Studibert was speaking more and more about leaving D.C. to run for Governor of Utah. The Wall fell November 9th, 1989, and by Thanksgiving, Studibert was in his new home in Highland, Utah. This was quite a blow to Fred, because now he had no White House connection. He still had BYU football, however, and we had a couple of occasions to attend a game or two with the Studibert’s. After one of the games, we all went to dinner together at a nearby restaurant. We were having a lively conversation when Steve Young, the San Francisco 49-er quarterback came by to say “hi.” He knew Fred, of course, because Fred had made a point of haranguing all famous athletes who passed through the Salt Lake International Airport. Also, Steve wanted to meet Studibert, and so the evening went. Steve Young had been playing behind Joe Montana, and attending Law School at Brigham Young University. He remarked how he’d like to be anything besides a football player. We all had a chuckle, then Steve departed with his posse.
Studibert started in on how he was thinking of leading a trade mission in to Poland in March, with the possibility of meeting with Lech Walesa and Solidarity. Studibert went on to tell about when he was the Advance Man for Reagan, he had made the arrangements for President Reagan when he visited Gdansk July 18th, 1989. As the Presidential motorcade drove through the streets of Gdansk, the entourage began to notice an abundance of American flags being waved along the route: ”the open arms of the people of Poland; American flags waving in the square at the Lenin Shipyard in Gdansk; the faces of the people who lined the streets, greeting us with such joy." On closer inspection, they could see that some of the flags were from before WWII – only 48 stars – but most were homemade flags that didn’t have quite the correct number of stripes, or the field of blue was upside-down; some were painted on sheets, handkerchiefs, etc. Everyone did their best to replicate the flag of the country that they looked to for the freedoms they were denied. Reagan had been the first American President to ever visit that country, and his purpose was to draw attention to the injustices of Martial Law, and the outlawing of the Solidarity Trades Union.
Because the vision of being in Poland seemed so real to me, I looked at Studibert and said almost rhetorically: “I want to go to Poland.” Studibert stared at me almost stunned (I had never before seen him look stunned), turned and looked at his wife, Bethany, and then to Fred. With his hands folded in front of him on the table, without even glancing my way, and as if he had just closed the business deal of the century he proclaimed: “Then you shall go to Poland!”
The next day, a special messenger delivered our travel itineraries to us. We would be leaving in 2 weeks as special members of a quasi-White House Trade Mission sponsored by a newly formed tax-exempt foundation called, “The Freedom Foundation”. There was so much to do. My passport had expired, and so I not only had to expedite it’s renewal, but then we both had to make arrangements to get our Polish and Hungarian visas before we left the U.S. I had never traveled to a country where I had to have a visa – this was exciting.
The trade mission would meet in Washington D.C., where the White House, The Commerce Department, and The State Department would brief us. We would fly out of D.C., and into Frankfurt, Germany. From Frankfurt, we would catch a Pan Am flight into West Berlin. After a day in both East and West Berlin, we would go to Poland for a few days (including Warsaw and Gdansk), and then end the mission in Hungary where we would be able to observe the Hungarian elections.
For the next two weeks before the mission every day at 10:00AM, DHL would deliver classified and confidential economic information from the Department of Commerce and State, with Political and economic assessments of the places we would be visiting. The documents were mostly historical, since the fall of The Evil Empire was causing cataclysmic changes daily in all the Eastern Bloc countries. Capitalism was the only game in town, and we had all the cards. We were excited to go, armed with all the info any Political Science major, or Economic student would ever want to know.
I read and studied every single document that was delivered. At first I approached the material timidly, because I was afraid I wouldn’t understand it too well. But the more I read, the more I realized that all this “stuff” was a lot of fun for me. I loved learning just exactly how ridiculous the artificial market place imposed by the Soviets on the Eastern Bloc countries had proven the true worth of a Communist Society. I loved knowing that Monopoly money is and always will be worthless, even when it is assigned a value in countries that base their economics on lies. I could see that the whole experience was going to be more than a lesson in political economy. I knew it would come right down to truth vs. lies: good vs. evil. What I didn’t know at the time was that it would be embodied in the intentions and actions of Studibert, vs. me and every other well-intentioned individual in the world.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
REAGAN, GORBACHEV & ME: THE FORREST GUMP ADVENTURES OF AN ORDINARY HOUSEWIFE
Whenever Studibert had come to town in between the time I had met him at The Arrival Ceremony, and the demise of The Wall, he had given a note written on White House stationary to Fred to deliver to me under the guise of politeness. The notes would say things like “Next time I’m in town, you’ll have to meet me at the airport, for an ice-cream,” and “Every time I come through here I always see Fred! Next time I’d like to see you.”
I was too naïve to think anything of these notes. I kept them as souvenirs along with all the other White House and Air Force One memorabilia I had accumulated from Studibert. Receiving calls from the White House soon became routine. Studibert would have his lackey, Luke, call up, and soon “White-House” Luke and I were old friends: “Hi, this is Luke from the White House,” he’d say. Then I’d reply: “Hi, Luke. This is Kathy from the off-white House (since that was the color of my house). And then we’d have our little chitchat about what the latest agenda for Studibert would be, especially in terms of how he was planning to interface with Fred and I.
More on Fred:
It’s important to note that it would seem to any outsider that Fred and I had a wonderful marriage and life together. This was absolutely not the case. It was only a pretense so that Fred could appear to be something better than he actually was. Fred’s concern with how he and his life appeared to the outside world was all consuming to him. Appearance was more important than anyone or anything in his whole life. Fred’s demeanor at work was that of the impeccable, gracious host. He was the most willing servant, the most levelheaded, intelligent, and dashing PR man anyone had ever met. Yet at home, he was arrogant, aloof, pre-disposed, and mean-spirited. He never hesitated to use people, particularly me and my family and opportunities to further his own aggrandizement.
I had married Fred on the rebound of an extremely heart-breaking engagement to a College sweetheart. Fred seemed to be grounded enough, and would make a stable husband (I convinced myself at the time he proposed). When Fred and I were first married, he worked his way through law school doing reservations for Pan American World Airways. Fred’s last name is the same as the world famous golfer, Seve Ballesteros. In the 1970’s Seve was the #1 European golfer in the world, and winning almost all his PGA tournaments in the US, including the Masters, The Doral Open, La Costa, etc. Seve was young and handsome, and his agent, Ed Barner, happened to have been engaged to a close first cousin of mine. When the day came that Ed called in to book a round-the-world trip in conjunction with being a pro-golf agent and got Fred Ballesteros as the Res. Agent, Ed, immediately pounced on Fred’s name, declaring himself to be Ballesteros' agent. Fred, of course remembered Ed’s name from my family’s discussion of the doomed engagement, and using it to his advantage, asked Ed if he had ever been engaged to an Ann Rushing (not her real name). Of course he had, and so an immediate connection and subsequent friendship ensued.
