#TBT Another Throwback Thursday here. (one day late). This time I highlight my mother and her selfie to die for...well OK someone else took the photo but still it is with President Clinton. In 1999, hiz honor decided to award her the NEA Humanities medal for her work of saving books printed on acid-based paper. (Most of American scholarship is printed on such paper meaning much is disintegrating on library shelves).She certainly taught me that ambition IS made of sterner stuff. You may ask So what happen with you, Tom? Apparently this drive skips a generation or two... It was a great honor and fun for the whole family to meet President Clinton and First Lady Hillary Clinton. As the odd man out, I went as my mothers date to the White House dinner which what great fun. (I post my long narrative of the night below). While I meeting the President was great, meeting the first lady of soul Aretha Franklin was even better! It certainly was the only way I was going to get into the White House. ======================================================== The Chronicles of the 1999 Humanities Medal. Dedicated to those want to know and many who don’t. Meyer Battin It all started in a small town in upstate New York. So small in fact that one needed to use Binghamton as a reference point which in turn could only be described to some as “south of Syracuse”. There, tucked in the corner of the university library, sat an all too tall, well-educated, Mennonite-in-another-life cataloger. Hunched over the stack of cards she pondered whether this was really all there was. “NO! “ came the resounding response from the stacks. She looked up, somewhat puzzled. “Did I really just hear that?” She looked around the room and saw no one nearby, only a lone student at the other end of the room. He was slumped over in a chair with the book in his lap sliding toward the floor, snoring away. “I must be imagining things”, she thought. “I have to give up all that coffee”. A faint dust began to collect on the cards in her hand and on the table in front. Particles of a yellowish hue that were not the usual component of dust bunnies and white-gloved inspections. As she flipped through the cards, this strange dust began to fall more frequently until it looked as rain, then a light snow, then an absolute blizzard. It came down so hard that in a few minutes it was like snowdrift around her ankles. Now she was standing waist deep as if in quicksand. Now up to her shoulders – she was being buried alive by this odd particulate matter. Her heart raced, her breathing labored. “Is this IT? Am I am die in some freak accident of librarianship? I am too young for this”. With that Pat was jolted awake in her bed as the radio snapped on. “Whew, just a dream”, she thought. “President Clinton announced today the recipients of the 1999 Humanities Medals from the National Endowment for the Humanities. Medalists were the famous, Steven Spielberg, Garrison Keillor, Jim Lehrer. And the not so famous, Patricia Battin…”. Pat froze for a moment. “It’s true then”, she thought, “that wasn’t part of the dream.” And so it was. Mrs. Microfilm had arrived. From mere cataloger, to assistant librarian, to Ivy League Vice President, to national spokesperson on slow fires, Patricia Battin ascended the hill – mountain more like it. Trekking where others – mostly men – said she shouldn’t go, couldn’t go. And now the PREEEEESIDENT of the UNIIIIIIITED STAAAAAATES had conferred upon her the highest honor he could think of. The only catch was she had to go to his house to collect it. And so the mad dash to the White House began. First, calling upon me, her sometime tuxedoed son, to provide escort service. Although unaccustomed as I was to this role, I thought “this is probably the only chance I’LL get to the White House…it is not like books are talking to me these days.” So I, as did my two sisters, promptly made arrangements to accompany our fair matriarch to her crowning, well medaling, but let’s not be picky. There were tuxes to rent, gowns to be bought, guests to invite, suits to alter, and – most importantly – planes to book. Somehow it all came together. Paul stepped forward to offer 5 days of babysitting so Laura could “pop over”, as they say, to Washington. The kids were ecstatic at the idea of eating McDonalds for 5 nights, but were less sanguine about Mummy going away for so long. The Maine crowd schemed on the appropriate stories to absent themselves from 2 days of work and school. And Beau remained rather laconic and nonchalant about the whole thing. “Grandma always getting an award for something”. (He is seventeen after all). I was left to face the reality of a middle age spread and, after several weeks of