Yes, that’s a picture of a much younger me with Rosalynn Carter, back when I worked for a member of Congress and she was First Lady. And, believe it or not, this ties into a novel I’m writing, based on my time working on a barge in France.
Back to me and Mrs. Carter . . .
I was working in the district office when Mrs. Carter came to Portland in the fall of 1979. Along with others, I helped out a bit on her visit, meaning, as she left, I could line up to have my picture taken with her on Air Force One. Cool. There were a lot of us, so the line would move very quickly. I would only have time to come in through the curtain you see behind us, pose quickly and move on. (I’m trying to excuse my upcoming faux pas by saying I was in a hurry.)
As I came through the curtain, there was Mrs. Carter with her arm extended. I quickly tucked myself in, put my arm around her and got, I think, a rather nice pic of the both of us. Great.
It was only when I got my copy and compared it to those of my friends that I realized they had, of course, stood at a respectful distance and simply shaken hands with the First Lady of the United States. I felt like an idiot – though it says something very good about Mrs. Carter to say that she didn’t so much as bat an eye to make me thing I was being a little presumptuous.
Fast forward a year.
After five months of kicking around Europe, spending all the money I had saved as a Congressional staffer, I landed a job on a small—six passenger—tourist barge in France. By this time, I was looking pretty ratty. Hadn’t had a hair cut in months and had nothing to wear but an old pair of blue jeans and a raggedy shirt or two. Diane, the owner of the barge, so pitied me that she gave me some clothes left behind by wealthy guests. I’m sure I was the only barge crewman in France going around in old jeans and a two-hundred dollar formal tux shirt.
The crew was a great bunch and we got very tight, exchanging stories of our previous lives. I mentioned that, despite my current appearance, I had once held a responsible job and had actually met some well-known public figures. The others were too polite to make faces behind their hands or roll their eyes, but I saw a certain skepticism.
I returned to Oregon a few months later, and stayed in touch with my old friends via letters. In one of these, I mentioned I had met my future wife and told them of our engagement. I also enclosed a small version of the photo above to show that I had indeed once hobnobbed with famous people.
Diane mentioned to her guests, Americans all, that she had received a letter from a former crew member back in the United States. But she had perhaps read my letter a little too quickly. She happily informed the guests that I had written to say I was engaged, and had even enclosed a picture of me with my fiancée. When she handed the guests the photo, Diane was puzzled by their startled reaction. Finally, one of them put the picture down and said, “I believe this woman is already married – to the President of the United States!”
So that’s how I (almost) married the First Lady and, through my work on the barge, got a great idea for an upcoming novel.