew Pearson and Jack Anderson published a piece linking Kemp to a “homosexual ring” operating within Reagan’s gubernatorial office. Kemp, then the starting quarterback for the Buffalo Bills and an aspiring policy wonk, had spent the summer offseason working for Reagan as perhaps the most famous intern in America. According to the muckraking duo, Reagan’s security chief had obtained “a tape recording of a sex orgy” held at a Lake Tahoe cabin leased by two Reagan staffers, and while Pearson and Anderson didn’t name any names, in the case of Kemp, they didn’t have to. One of the eight men involved, they wrote, was an “athletic adviser on youth activities who has since gone on leave for the fall athletic season.”
Murmurings about the handsome young athlete spread from the political watering holes of Sacramento to the locker rooms of the American Football League, following him all the way to Capitol Hill, where Kemp, who died in 2009, began a meteoric rise after winning a seat in Congress in 1970. In 1978, during the congressional midterm elections, senior Jimmy Carter aide Hamilton Jordan told a reporter to disregard Kemp as a serious presidential contender because he was a “queer,” and the chair of the Democratic National Committee advised another journalist that a Kemp-sponsored tax bill had no chance of passing for the same reason. “There is absolutely not a shred of evidence,” a fed-up Kemp complained. “There is nothing, and there was nothing.” The “slander” and “old calumny” that the virile ex-football pro and father of four might be gay, journalists Rowland Evans and Robert Novak wrote at the time, was a “vicious canard,” the sort of “poisonous” “garbage” one found “submerged in the political sewers” and other “gutter communications” that “not only do gross injustice to their victims but also demean and pollute democratic government.”
All this was on Livingston’s mind because of what he had heard the previous month at a secret meeting with members of the Republican “Wednesday Group,” a club of liberal to moderate GOP congressmen who gathered weekly to talk shop and plot strategy over pretzels and booze. Livingston was not a member of the group. But he had been roped into an impromptu discussion in California Rep. Pete McCloskey’s office by a colleague. Behind those closed doors, McCloskey suggested strongly that the possibility of Kemp as a running mate was proof that the “homosexual ring” around Reagan, long dismissed as rumor, might be something all too real.
While Livingston was concerned about the potential political liability for his party’s impending nominee, McCloskey was worried that Reagan himself represented a danger to the Republican Party and the country.
In recent weeks, McCloskey explained to the other congressmen huddled in his office, he had been in contact with a local television news reporter named Bill Best who used to work in the Bay Area and had been active in California GOP politics during the late 1960s. The last time McCloskey had heard from Best was in early 1976, a few months after Reagan announced his decision to challenge President Gerald Ford in the Republican primary. Best agitatedly told him that senior Reagan advisers had sexually propositioned him on two separate occasions. McCloskey did not hear from Best again until four years later, in the spring of 1980, when Reagan was on the verge of clinching the nomination. Best began calling him frantically to report that “homosexual people were very close to Reagan’s campaign leadership,” that they were “running” Reagan’s campaign, and that “the situation is absolutely out of control.” It was not until a boozy lunch with a man claiming to have been a “long time Reagan associate,” however, that Best found what he believed to be the “smoking gun” proving that Reagan was controlled by homosexuals. “Bill, you don’t understand the problem,” the man told Best. “I once engaged in a homosexual act with Reagan.”
The crux of the document was encapsulated in point 32: “Bill [Best] expressed extreme concern about the danger of a former Hollywood actor in fact being the ‘Manchurian candidate’ and spoke at length on the nature of the Hollywood movie industry and the fact that an actor is in the hands and under the manipulation of studios, producers, directors, etc., and that he must carry out orders in order to survive. He felt that Reagan had been manipulated all of his life, and that he was essentially ‘in bondage’ to those around him.” Ronald Reagan as the ventriloquized pawn of shadowy and sinister forces — his “Kitchen Cabinet” of California millionaires, his wife Nancy, Nancy’s astrologers, the Mafia — has long been a motif in assessments of the 40th president, and what McCloskey’s contribution to the genre might have lacked in plausibility, it more than made up for with originality. Controlling Reagan in this scenario was a “network” of homosexuals who “shared an almost religious zeal against communism and [on] behalf of right-wing causes.”
While gay sex might still have been illegal in most American states at the time, and gay people officially remained “security risks,” it was hard to see how any of the alleged activity involving the Reagan aides threatened the public trust. “In the end, I can’t remember anyone postulating a lede that made sense of this,” remembered Patrick Tyler. There was smoke but no fire, as Bradlee would tell McCloskey when he saw him at the Republican convention.
The rumors about Jack Kemp, however, persisted. On the first day of the convention, Reagan’s longtime communications man Lyn Nofziger told Robert Novak that the New York congressman was a strong contender for the veep nomination. After Reagan selected George Bush, Novak asked Nofziger what had dashed Kemp’s chances. “It was that homosexual thing,” Nofziger conceded, repeating Kemp adviser Jude Wanniski’s phrase. “The governor finally said, ‘We just can’t do this to Jack.’”
McCloskey remained unfazed. By September, the maverick congressman was still withholding his endorsement. The presence of a closeted homosexual, Peter Hannaford, in a potential Reagan administration could pose a threat to national security, McCloskey believed, and so he took his concerns directly to Reagan’s longtime adviser and campaign chief of staff, Ed Meese.
McCloskey gave up his House seat in 1982 to run for the Senate, losing in the Republican primary after campaigning against “the Jewish lobby.” In 2000, he emerged briefly from obscurity to deliver a speech at a Holocaust denial conference. In light of this record, his last-ditch effort to torpedo Ronald Reagan with a tale portraying him as the dupe of a right-wing homosexual conspiracy looks like just another episode in a career spent tilting at windmills — his unlikely friend John Ehrlichman described him as “a latter-day Don Quixote” — though one much less honorable than challenging Richard Nixon for the presidency.
Had the whole farrago of rumor and innuendo about the gay Reaganite conspiracy come to light during the campaign, it’s difficult to say what effect it would have had on the election. Of all the voters most likely to be troubled by such charges, it would have been the evangelical Christians whose support Reagan was courting so assiduously. Reagan’s eventual 10-point victory over Carter obscures how close the race was during the final stretch. In June, just as the Post investigation was about to unfold, Carter led Reagan 35 percent to 33 percent in a national Gallup poll, and few predicted anything near the landslide Reagan ultimately won.
Over four decades later, the plot to out Reagan vividly demonstrates the extent to which the specter of homosexuality cast a pall over American politics. Livingston’s fellow Louisianan, the comically corrupt Gov. Edwin Edwards, might have been joking with his infamous quip that the only way he could lose an election “is if I’m caught in bed with a dead girl or a live boy.”