This friendship brought Fred and I many opportunities to attend some of the most prestigious golf tournaments in and outside the country. We attended La Costa a few times to watch Seve, and hob-knob with Ed and other celebrities. I was always amused at the California “Rich and Famous” look on the course at La Costa. There were all these middle-aged rich women with their hair done impeccably, make-up applied by movie-quality artisans, and gorgeous porcelain nails painted bright red. But then they were dressed in velour sweat-pants and sweat-shirts. It seemed so odd to me: I always thought the golfers dressed funny, but seeing the get-ups these gals had come up with made the golf out-fits look like Bill Blass had designed them (of course, Blass probably designed the sweat pants, too). I imagined that these women had grown up on hog farms in Arkansas and married geeks who accidentally struck it rich. But between the hog farm and the good life, they had never acquired any taste or fashion savvy. It almost made me forget that I was the poor person there.
We also had the chance to escort Bob and Dolores Hope and other celebrities (e.g. Don Rickles & wife, Bob Newhart & wife, James Garner & wife, Telley and George Sevalis, etc.), back and forth to the Bob Hope British Classic in England for the few years it lasted (someone was stealing from the funds that were raised to benefit the Children’s Spastic Society). We spent a few days getting to know these people, but I suppose the best part about doing this kind of work is that people would offer to carry my luggage for me when I was going through the airports. Also, when we’d arrive in London, there’d be a car and driver waiting to pick us up at the airport. The car would have the big “Bob Hope British Classic” logo painted on the hood of the car, and people would throng around us to see which famous people we would turn out to be. Most of them reacted as though they recognized us when we’d emerge from the vehicle, but we did manage to disappoint most of the crowd.
This kind of activity went a long way to convince Fred that he was just a little more special than almost anyone else on the planet. He was so special, in fact, that he decided he deserved to have a girlfriend in addition to his wife. One of the Pan Am flight attendants would do -- and she did for awhile. I knew about her, but by now I was so busy with raising the 4 boys I had had in the first 5 years of marriage, that I was beyond caring. I had also reconciled myself to the fact that Fred did not now, nor did he ever love me (his words, not mine). I was stuck in a loveless, lonely marriage, with 4 wonderful, innocent boys, and I had just better make the best of it, and so I did.
I put up with Fred’s brown-nosing until I was sick to death of this along with his mooching until I was humiliated beyond words. I endured his tyrannical mood-swings until I could no longer function as a normal human being. For many years I thought I was crazy because of the anger and regret Fred would incite in me: “If only I was a better wife; a better housekeeper; a more righteous person; more beautiful; had a better figure; was a better cook; and on and on. Then I realized that when you live with someone who does not possess the human qualities of sympathy and empathy, you cannot expect anything more than self-serving, self-centered behavior. I was resigned, and made myself appear as the dutiful wife at every one of Fred’s little excursions into the fantasyland of celebrity. Fred ate it up, and soon became addicted to using me for this because of how people reacted to Fred when they met me:
We had had bean soup in the Capitol restaurant with our Congressman Jim Hansen, and had explored the Oval Office when guided by one of the Secret Service long before we had met Studibert. But it was Studibert who got the most mileage out of Fred, because he could have Fred fix tickets for him at the airport, upgrade him without paying, and then have Fred show up to various political functions and rallies as the token Latino.
One of the most fun things we did with Studibert between the time we had attended the Gorbachev Arrival Ceremony, and the fall of The Berlin Wall, was to participate in the Presidential campaign. During the summer of 1989, we were invited to attend the debates between Vice President Bush, and Governor Dukhakis before the impending elections coming up in November. The last three debates were to be held in Southern California on the UCLA campus. Studibert was an aid to Sununu as Bush’s campaign manager, and so finagled a way to have us fly down to L.A., and meet up with him at the UCLA debate.
Well why not? We could fly for free, and Studibert always had some sort of surprise for us wherever we went with him. So off we went. After the debates, we were invited to drive with the Vice Presidential motorcade from UCLA to Loyola University where there was a Republican rally being organized afterwards. Bush was very dignified and self-confident at the debate we attended, and Dukhakis came off looking like a hot-head (p.s. Sally Field was there, and looked really old without her makeup). Then we were ushered into the press van behind the Vice President. Even though I had spent most of my life living in L.A., I never realized that the drive from UCLA to Loyola was only 20-minutes. It would normally take about an hour and a half, but when the Secret Service blocked off the freeways going both ways (and during rush-hour I might add), and we didn't have to stop for any red lights on the surface streets, we could just fly on by! It was a lot of fun to see the traffic backed-up as far as the eye could see (which was pretty far, even for L.A., because it was a clear day). Horns were honking, and people were extremely unhappy.
When we got to Loyola for the rally, we were positioned with such celebrities as Chuck Norris, Jamie Farr, and Billie Barty. Fred was the minority in this “side show”, and it was here that I realized that Studibert was using Fred for this purpose as he carefully positioned him where the cameras could see him, and made Bush specifically shake his hand. I just stood and fanned Mr. Barty, because he was sweating up a storm. It was too noisy to talk to anyone around us, but Billy would look up and thank me every once in awhile, and I thought he was great!
Bush won his election for President, and Studibert began his new career as the Image and Special Events man for The White House. We received our official invitations and passes to all the Inaugural events for #41, but we did not attend the ceremonies. We received our invitations 2 days after the RSVP date, and so we were convinced that they were just “token” invites. Later, Studibert expressed his disappointment that we did not come to town to attend Bush’s Presidential Inauguration. Having the invitation and various event tickets and candy jars were enough for me.
I was too naïve to think anything of these notes. I kept them as souvenirs along with all the other White House and Air Force One memorabilia I had accumulated from Studibert. Receiving calls from the White House soon became routine. Studibert would have his lackey, Luke, call up, and soon “White-House” Luke and I were old friends: “Hi, this is Luke from the White House,” he’d say. Then I’d reply: “Hi, Luke. This is Kathy from the off-white House (since that was the color of my house). And then we’d have our little chitchat about what the latest agenda for Studibert would be, especially in terms of how he was planning to interface with Fred and I.
More on Fred:
It’s important to note that it would seem to any outsider that Fred and I had a wonderful marriage and life together. This was absolutely not the case. It was only a pretense so that Fred could appear to be something better than he actually was. Fred’s concern with how he and his life appeared to the outside world was all consuming to him. Appearance was more important than anyone or anything in his whole life. Fred’s demeanor at work was that of the impeccable, gracious host. He was the most willing servant, the most levelheaded, intelligent, and dashing PR man anyone had ever met. Yet at home, he was arrogant, aloof, pre-disposed, and mean-spirited. He never hesitated to use people, particularly me and my family and opportunities to further his own aggrandizement.
