The news of Jimmy Carter’s death yesterday filled me with nostalgia. When he ran for President in the aftermath of Watergate, I was taken with his down-home, Mayberry-esque persona. Interviewing his daughter-in-law Judy for my high school’s radio station sealed my loyalty, and I postponed my freshman year in college to become a volunteer coordinator.
During the next several months I had many occasions to meet and/or work with members of the Carter family and team, and I’d like to share a few stories. Rosalyn Carter was scheduled to speak at a local event, and I was to be one of her greeters. When she got there, however, she wasn’t feeling well. I showed her to the restroom and wondered how she’d ever be able to address the gathering. After she went up on the platform and gave a glowing speech, I learned what the term “steel magnolia” meant.
That next January I matriculated at American University in Washington, D.C., and the Carters moved into the White House. Learning that one of my new friend’s mothers was Amy Carter’s schoolteacher thrilled me; in fact, her mother gave Amy the puppy that was famously photographed. I also got to hear President Carter teach Sunday School at the Baptist Church he attended.
I transferred to Lafayette a year later, and that spring received an invitation from the Carters to attend a White House barbecue. A friend and I drove to D.C. and had a marvelous time gawking at our surroundings and dancing to the Atlanta Rhythm Section with a reporter and a military man respectively. When the time came for the receiving line, I held my invitation for the President to sign. I was about to shake his hand and ask for his autograph when his wife addressed me. Rosalyn pointed to my hand and said, “I’m afraid he isn’t allowed to give you a live signature.” I swallowed my embarrassment but with a glint in his eyes President Carter said, “I can’t give you my signature, but I can give you a kiss.” Then he pulled me close and kissed my right cheek. I was stunned, muttered “Thank you, Mr. President,” and promptly tripped on a divot in the ground. As I nearly went sprawling, a Secret Service agent’s hand went to his holster while the Carters laughed softly at the comical incident.
Unfortunately, my hopes in his administration were not fulfilled for the reasons many articulate people have cataloged over the years. Since then when I’ve had occasion to think about him, however, I’ve remembered the good times and the idealistic dreams. I still honor his memory for his work on behalf of integration in Georgia, his tireless advocacy with Habitat for Humanity, and his all-out devotion to his wife.
Leave a Reply