procrastinating, found that San Francisco does indeed have 1-day tailoring. The constant barrage of faxes and phone calls about the course of events proved to be part of the entertainment. First it was 6 guests, then no it was only 1, then it was at the White House, then, no, it was going to rain so it was elsewhere, then it was bring another guest to the White House after dinner…and so on. All in stereo because both the White House and the NEH had to keep us abreast of changing events. I even retrieved messages from San Francisco telling me that venues had shifted and events had changed. It soon became clear to us why national health care legislation foundered. Tuesday was the Endowment’s day so they chose to have an afternoon press conference with all the medalists and the fete them at dinner that evening. That morning mother and I suffered our first panic attack when we arrived at the tuxedo place, at the appointed hour only to find it closed. Following her advice, I had made arrangements to pick up the penguin suit a full day in advance. The owner and I quibbled over the phone like traders in the bazaar about what time I could come by. We settled on 11 AM and now he wasn’t there. Fortunately, as it is when traveling with Mrs. Microfilm, we were just early and soon enough the owner arrived and all was forgiven. We had passed our first high society test. Back to the apartment to suit up – business attire that is – wolf down some lunch and wait for our “driver” to arrive. This honoree stuff seems to include a few good perks – this time a car and driver to chauffeur us around. We were all looking forward to this uncommon pleasure. After careful negotiation, Mother had secured a seat for Laura as well so she would not have to take a separate cab. The itinerary now clearly read – boldly penned in with black marker – “Mrs Battin’s daughter may also ride in the car.” Having a driver was apparently one of the perks Mom had wished for in her move from New York to DC. That, and a chef. So we all opined about which we would prefer if offered only one. I went for the chef since I can always ride MUNI. The buzzer from the front desk sounded and, like Pavlov’s dogs, we all responded on cue. I grabbed my bag of cameras, Laura some umbrellas, and Mother dashed around turning out lights. Congratulatory flowers for Mom had also just arrived so we quickly hatched a plan where she would ride down with us, pick up the flowers and return them to the apartment while Laura and I entertained the waiting driver. Being first to the elevator, Mom punched the button for down. As she did, the doors of both elevators opened up. Mom dashed into the open door on the right while Laura and I veered left. Mother’s elevator was going up. Off to a good start, Laura and I giggled in the lobby waiting for Mom to arrive from her side trip upstairs. Laura took advantage of the delay by collecting the flowers from the front desk, so when Mother popped out of the elevator, we all just crowded back in for the trip upstairs. After dispatching the flowers, it was déjà vu as we were once again waiting in front of the elevators. This time we were sure to all take the car going down. Carroll was waiting in a black Lincoln town car. We all tried to affect an air of “happens everyday” as he opened the doors of an all too luxurious car for the sometime Mennonites. I chatted him up in the front seat while Mom and Laura reviewed the prospects for rain, speculated whether Steven Spielberg would actually show up, and wondered just exactly how much time Mother would need to speak. “Just talk about your work” were the instructions. Not much to go on. We arrived at the Old Post Office building now indoor shopping mall replete with a stamp store. Like anyone who orders a double tall no foam nonfat latte would care about philately. I suppose future commemoratives will feature either a cappuccino machine or at least a coffee grinder as one of the “key” technologies of the late 20th century. We were ushered into a rather unremarkable room filled with rows of plastic chairs facing a small stage. On the stage was a long table skirted with blue fabric and surrounded by chairs and microphones for each speaker. Draped behind the table was a large blue banner emblazoned in gold lettering with “National Endowment for the Humanities”. In the back were the requisite CSPAN cameras prepared to record another vital program in the affairs of state. Bill Ferris the head of the NEH greeted us and showed us to seats in the front row. As other honorees came in, Bill introduced them to us since there was little else to do. So I got to exchange comments about California wine with Jim Lehrer and say hello to the wife of John Rawls. Otherwise