I had married Fred on the rebound of an extremely heart-breaking engagement to a College sweetheart. Fred seemed to be grounded enough, and would make a stable husband (I convinced myself at the time he proposed). When Fred and I were first married, he worked his way through law school doing reservations for Pan American World Airways. Fred’s last name is the same as the world famous golfer, Seve Ballesteros. In the 1970’s Seve was the #1 European golfer in the world, and winning almost all his PGA tournaments in the US, including the Masters, The Doral Open, La Costa, etc. Seve was young and handsome, and his agent, Ed Barner, happened to have been engaged to a close first cousin of mine. When the day came that Ed called in to book a round-the-world trip in conjunction with being a pro-golf agent and got Fred Ballesteros as the Res. Agent, Ed, immediately pounced on Fred’s name, declaring himself to be Ballesteros' agent. Fred, of course remembered Ed’s name from my family’s discussion of the doomed engagement, and using it to his advantage, asked Ed if he had ever been engaged to an Ann Rushing (not her real name). Of course he had, and so an immediate connection and subsequent friendship ensued.
This friendship brought Fred and I many opportunities to attend some of the most prestigious golf tournaments in and outside the country. We attended La Costa a few times to watch Seve, and hob-knob with Ed and other celebrities. I was always amused at the California “Rich and Famous” look on the course at La Costa. There were all these middle-aged rich women with their hair done impeccably, make-up applied by movie-quality artisans, and gorgeous porcelain nails painted bright red. But then they were dressed in velour sweat-pants and sweat-shirts. It seemed so odd to me: I always thought the golfers dressed funny, but seeing the get-ups these gals had come up with made the golf out-fits look like Bill Blass had designed them (of course, Blass probably designed the sweat pants, too). I imagined that these women had grown up on hog farms in Arkansas and married geeks who accidentally struck it rich. But between the hog farm and the good life, they had never acquired any taste or fashion savvy. It almost made me forget that I was the poor person there.
We also had the chance to escort Bob and Dolores Hope and other celebrities (e.g. Don Rickles & wife, Bob Newhart & wife, James Garner & wife, Telley and George Sevalis, etc.), back and forth to the Bob Hope British Classic in England for the few years it lasted (someone was stealing from the funds that were raised to benefit the Children’s Spastic Society). We spent a few days getting to know these people, but I suppose the best part about doing this kind of work is that people would offer to carry my luggage for me when I was going through the airports. Also, when we’d arrive in London, there’d be a car and driver waiting to pick us up at the airport. The car would have the big “Bob Hope British Classic” logo painted on the hood of the car, and people would throng around us to see which famous people we would turn out to be. Most of them reacted as though they recognized us when we’d emerge from the vehicle, but we did manage to disappoint most of the crowd.
This kind of activity went a long way to convince Fred that he was just a little more special than almost anyone else on the planet. He was so special, in fact, that he decided he deserved to have a girlfriend in addition to his wife. One of the Pan Am flight attendants would do -- and she did for awhile. I knew about her, but by now I was so busy with raising the 4 boys I had had in the first 5 years of marriage, that I was beyond caring. I had also reconciled myself to the fact that Fred did not now, nor did he ever love me (his words, not mine). I was stuck in a loveless, lonely marriage, with 4 wonderful, innocent boys, and I had just better make the best of it, and so I did.
I put up with Fred’s brown-nosing until I was sick to death of this along with his mooching until I was humiliated beyond words. I endured his tyrannical mood-swings until I could no longer function as a normal human being. For many years I thought I was crazy because of the anger and regret Fred would incite in me: “If only I was a better wife; a better housekeeper; a more righteous person; more beautiful; had a better figure; was a better cook; and on and on. Then I realized that when you live with someone who does not possess the human qualities of sympathy and empathy, you cannot expect anything more than self-serving, self-centered behavior. I was resigned, and made myself appear as the dutiful wife at every one of Fred’s little excursions into the fantasyland of celebrity. Fred ate it up, and soon became addicted to using me for this because of how people reacted to Fred when they met me:
We had had bean soup in the Capitol restaurant with our Congressman Jim Hansen, and had explored the Oval Office when guided by one of the Secret Service long before we had met Studibert. But it was Studibert who got the most mileage out of Fred, because he could have Fred fix tickets for him at the airport, upgrade him without paying, and then have Fred show up to various political functions and rallies as the token Latino.
One of the most fun things we did with Studibert between the time we had attended the Gorbachev Arrival Ceremony, and the fall of The Berlin Wall, was to participate in the Presidential campaign. During the summer of 1989, we were invited to attend the debates between Vice President Bush, and Governor Dukhakis before the impending elections coming up in November. The last three debates were to be held in Southern California on the UCLA campus. Studibert was an aid to Sununu as Bush’s campaign manager, and so finagled a way to have us fly down to L.A., and meet up with him at the UCLA debate.
Well why not? We could fly for free, and Studibert always had some sort of surprise for us wherever we went with him. So off we went. After the debates, we were invited to drive with the Vice Presidential motorcade from UCLA to Loyola University where there was a Republican rally being organized afterwards. Bush was very dignified and self-confident at the debate we attended, and Dukhakis came off looking like a hot-head (p.s. Sally Field was there, and looked really old without her makeup). Then we were ushered into the press van behind the Vice President. Even though I had spent most of my life living in L.A., I never realized that the drive from UCLA to Loyola was only 20-minutes. It would normally take about an hour and a half, but when the Secret Service blocked off the freeways going both ways (and during rush-hour I might add), and we didn't have to stop for any red lights on the surface streets, we could just fly on by! It was a lot of fun to see the traffic backed-up as far as the eye could see (which was pretty far, even for L.A., because it was a clear day). Horns were honking, and people were extremely unhappy.
When we got to Loyola for the rally, we were positioned with such celebrities as Chuck Norris, Jamie Farr, and Billie Barty. Fred was the minority in this “side show”, and it was here that I realized that Studibert was using Fred for this purpose as he carefully positioned him where the cameras could see him, and made Bush specifically shake his hand. I just stood and fanned Mr. Barty, because he was sweating up a storm. It was too noisy to talk to anyone around us, but Billy would look up and thank me every once in awhile, and I thought he was great!
Bush won his election for President, and Studibert began his new career as the Image and Special Events man for The White House. We received our official invitations and passes to all the Inaugural events for #41, but we did not attend the ceremonies. We received our invitations 2 days after the RSVP date, and so we were convinced that they were just “token” invites. Later, Studibert expressed his disappointment that we did not come to town to attend Bush’s Presidential Inauguration. Having the invitation and various event tickets and candy jars were enough for me.
THE FORREST GUMP ADVENTURES OF AN ORDINARY HOUSEWIFE
In November of 1989, as a direct result of the Summit in D.C., Gorbachev had been stopping by all his satellite states making speeches of Glasnost and Peristroyka, in an attempt to ready the failing empire of the Soviet Communists for a friendly economic handout from the West. His most significant stop had been in East Berlin. Up until July of 1989, people were still being shot trying to escape to the West. Gorbachev had gone through and told Helmut Kohl, that the killing of people trying to escape was no longer the policy, and that in the future, The Wall would have to come down.
The news that people would no longer be shot at The Wall spread through East Berlin like a firestorm. Then on November 9th, 1989, Kohl went on live, East German TV after Gorbachev’s visit to summarize the position of the Communist regime. As he was explaining what Gorbachev’s purpose in visiting had been, and that people were no longer being shot, he was slipped a note reminding him to also include that The Wall would be open in the future. Well, under the pressure of major policy shifts, and live TV, Studibert retold the “real” story (that only a Presidential staffer would know): Kohl read the note wrong, and announced to everyone that “The Wall is now open.”
There was no turning back. The floodgates, so to speak, had been open and the dam burst. And even though Gorbachev phoned Kohl (November 10th, 1989) and told him he needed to gain back some control of the situation (this phone conversation is available to the public) the genie was out of the bottle. The results were captured by every news agency in the world. The incredible and exhilarating live shots of the East and West Germans on that Wall of shame, breaking it apart, pounding it down with everything they could find, and generally partying on top of the Wall sealed the fate of the Soviets. Even though water cannons were brought out to stop people from tearing down The Wall (in response to Gorbachev's order to contain the situation), the hemorrhaging continued unevenly, but undeterred.
As I watched the images on TV, how I wished I were there with all my might. I think everyone in the whole world was thinking that same thing: To see that Wall of death and shame come down in that instant – even faster than when it had gone up 30 years ago – was moving beyond words, thoughts, or feelings. As I made my wish, my fairy godmother was listening, for I was to be granted that wish very soon.
The news that people would no longer be shot at The Wall spread through East Berlin like a firestorm. Then on November 9th, 1989, Kohl went on live, East German TV after Gorbachev’s visit to summarize the position of the Communist regime. As he was explaining what Gorbachev’s purpose in visiting had been, and that people were no longer being shot, he was slipped a note reminding him to also include that The Wall would be open in the future. Well, under the pressure of major policy shifts, and live TV, Studibert retold the “real” story (that only a Presidential staffer would know): Kohl read the note wrong, and announced to everyone that “The Wall is now open.”
There was no turning back. The floodgates, so to speak, had been open and the dam burst. And even though Gorbachev phoned Kohl (November 10th, 1989) and told him he needed to gain back some control of the situation (this phone conversation is available to the public) the genie was out of the bottle. The results were captured by every news agency in the world. The incredible and exhilarating live shots of the East and West Germans on that Wall of shame, breaking it apart, pounding it down with everything they could find, and generally partying on top of the Wall sealed the fate of the Soviets. Even though water cannons were brought out to stop people from tearing down The Wall (in response to Gorbachev's order to contain the situation), the hemorrhaging continued unevenly, but undeterred.
As I watched the images on TV, how I wished I were there with all my might. I think everyone in the whole world was thinking that same thing: To see that Wall of death and shame come down in that instant – even faster than when it had gone up 30 years ago – was moving beyond words, thoughts, or feelings. As I made my wish, my fairy godmother was listening, for I was to be granted that wish very soon.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
ADVENTURES OF AN ORDINARY HOUSEWIFE
As it turns out, we did not go to Grenada, but as a consolation prize, we were invited to have lunch at The White House with Studibert. We ate down in the basement of The White House, and I ordered from the menu (which we were allowed to keep as a souvenir). Studibert told us that the Philippine chefs were descendents from the original chefs that came to work here back in some distant past. We ate our meal and listened as Studibert made some phone calls to important people in Utah, and then we went home with menu in hand, delicious food in our bellies, and bragging rights as one of the few who have eaten lunch at The White House.
Soon it seemed, that every time Studibert came into town, he was vocalizing more and more about how people were encouraging him to run for Governor of Utah, and that he was tiring of the rigors of The White House. Fred thought that would be wonderful, because he would then be a close, personal friend of The Governor. I was happy for Studibert. I still didn’t know who he really was, or that this was just one of his many self-aggrandizement stories.
In the meantime, there was a Presidential Campaign. Reagan had served his 2 terms, and although I believe the nation would have voted to change the term-limits of a President for him, Ronald Reagan became the lame-duck President, and his Vice-President, George Bush (#41, as I like to refer to him) ran for President against George Dukakis.
While #41’s Presidential Campaign was getting under way, Studibert (as one of Bush’s campaign managers) would continue to breeze in and out of Salt Lake City, and I’d get to hear all the stories coming out of D.C. (according to Studibert). For instance, Nancy Reagan wrote a book, "My Turn," and Studibert noted to Fred and I on one of his trips to town, that her remarks about him were unkind at best. Studibert couldn’t understand why she would do this, but then countered her good name for bad with a story about her White House behavior that few would be privy to:
One of her grandson’s had left a favorite toy at the residence when on a visit there some time ago. Mrs. Reagan had found the toy in a closet just before the child’s birthday, so she wrapped it up and mailed it to him as a birthday present.
Studibert editorialized at how cheap and thoughtless this was. I secretly chuckled, because my boys and I liked to go into Fred’s closet and wrap up his favorite shirts and put them under the Christmas tree for his presents (he never bought any of the boys or me presents – ever – so he was lucky to get anything at all -- and it was always something he liked).
I didn’t look at the Nancy Reagan story the same way Studibert did. I didn’t imagine Nancy Reagan as being cheap at all, but as supplying a wonderful surprise to a grandchild who had been mourning the loss of a beloved toy. I was convinced that Mrs. Reagan had delighted in the fact that she was a catalyst for his continued happiness and joy – not that she could save a few bucks on a birthday present, as Studibert would have us believe.
This was all so much gossip and up until now, Studibert’s insertion into my life provided some interesting anecdotes. But as Studibert assumed his new role in the new White House, my world and the world at large begin to collide!
Soon it seemed, that every time Studibert came into town, he was vocalizing more and more about how people were encouraging him to run for Governor of Utah, and that he was tiring of the rigors of The White House. Fred thought that would be wonderful, because he would then be a close, personal friend of The Governor. I was happy for Studibert. I still didn’t know who he really was, or that this was just one of his many self-aggrandizement stories.