I fiddled with my bagful of cameras – video, still, and Mom’s idiot camera. I thought I should demonstrate the value of redundancy and proper preservation technique. Enough people seemed to have filed in so Bill Ferris signaled for the program to begin, ushering Mom and others to the stage. He made the usual opening remarks about each honoree and the necessary introductions of luminaries in the crowd. I busied myself with recording it on an all too jerky video. This time the sound was on but the picture drifted around. Each honoree was then asked to make comments and, since they were all seated alphabetically, Mom was doomed to go first. She began haltingly but slowly picked up her rhythm making strong points about the need to preserve the future, how important the NEH is to all of this, and ended with a somewhat ominous comment on how much more complicated digital preservation will be. (NOW do you understand why she is retiring?) Her biggest laugh came when she observed that “all this technology is being run by engineers and engineers don’t read.” She ended to great applause. After her came Taylor Branch, author of Parting the Waters, who scooted in just as he was being introduced. He claimed he was looking for parking. He told tales out of the old South and pre-desegregation days. Next came Jacqueline Dowd Hall who, while saying some interesting things, went on a little too long. Garrison Keillor gave an amusing soliloquy about going into radio that could have just as easily been one of his shows. He did point out that if there were anything meaningful on the radio we’d all feel guilty for not listening. Jim Lehrer surprised the crowd by launching into full song with a jingle for some cereal product and ended with a recreation of his announcing skills honed at a Trailways bus station somewhere in Texas. He was actually quite good at both. Mrs. Rawls followed with a very moving prepared statement describing the origin of her husband’s work and its affect on him. It seemed like he’d only written two books – each that took 20 years to create. Lastly, August Wilson, the playwright, gave an almost jazz like statement that seemed scattered but actually had a coherent albeit cryptic through line. And then the cameras clicked off, the crowd stood up to stretch, and we all made a beeline for the refreshment table. With the worst of it over – the public statement – Mom could relax a little. All we had to look forward to was dinner at the Willard Hotel, a medal ceremony, and dinner at the White House. Nothing there to make you nervous. Actually, the dinner at the Willard was quite low key. Only the Humanities medalists, their escorts, and a few key NEH types were in attendance. I parked myself by the bar with the white wine and never looked back. Various people came up to introduce themselves but I got the feeling that they never quite figured out why I was there. I attempt to look vaguely intellectual in hopes that someone would think I had won a medal but no one seemed to buy it. Maybe if I just worn the ill-fitting suit, they would have. At dinner, I sat next to some NEH staffers and a woman who was some sort of Washington gadfly. One of those “knows the Clintons personally and keeps a place on Martha’s vineyard” types. The only thing of interest I could manage was that I lived in San Francisco. Everyone has either been or wants to go so it is an easy conversation topic. As I sipped my soup and let my eyes wander about the room, George Farr noticed I was disengaging a little. Always the host, he naively called to across the table asking how my work was going. It didn’t seem to take much to prime the motor mouth’s pump and soon enough I was prattling on about the challenges of technology and nonprofits. As their eyes glazed over, the other guests began to realize that this Battin thing wasn’t about to go away quietly. Like Alien 3, it was still out there. Fortunately, the waiter arrived with the next dish and everyone was appropriately distracted enough that someone could change the topic. Like so many Americans, we settled on kvetching about jury duty providing everyone the opportunity to hold forth. Dessert came and Bill Ferris jumped up to say a few words of thanks. He then turned things over to Garrison Keillor who chose to lead the room in a chorus of The Battle Hymn of the Republic. Selected because Julia Ward Howe apparently wrote the new verses while staying at the Willard. Somehow it felt odd to be tramping out the vintage in a fancy hotel. The next morning the clan, now swelled to its full rank, gathered at the Cosmos Club for breakfast. Forgetting the house rules, Beau arrived without a tie and was herded off to rectify the situation. He returned sporting a rather lifeless striped brownish tie that we all feared was an example of his sartorial taste. Only later did we learn that it was a house loaner and not of his choosing. With breakfast done we were left pacing until another car arrived to carry us off to our next destination. Anthony replaced Carroll as driver and a green Cadillac instead of a Lincoln. As the previously day, Laura again had rights to ride along with us while Jojo, Craig and Beau called a cab. As I went out the door, Jojo looked at me and said “So, we’ll meet you in front of the place?”