In the meantime, there was a Presidential Campaign. Reagan had served his 2 terms, and although I believe the nation would have voted to change the term-limits of a President for him, Ronald Reagan became the lame-duck President, and his Vice-President, George Bush (#41, as I like to refer to him) ran for President against George Dukakis.
While #41’s Presidential Campaign was getting under way, Studibert (as one of Bush’s campaign managers) would continue to breeze in and out of Salt Lake City, and I’d get to hear all the stories coming out of D.C. (according to Studibert). For instance, Nancy Reagan wrote a book, "My Turn," and Studibert noted to Fred and I on one of his trips to town, that her remarks about him were unkind at best. Studibert couldn’t understand why she would do this, but then countered her good name for bad with a story about her White House behavior that few would be privy to:
One of her grandson’s had left a favorite toy at the residence when on a visit there some time ago. Mrs. Reagan had found the toy in a closet just before the child’s birthday, so she wrapped it up and mailed it to him as a birthday present.
Studibert editorialized at how cheap and thoughtless this was. I secretly chuckled, because my boys and I liked to go into Fred’s closet and wrap up his favorite shirts and put them under the Christmas tree for his presents (he never bought any of the boys or me presents – ever – so he was lucky to get anything at all -- and it was always something he liked).
I didn’t look at the Nancy Reagan story the same way Studibert did. I didn’t imagine Nancy Reagan as being cheap at all, but as supplying a wonderful surprise to a grandchild who had been mourning the loss of a beloved toy. I was convinced that Mrs. Reagan had delighted in the fact that she was a catalyst for his continued happiness and joy – not that she could save a few bucks on a birthday present, as Studibert would have us believe.
This was all so much gossip and up until now, Studibert’s insertion into my life provided some interesting anecdotes. But as Studibert assumed his new role in the new White House, my world and the world at large begin to collide!
Monday, February 25, 2008
ON THE WHITE HOUSE LAWN
Gorbachev was first to speak. It was the usual Russian rhetoric, but delivered with good nature, and grace. Gorbachev was very charismatic and you couldn’t help but like him immediately. It was as though he was someone’s grandpa up there – a likeable member of the family – and how I wished we could all just get along. The tone of the ceremony became one of cheer and hope.
Then Reagan spoke. In his eloquent manner, and with the aid of his fabulous speechwriter (as Studibert pointed out), President Reagan delivered a very warm, almost forgiving, yet firm welcome. Again we were filled with the sense that this event was a very important step in ending the ridiculous cold war between our two nations, and that trust and cooperation would be a much healthier way to deal with one another. I had no idea at the time that The Soviet Union was in mid-collapse and that Gorbachev had arrived this day on The White House Lawn, almost with his hat in his hand.
I liked the whole thing. I didn’t want to leave. This would never happen to me again in my whole life, so I wanted to hang around the lawn and just continue to drink in this heady atmosphere. And so my wish would be accommodated, as somewhere between the time that I had met Studibert and this point in time, he had decided that I proved to be acceptable enough to offer us both more of his time. He decided to take the rest of the afternoon off to let us remain on the lawn for a little while longer, and then take us on a tour of the rest of the Summit events. I took it as graceful good-nature, and would continue with this view of Studibert until the day in a not-too-distant future I breached "protocol," and the real Mr. Studibert showed up.
Looking back, I realize now, that people expected Fred to be married to someone less than plain-looking. Although Fred had been a nice looking young man when I married him, he had aged rather badly in the last 19 years. Since he had faked his way through most of his schooling, Fred often found himself in situations that outsmarted him, and left him a little dazed and confused and thus had relied on me to carry much of the day for him. Fred was not bright, but fancied himself as an intellectual. Fred was not amicable, but tried very hard to be one of “the good old boys.” Fred was also Hispanic, and I suspected that Studibert was using Fred’s appearance at this event to include a token minority. Fred never considered himself a minority, and so never put this together. I knew being Hispanic was one of Fred’s distinctions because people were always surprised when they met me that I was not Hispanic also. It seemed so silly in this era, but it was a fact that always bugged and amused me at the same time.
I didn’t find out about Studibert’s estimate of me until after we had left D.C., when Fred relayed the comment to me that Studibert was surprised at how “beautiful” I was (he was expecting a frau-frump because I was a stay-at-home-mom?). I was annoyed at this remark, and decided it was a crock. What a bizarre thing to say – especially to my husband. It was this remark that led to all the rest of the “Forrest Gump” stuff that happened to me from this point on.
With a little brighter gleam in his eye, Studibert became the gracious host and exclusive guide to our extraordinary adventure in D. C. that day. Studibert grinned a little more broadly as we climbed into one of the Zils and listened to The Beatles on the radio with the KGB’s Zil chauffeur. I figured that Studibert was just having fun through our personal discovery of the foreign empire that had invaded our nation’s capitol. Studibert was just a little too patient as we both watched Fred trying to converse with the rather stern-looking KGB-men. Although he appeared so calm and articulate in every situation I had observed that Studibert had a difficult time talking to me away from Fred. I was laughing at how much fun Studibert was having as he escorted us to the Marriott News Center for the Summit, where we were able to pick up all kinds of informational booklets, pamphlets, etc..
The Soviet news agencies also had some pretty incredible information available including an English copy of their Constitution (talk about fictional reading material!), information on various states such as Moldavia, etc. I knew my boys would love having this for their Social Studies projects, so Fred and I gathered all that we could carry to haul home to them.
Finally, it was the end of the day, and we had to catch our flight home. Studibert commented to Fred that there was a big ceremony planned to memorialize the conquest of Grenada in about 3 months and he would love it if we could make it. This seemed strange to me even at the time. What could Studibert possibly see in Fred that no one else could see, including me?
The Arrival Ceremony on The White House lawn experience was almost religious. Every single move I had made, every sight, sound, smell, and feeling would stay with me forever. I quickly went home and wrote down everything I could remember in my journal. These were important times, and I knew that someday my grandchildren would hear about what had happened, and a personal account would give it some special meaning. As I did this, and told all who would put up with listening to the story, world events began to happen that I would never dream I’d have a part in. I would soon find my life totally up-side down and embroiled in the formation of a new world.
Then Reagan spoke. In his eloquent manner, and with the aid of his fabulous speechwriter (as Studibert pointed out), President Reagan delivered a very warm, almost forgiving, yet firm welcome. Again we were filled with the sense that this event was a very important step in ending the ridiculous cold war between our two nations, and that trust and cooperation would be a much healthier way to deal with one another. I had no idea at the time that The Soviet Union was in mid-collapse and that Gorbachev had arrived this day on The White House Lawn, almost with his hat in his hand.