. It was either too little sleep or not enough coffee, but the implications of her words didn’t quite sink in. We arrived at Constitution Hall, later misnamed “Constitutional Hall” by Mrs Clinton. (I guess she was thinking of Harry Truman.) We attempted to flash our identification but we all waved through as if we were being silly to think we should prove who we were. We were met by Minzy, our handler as it were, who was assigned to us for the morning. She was in her Army Medical Corps dress uniform and had the unfortunate task of keeping us entertained for the next 2 hours. She led us to a lone chair at the end of the corridor. On it was a small blue card that read “Ms. Battin”. Since it didn’t seem like all the 3 of us, let alone the other three to come, could squeeze onto this one seat, Minzy went off in search of more chairs. Now comfortably seated, we chatted with her about the day’s events as she asked about exactly who we all were. We explained that Mother was from DC, Laura from London, I from San Francisco, and the others to come from Maine. As time went on, we became concerned that Jojo and Craig had not arrived. It dawned on me that Jojo’s parting words “we’ll meet you outside” actually had meant something. Minzy offered to search for them and went off toward the main door. Soon after she returned with a rather surprised looking Jojo who couldn’t understand how Minzy knew who she was and that she was from Maine. Only later did we tell her it wasn’t from Minzy reviewing her FBI file. With more guests to seat, Minzy went in search of even more chairs. Now with everyone properly in place, we settled down for our 90-minute vigil. Minzy took the opportunity to brief us all on proper behavior with the President and Mrs. Clinton. “No taking of photographs when they are with you, leave that to the official photographer”. Sensing that I was focusing more attention on my various cameras and not paying much attention, Jojo looked at me and asked “Did you hear what she said? No taking of pictures when the President is here”. “No pictures of the President?” I whined. As with all Meyer traditions, it then became necessary to beat this joke to death. So every few minutes someone would pipe up and remind me there would be no taking of pictures when the President was with us. It got so bad, that when the head handler came up to whisper instructions into Minzy’s ear, she asked him to repeat what he just said to us. He looked a bit puzzled at first but then turned to us looking quite grave and said “There will be no taking of pictures while the President is here”. Beaten to death and more. Just as we began to feel we were waiting for Godot rather than Bill and Hillary, several police motorcycles roared up with lights flashing and sirens blipping. Following them came the black limousines and requisite tinted glass vans mysterious hiding armed secret service agents. (Anyone recall the firepower that appeared out of nowhere when Mr. Hinckley let off a few rounds?) The room started to buzz as everyone looked about trying to figure out just when and where the first couple would appear. Several false sightings came in until finally the unmistakable silver pompadour bobbed among the clutch of people at the far end of the hall. The room hushed to a dull murmur as the President and Mrs. Clinton slowly made their way through the room. Immediately our group began to practice greetings and handshakes while inside the butterflies and alligators became to move about. Suddenly, he was there in front of Mother, hand outstretched while glinting crystal blue eyes fixed upon hers. “Good to see you, thank you for coming. So good to see you”. He said it twice in case she had missed it the first time. Next it was Laura, then me, then Jojo, Beau and Craig. To each he offered the same “Good to see ya” while clasping our hands in a firm grip and locking eyes. After greeting all, he deftly slipped between Mother and Jojo, putting an arm around each while the official photographer snapped souvenir photos. Next came Hillary, who seemed more direct in her greeting without the repeated catch phrases and practiced schmooze. She too shook hands with all and cheesecaked with the family. With that, the honoree and family were separated. The honoree led by Minzy to her spot backstage while the rest of us were taken to a VIP box at the edge of the stage. The auditorium was filled with about 1000 or so people with a few Congress members and dignitaries mixed in. On stage left, immediately in front of our box, was an Irish band of 10 or so players looking somewhat impatient. On stage right, in crimson dress uniforms, playing away, was the Marine orchestra. More like the dance band on the Titanic, they had spent the last 2 hours trying to keep the audience subdued. A signal was made and the announcer stepped forward to begin announcing the medalists. As he called out each name, the honoree was escorted to his/her seat on the stage by his/her handler. Some won a rousing cheer and hearty clapping when announced, others polite applause. You can guess which we got. The librarians, it seems, only made it to Tuesday’s event. It is hard to compete with the likes of Aretha Franklin, Steven Spielberg, and Garrison Keillor. With all the medalists seated, the Marine band rose and started playing “Hail to the Chief”. The President and Mrs. Clinton entered, waved to the crowd and took their seats. Mrs. Clinton spoke first setting forth the theme of the day’s events and then introduced the President to present the awards. He read a brief paragraph on each person with a smoothness and ease that suggested he was just speaking extemporaneously rather than reading from a prepared text. At the end of his comments, he intoned “Colonel read the citation”. At the rear of the stage, an Air Force colonel ceremoniously, if not somewhat haltingly, read the full text of the official medal citation. As he did, the honoree walked forward to where the President stood. The President looped the ribbon of the medal over the honoree’s head and shook hands as cameras flashed. Mrs. Clinton, who had risen to stand at the apex of the isosceles triangle of President, honoree, and First Lady, then offered her congratulations before the honoree returned to his/her seat. Once again applause and flashes of camera strobes measured one’s popularity. I worked my camera as quickly as possible hoping to create the illusion of multiple flashes but without much success. With all the awards given out, the President said a quick thank you and promptly left with the First Lady. A vague sense of confusion swept the stage as the military escorts came on stage to pair with their ward for the day. Eventually, they were all reunited and led out the same way they came in. We met our bemedaled mother in the lobby in the same corner of the room we had all originally assembled. According to our instructions, Mother was to wait there for her lapel pin and medal box. Minzy was now gone – pulled away to a pressing appointment – so we latched on to another uniformed type. This too was an opportunity for the press to interview the various honorees so we milled about hoping to scare up some interest. Not very sanguine about the prospects of an interview, Mother went off in search of her box and pin. With that in hand, she was ready to go so we made our way out to the driveway to search for Anthony. He soon appeared and we were off to the Cosmos Club again, this time for lunch. Jojo, Craig, and Beau were assembled in the lobby ready to make a mad dash for the airport so they could get home before the rain and dark. The rest of us settled into the dining room for the buffet. Later that same night….. WHAT AN AMAZING TIME AT THE WHITE HOUSE! (I just had to exclaim that.) I am sorry all of you couldnt have come along as well. It was like something out of a fairy tale, an almost surreal experience. From pumpkins to princess and prince and back to pumpkins. We were picked up by Anthony at 6:30 to take our coach to the White House. He turned out to be quite an interesting person as well. He has 5 kids and is a history buff so we traded tidbits of US history. I gave him a new piece of trivia for his collection to retell to the tourists. (For those who must know: Who is the only American president to kill someone in a duel and carry a bullet in his body until his death? Andrew Jackson) I was stunned though when he told me he was 50....I thought he was 20 something and probably doing this part time while going to college. Some people are well preserved. After clearing security - including dogs to sniff the trunk and under the car - we were driven up to the gate of the East Portico. There we had to wait - a line of us together - until they were ready to let us all in....by now it was 7 PM and dinner was at 7:30. Finally we were let into the driveway