I liked the whole thing. I didn’t want to leave. This would never happen to me again in my whole life, so I wanted to hang around the lawn and just continue to drink in this heady atmosphere. And so my wish would be accommodated, as somewhere between the time that I had met Studibert and this point in time, he had decided that I proved to be acceptable enough to offer us both more of his time. He decided to take the rest of the afternoon off to let us remain on the lawn for a little while longer, and then take us on a tour of the rest of the Summit events. I took it as graceful good-nature, and would continue with this view of Studibert until the day in a not-too-distant future I breached "protocol," and the real Mr. Studibert showed up.
Looking back, I realize now, that people expected Fred to be married to someone less than plain-looking. Although Fred had been a nice looking young man when I married him, he had aged rather badly in the last 19 years. Since he had faked his way through most of his schooling, Fred often found himself in situations that outsmarted him, and left him a little dazed and confused and thus had relied on me to carry much of the day for him. Fred was not bright, but fancied himself as an intellectual. Fred was not amicable, but tried very hard to be one of “the good old boys.” Fred was also Hispanic, and I suspected that Studibert was using Fred’s appearance at this event to include a token minority. Fred never considered himself a minority, and so never put this together. I knew being Hispanic was one of Fred’s distinctions because people were always surprised when they met me that I was not Hispanic also. It seemed so silly in this era, but it was a fact that always bugged and amused me at the same time.
I didn’t find out about Studibert’s estimate of me until after we had left D.C., when Fred relayed the comment to me that Studibert was surprised at how “beautiful” I was (he was expecting a frau-frump because I was a stay-at-home-mom?). I was annoyed at this remark, and decided it was a crock. What a bizarre thing to say – especially to my husband. It was this remark that led to all the rest of the “Forrest Gump” stuff that happened to me from this point on.
With a little brighter gleam in his eye, Studibert became the gracious host and exclusive guide to our extraordinary adventure in D. C. that day. Studibert grinned a little more broadly as we climbed into one of the Zils and listened to The Beatles on the radio with the KGB’s Zil chauffeur. I figured that Studibert was just having fun through our personal discovery of the foreign empire that had invaded our nation’s capitol. Studibert was just a little too patient as we both watched Fred trying to converse with the rather stern-looking KGB-men. Although he appeared so calm and articulate in every situation I had observed that Studibert had a difficult time talking to me away from Fred. I was laughing at how much fun Studibert was having as he escorted us to the Marriott News Center for the Summit, where we were able to pick up all kinds of informational booklets, pamphlets, etc..
The Soviet news agencies also had some pretty incredible information available including an English copy of their Constitution (talk about fictional reading material!), information on various states such as Moldavia, etc. I knew my boys would love having this for their Social Studies projects, so Fred and I gathered all that we could carry to haul home to them.
Finally, it was the end of the day, and we had to catch our flight home. Studibert commented to Fred that there was a big ceremony planned to memorialize the conquest of Grenada in about 3 months and he would love it if we could make it. This seemed strange to me even at the time. What could Studibert possibly see in Fred that no one else could see, including me?
The Arrival Ceremony on The White House lawn experience was almost religious. Every single move I had made, every sight, sound, smell, and feeling would stay with me forever. I quickly went home and wrote down everything I could remember in my journal. These were important times, and I knew that someday my grandchildren would hear about what had happened, and a personal account would give it some special meaning. As I did this, and told all who would put up with listening to the story, world events began to happen that I would never dream I’d have a part in. I would soon find my life totally up-side down and embroiled in the formation of a new world.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
REAGAN, GORBACHEV & ME: the Forrest Gump Part
There was great excitement in the air. This was indeed a very special occasion. It was more special (on both a global and personal level) than any of us could have realized at the time. Every Senator and Congressman and his wife who had any pull at all (mostly Republicans, very few Democrats) had come for this event. The Secret Service were everywhere, searching our belongings both at the Annex, and as we walked onto the driveway that led to the lawn. We were issued a Russian flag to wave (because we were too late to get Old Glory), and we were positioned on the very front of the driveway where the limos would pull up, and Reagan would walk out of the White House to meet the Russian. We started to laugh at how all the Soviet Secret Service (the KGB) must have gone to the same barber, because they all had the same haircut. But then in taking a good look at our own Secret Service guys, they apparently all went to the same barber, too -- and men’s suit shop (government issue?), etc.
While we were waiting, we were able to chat with a few of the Congressmen and other dignitaries around us. Yeah, we were rubbing elbows with the most powerful people in our nation, and we were all holding our breath in anticipation of seeing the very most powerful men on the whole earth step before us in the flesh – in this one spot on earth -- together. The expectation of this remarkable affair was almost unbearable. Then suddenly, the band began to play. The Zils approached the driveway and slowly made their way around to the back entrance of The White House. We were all clapping, cheering, and waving our flags with genuine excitement. Only a few short months ago, this meeting would had been unimaginable. Then, just as the last note finished, Gorbachev emerged from his Zil. It was an incredible sight.
I was overcome by the importance of this meeting. I was even more overcome that Gorbachev was a live, breathing human man. He walked upright and on the ground. He was personable, short, stalky, and looked like an ordinary human being. There was no glow, no horns, no aura, and no strange vibrations emanating from his person. He was balding, older, and yes – had a real birthmark on his forehead. Even stranger was the fact that Ronald Reagan was also very mortal appearing. He was much taller than Gorbachev, and more handsome (after all, he had been an actor of the leading-man genre). President Reagan came the closest to appearing regal because of his pre-presidency celebrity. However, it was strange seeing this man in 3-D, especially since I had seen him my whole life in 2-D. I was still stunned to realize that this person probably "put his pants on one leg at a time" like anyone else, and yet still held the future of our nation and the world in his stewardship. And right here, right now, that future and even my future would be determined by the meeting of these two mighty human beings.
President Reagan stepped forward and extended his hand to officially greet Gorbachev. Everyone held their breath as these historical foes stood toe to toe. Gorbachev grasped Reagan’s out-stretched hand, and everyone exhaled. The two stood shaking each other’s hands for a few minutes, while interpreters helped the two men exchange official greetings and communications of friendship, and the press took a million photos of the historical handshake. This act of needing interpreters made them seem almost feeble for a minute. They were a little self-conscious with each other as they continued with this exchange. Then they took turns making speeches.
While we were waiting, we were able to chat with a few of the Congressmen and other dignitaries around us. Yeah, we were rubbing elbows with the most powerful people in our nation, and we were all holding our breath in anticipation of seeing the very most powerful men on the whole earth step before us in the flesh – in this one spot on earth -- together. The expectation of this remarkable affair was almost unbearable. Then suddenly, the band began to play. The Zils approached the driveway and slowly made their way around to the back entrance of The White House. We were all clapping, cheering, and waving our flags with genuine excitement. Only a few short months ago, this meeting would had been unimaginable. Then, just as the last note finished, Gorbachev emerged from his Zil. It was an incredible sight.