up to East portico. There, two Marines in full dress uniforms open the car doors and directed us toward the metal detectors. We accumulated other guests and honorees and then were whisked en masse up the stairs into the East room for cocktails. We passed a harpist, a string quartet, and many uniformed handlers like Minzy along the way. We stopped at the man with the microphone to be announced - I was clear that we were Patricia Battin and her son Thomas. I didn’t want any stories in the Post about Ms. Battin’s “Boy Toy”. We continued on to the reception table to get envelopes with our full names scripted across the front. (Inside were cards with our seat assignments). Minzy was at the bottom of the stairs so we stopped to say hello to her, although we were both still somewhat dazed by it all. Up the stairs, passing portraits of Jimmy Carter, Lyndon Johnson, and others, to another man at the microphone who asked our names and then loudly announced us to the virtually empty East Room. Few heads turned - actually none. Trays of drinks were passed under our noses as we stood in the center of room looking up at body length portraits of Martha and George Washington with McKinley on the left and Teddy Roosevelt on the right. (This would have been the room to assemble if the medal ceremony was at the White House). I quipped that this must be the Empire Room since McKinley got us the Philippines and TR the Panama Canal. We milled around for awhile sipping wine (at least I was) and chatting with the few folks we knew. Steve Spielberg passed by, as did Senator George McGovern, Interior Secretary Bruce Babbit, Senator Bob Bennett and lots of others I couldnt even name. Aretha Franklin was there in full regalia....with an amazing hairdo of golden curls that sprung out in all directions. A few stepped forward to say hello to Mom - which flattered her - but otherwise I stood agape. I suppose I could have been bolder and stuck my hand out to shake hands, but was too intimidated. Then the Marine band appeared outside the door and started the fanfare for Hail to the Chief. The main doors to the East Room were rolled shut and we were all directed to stand two by two as we snaked out of the room through a side door. This led us into another foyer area of sorts where another announcer stood by the microphone. We had to surrender our envelopes to him and he made a double take when he saw Patricia Meyer Battin and Thomas Meyer Battin.....how could THAT be? The room was filled with reporters, photographers, and TV cameras and flooded with those intense TV lights. I cant imagine standing in that all day. The President and Mrs Clinton were on a low stage facing the journalists looking very much like Barbie and Ken. I guess it is properly Presidential to look stiff and awkward. Our turn came, our names were announced, and we shook hands again with the first lord and lady. He said the same thank you for coming from the afternoon and I couldnt think of anything original to say, so I said something like It is a pleasure to see you again Mr. President. I suppose I should have thanked him for dragging mother out of obscurity or at least thanks for dinner. After our 15 seconds of fame in front of the cameras, we moved on into the State Dining Room. Properly candlelight and adorned, it could have been right out of the 18th century. We checked our cards and I was told that my table was in the far left corner. Somehow fitting for someone from San Francisco I thought - maybe they do run a security check. I sat next to Mrs Segal - who was deaf in one ear and not eager for conversation. Her responses were largely: Yes, No, and shrugging of the shoulders. On my left was Mrs Ferris (the wife of Bill Ferris the head of the NEH). She was the tables hostess and was quite pleasant to talk with...however she couldnt much attend to me since she had hostess duties. The Marines struck up the fanfare again and the President and Mrs Clinton came in to sit down. It was 8:30 by now and dinner was at 7:30 OClinton time. Suddenly the room was aglare with the TV lights again. The President stood up to make a few limited remarks and then sat down to dinner. Thankfully the TV lights were turned down again and we were back in 1790. The food was quite good and the wine excellent. I managed to get through it using the correct utensils and without dripping something on my tux. The knives were not very sharp so I half expected to send my lamb chop flying across the room as I attempted to saw it in half. I guess the Secret Service were leery of sharp knives near the Chief Executive. As the entrees were being cleared, a Marine trumpeter came into the room and started playing something akin to the theme for