I was overcome by the importance of this meeting. I was even more overcome that Gorbachev was a live, breathing human man. He walked upright and on the ground. He was personable, short, stalky, and looked like an ordinary human being. There was no glow, no horns, no aura, and no strange vibrations emanating from his person. He was balding, older, and yes – had a real birthmark on his forehead. Even stranger was the fact that Ronald Reagan was also very mortal appearing. He was much taller than Gorbachev, and more handsome (after all, he had been an actor of the leading-man genre). President Reagan came the closest to appearing regal because of his pre-presidency celebrity. However, it was strange seeing this man in 3-D, especially since I had seen him my whole life in 2-D. I was still stunned to realize that this person probably "put his pants on one leg at a time" like anyone else, and yet still held the future of our nation and the world in his stewardship. And right here, right now, that future and even my future would be determined by the meeting of these two mighty human beings.
President Reagan stepped forward and extended his hand to officially greet Gorbachev. Everyone held their breath as these historical foes stood toe to toe. Gorbachev grasped Reagan’s out-stretched hand, and everyone exhaled. The two stood shaking each other’s hands for a few minutes, while interpreters helped the two men exchange official greetings and communications of friendship, and the press took a million photos of the historical handshake. This act of needing interpreters made them seem almost feeble for a minute. They were a little self-conscious with each other as they continued with this exchange. Then they took turns making speeches.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
REAGAN, GORBACHEV & ME, (continued)
I was surprised at what a homely man Studibert was. There he was, looking like a cartoon turtle at about 5’10”, thick, black hair; fat stubby nose; no upper lip; black-rimmed glasses; dark blue suit, white shirt and red power tie. He was extremely overweight, about 40ish, and moving around with a Cheshire grin directing traffic, making small decisions, and looking quite self-important. Fred hailed him down, and Studibert very officially motioned to one of his lackey’s to fetch us over to where he was, behind the desks. He gave a quick word to the Secret Service guy beyond the barricade, and we were permitted entrance into Studibert’s domain. Fred was feeling extremely special about now, and I was just drinking in all the antics, maneuvers, and fuss as I followed along rather awestruck at the whole event.
The morning was cool and crisp. My hair had survived sleeping on the airplanes, and surprisingly enough -- was looking fairly decent in the humidity of the D.C. area (it’s funny what you think about at times like this: i.e. is my lipstick on straight? Am I dressed appropriately?, etc.). I was glad I had chosen to wear my long, straight khaki-gold wool skirt and navy and gold sweater to the event. I was even glad that I had brought along the coat that Fred had found at one of the gates of at the airport. Fred was always “finding” things at the airport and bringing them home instead of taking the items to the airport lost and found. This was how he shopped for birthday and anniversary presents – stealing from forgetful, hurried passengers sometime near the event he normally would have ignored. I may have been wearing a stolen coat, but I was grateful for the warmth it provided (but,how I wish I could have been at that event in a coat I actually owned)!
Studibert was somewhat in charge (being the “Advance Man” and all). He explained that everything had been timed down to the minute. The speed of the Zil (the Russian limo) was timed exactly to the music, “Rushes and Flourishes” the Marine band would be playing, so that the Zil would stop precisely when the music stopped, and Gorbachev would step out when the last note sounded. He commented (because he was “in-the-know”) on how ridiculous Gorbachev’s request had been that he fly onto the lawn in his helicopter. Gorbachev was apparently put-out that he was not allowed to fly over secure, White House airspace, but was required to land at Andrews AFB and drive from there. We chuckled at Gorbachev’s stupidity, and at our being such “insiders” regarding this request. Studibert also pointed out the fact that any and all Marine’s attached to the White House were extremely tall. This was a requirement so that they could see out over the crowds of people. “It was true,” I observed. “They were all very tall, and seemed to not notice anything that was going on around them. Kind of like the guards at Buckingham Palace,” I thought smugly.
The morning was cool and crisp. My hair had survived sleeping on the airplanes, and surprisingly enough -- was looking fairly decent in the humidity of the D.C. area (it’s funny what you think about at times like this: i.e. is my lipstick on straight? Am I dressed appropriately?, etc.). I was glad I had chosen to wear my long, straight khaki-gold wool skirt and navy and gold sweater to the event. I was even glad that I had brought along the coat that Fred had found at one of the gates of at the airport. Fred was always “finding” things at the airport and bringing them home instead of taking the items to the airport lost and found. This was how he shopped for birthday and anniversary presents – stealing from forgetful, hurried passengers sometime near the event he normally would have ignored. I may have been wearing a stolen coat, but I was grateful for the warmth it provided (but,how I wish I could have been at that event in a coat I actually owned)!
Studibert was somewhat in charge (being the “Advance Man” and all). He explained that everything had been timed down to the minute. The speed of the Zil (the Russian limo) was timed exactly to the music, “Rushes and Flourishes” the Marine band would be playing, so that the Zil would stop precisely when the music stopped, and Gorbachev would step out when the last note sounded. He commented (because he was “in-the-know”) on how ridiculous Gorbachev’s request had been that he fly onto the lawn in his helicopter. Gorbachev was apparently put-out that he was not allowed to fly over secure, White House airspace, but was required to land at Andrews AFB and drive from there. We chuckled at Gorbachev’s stupidity, and at our being such “insiders” regarding this request. Studibert also pointed out the fact that any and all Marine’s attached to the White House were extremely tall. This was a requirement so that they could see out over the crowds of people. “It was true,” I observed. “They were all very tall, and seemed to not notice anything that was going on around them. Kind of like the guards at Buckingham Palace,” I thought smugly.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Arrival Ceremony on The White House Lawn
So on December 12, 1987. my husband and I flew off to attend that historic event, The Arrival ceremony of Mikhail Gorbachev on Reagan’s White House lawn, and to run head-on into my destiny. We had to fly all night in order to attend because there were no hotel rooms available in the area. We flew from Salt Lake City to Los Angeles; then from L.A. to Cincinnati; then from Cincinnati to Atlanta and finally connected to the flight into Washington National Airport. Throughout the flight, I could feel how special this was. Here we were two very ordinary people flying off to witness and be a part of a very extraordinary event. But what made it even more extraordinary was the fact that we could participate in this, as though we were the elite of D.C.; as though we had been invited because of our political bearing, or influence -- when indeed, we were just the average Mr. and Mrs. Married America.
All of our flights connected properly, and we even landed in D.C. on time, 8:30AM. We caught a cab to the White House Annex building where we were to meet up with Studibert. Now anyone looking at this maneuver would only see Studibert doing some fantastic favor for a fellow Utahn to repay favors done for him. But the truth is, that Studibert liked to control situations to make the most out of an opportunity to show what a decent and regular guy he was (which is exactly what he was not). I know I was completely taken in by the fact that he would use the awesome power of his office on our behalf. It never occurred to me that this was very bizarre, and only self-serving.