Masterpiece Theater. I know it is a famous piece of music but I forget if it is Bach or Brahms or someone else. He was joined by violas, other trumpets, an accordion player, and more. They burst into the room almost like tumblers at the circus or Halloween costumed characters. They played several numbers including a polka that almost got the crowd clapping in time. The acoustics in that room - being relatively small - were quite good so the few players completely filled up the room with the sound of strings. Quite the experience. Dessert was a real challenge because they serve it French style, which means the waiter presents you with a platter full of an ice cream confection rather than a plate with your portion on it. The glace was quite frozen, so as I bore down on it to get a piece, I could feel the waiters arm pushing back. I said you need to have good arm muscles to serve this - he laughed. The other waiter presented a tray of strudel looking cakes and a silver bowl of whipped cream. I guess I was the first person to dip, so the spoon was on the side. I picked it up, served myself a good helping, and then wasnt sure where to put it back down - in the bowl or on the side. As I vacillated, the waiter said in the bowl, in the bowl with a harsh tone. I guess he wasnt used to us newbies. So I was properly liquored up with a viognier, merlot, and cuvee....bottomless glasses at that. Naturally, my first question when dinner was done was where is the restroom? Mom meanwhile had been stuck sitting next to George McGovern, Bill Ferris and Maria Tallchief. Poor girl. She managed to survive although didnt enjoy the splendor of the wine. However, as Meyers, we were both in pursuit of a john. Oddly, there wasnt one on that floor....what do they do at press conferences? So we had to amble downstairs to the powder rooms for men and women. We saw Minzy again at the bottom of the stairs and said hello. I told her you got a pretty good thing going here - she laughed. Given all the announcing going on, I half expected someone to be outside the bathroom saying In urinal 1, Mr Thomas Battin. In the john, I took the opportunity to stuff my pocket full of paper towels embossed in gold with the Presidential Seal. I couldnt see any other souvenirs around so I had to take something. No matches, ashtrays, or mints were at hand. Back upstairs to the East Room for the evenings entertainment. The room was now filled with stiff-backed chairs and we were guided to our seats in the front row. The alphabet wins again! Mother has a seat for Ms. Battin and I was Reserved. Ive never thought that about myself but there you go. Opposite to Mom on the aisle were the President and Mrs Clintons seats. So I guess you could say Mom sat next to the President....at least that is what Taylor Branch suggested to me. (Again the alphabet put him next to us). He almost caused a confrontation with a rather beefy looking Marine acting as usher when he tried to seat a third person where only 2 seats were reserved. I didnt think it was wise to argue with those guys. The entertainment - to my dismay - was not Aretha Franklin but Midori. (The sacrifices we must endure). She was amazing and marvelous. Being in the front row was really nice and it is the first time I have heard a violin played (professionally) without a microphone. The President was a bit fidgety during the whole performance so I guess he isnt a classical music fan. Either that or he found the chairs as uncomfortable as I did. Midori finished up her 3 numbers to great applause and the President jumped up to make a few remarks and to close the evening. We were invited to dance in the foyer and stay as long as we liked. Taylor Branch had announced that he had been invited to sleep over the in last room available at the White House - I suspect that is where Steven Spielberg was holed up. As the Marine Band - now pseudo rock band - struck up We Are Family, Mother and I thought it best to call it a night. I did my last minute people watching seeing Julian Bond standing nearby chatting and wandered into a few rooms to soak up the history. Then down the stairs to the man with the microphone to announce our car number for recall. We continued past the still strumming harpist and out to the East portico where our car was waiting in line. In the car before us, was the driver from Tuesdays festivities who stuck his head out to say hello to us. (The White House staff standing by looked a tad ruffled - who IS this person who is saying hello to a DRIVER! Muffy, fetch my pills.) Anthony pulled up, we hopped in and the fantasy ended. But what a cool trip it was.
Posted on: Fri, 17 Oct 2014 11:37:38 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015