The cabby was thrilled for our good fortune, and got us right to the White House Annex in a timely manner. I had never met Studibert before this day. I had heard him referred to by my husband as “The White House Guy,” and probably had heard his name mentioned a few times, but really had no idea what he looked like, or what he was all about. When we entered the Annex, there was a throng of people giving their names to officials behind desks in order to obtain entrance onto the lawn for the Arrival Ceremony. My Husband (Fred) was looking around anxiously, as he was instructed not to give his name to anyone, but to look for Studibert. Soon he was able to spot Studibert behind all the desks of Security Officials.
All of our flights connected properly, and we even landed in D.C. on time, 8:30AM. We caught a cab to the White House Annex building where we were to meet up with Studibert. Now anyone looking at this maneuver would only see Studibert doing some fantastic favor for a fellow Utahn to repay favors done for him. But the truth is, that Studibert liked to control situations to make the most out of an opportunity to show what a decent and regular guy he was (which is exactly what he was not). I know I was completely taken in by the fact that he would use the awesome power of his office on our behalf. It never occurred to me that this was very bizarre, and only self-serving.
The cabby was thrilled for our good fortune, and got us right to the White House Annex in a timely manner. I had never met Studibert before this day. I had heard him referred to by my husband as “The White House Guy,” and probably had heard his name mentioned a few times, but really had no idea what he looked like, or what he was all about. When we entered the Annex, there was a throng of people giving their names to officials behind desks in order to obtain entrance onto the lawn for the Arrival Ceremony. My Husband (Fred) was looking around anxiously, as he was instructed not to give his name to anyone, but to look for Studibert. Soon he was able to spot Studibert behind all the desks of Security Officials.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Reagan, Gorbachev and Me, continued
I just want to interject a caveat: I would never reveal Studibert's real name, because the man is not only vicious and vengeful – I’ve seen the letters of condemnation he has mass-mailed on targeted individuals – And, he also threatened my life at one time.
I could not have known this about Studibert at the time. I was still in the middle of realizing my ambition in life, and that was to be a wife and homemaker; raise 12 children (I only had five – boys!); and grow into a fat and happy grandma who would spend her days baking cookies and spoiling her grandchildren. But as I am reminded over and over again, life is an irony, if nothing else. The best laid plans – even plans of mediocrity – can always be thwarted. Sometimes the person you are married to can thwart your plans; or maybe there are health and/or financial issues, or outside events that will carry you away into that unknown place where you have the “opportunity” to become who you are. I was being hurled into that place at this moment, and it would rip me away from my goals and plans, and way of life in the blink of an eye.
I had no idea (having never met him before) that Studibert was the master manipulator. He was the ultimate politician’s politician. He came off as being the charming, smooth operator who knew how to get things done. He seemed gracious and serving; accommodating and willing to bend over backwards to make your day. He knew every advantageous move to make, all the right words to say, how to dress, where to be and when to be there, and how to be. He was the consummate smoke and mirrors kind of sham-artist that could fool even the most clever of them all. People blessed with the gift of discernment could spot him a mile away. I couldn’t see it, so I walked right into his world with a big smile on my face, and my heart wide open. He was clever in his deception as the good guy, though not overly smart. His position as President Reagan's Advance Man was low enough on the totem pole of the political arena to be usually ignored, but powerful enough to make or break the lives of people who came in contact with this man.
It is the job of the Advance Man for the President of The United States to go about 2 weeks in advance to wherever the President is supposed to be. The Advance man is to make sure everything from accommodations, travel, meetings, meals, speeches, facilities, etc., are arranged for and cleared for security before the President shows up. The President’s itinerary had to be planned down to the second from the time he woke up in the morning, to how long it would take to travel from one point to the next, how long each meal would take, and so forth, up until the time the President retired at night.
Studibert had this “funny” story or incident he liked to tell about his adventures as The Advance Man. One in particular that I had heard several times was when he had gone ahead of the President to a neighboring state, to make sure everything was arranged for, including the vehicles that the Secret Service would travel in directly behind the President’s Limousine in the motorcade. Studibert had arranged with the local government to have the use of a 4-wheel drive that would follow the President’s limo. The back door was required to open down, creating a ledge whereby the Secret Service could stand on this tailgate and see over the President’s car and the crowd. This was a very important security detail, however, when the President arrived, and the Secret Service went to climb on the back of the vehicle’s tailgate, it was wrong: It opened out like a door instead of down like a tailgate! This was unacceptable, but time was running out, and everything was governed by time. So in the middle of the motorcade, Studibert swung the vehicle into the nearest fire station, got the bolt-cutters out, cut the back door off this new vehicle, tossed the door off on to the side of the road and off they went, with the Secret Service standing on the back of the door-less 4-wheel drive.
Normally this would be a rather amusing story, but later I learned that this summed up how Studibert approached everything and everyone. If it served his purpose, it was used. If not, then it would be cast off unceremoniously on to the side of the road. Studibert was especially good at doing this to people’s lives. Of course, when I first met the man, I had no idea that he was capable of such dastardly deeds because of the combination of his convincing theatrics, and my sheltered naiveté.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Ronald Reagan, Mikhail Gorbachev & Me: The Forrest Gump Adventures of an Ordinary Housewife
I had to start somewhere, to put down in writing what happened to me. It started in March 1988. Gorbachev, Prime Minister of the USSR was scheduled to meet President Ronald Reagan for a very historical Peace Summit. When President Reagan had been elected to the Presidency, he took a very harsh stance towards the Soviet Union, labeling them as “The Evil Empire.” His tough foreign policy had ultimately proven the strength that could bring about the end of Communism in the world, as we knew it and an end to the “Cold War.”
No, it started before that, all this Forrest Gump stuff, but I want to start at this point in time, because it was here that I realized what an incredible journey I was embarking on. I want to talk about the Arrival Ceremony of Primier Gorbachev on the White House Lawn, because even though we had no idea about how this would impact the world very shortly, the truth is, I really had no idea how this would impact me personally. One thing all of us on that lawn did know and understood, was that this was historic. There was an air of revolution, of magnificant change, and we all huddled together to get a glimpse of the event -- to breathe it in and let it become a part of our very beings.
At first, I didn’t care too much about any of the politics of this. All I knew is that I was going to accompany my husband, to witness the Arrival Ceremony of Gorbachev on the White House Lawn. We were able to do this, because my husband had done some favors for one of Reagan’s lackey’s in the line of doing his job as a Delta Airlines employee. The lackey’s name was S.M. Studibert (not his real name). He was Reagan’s Advance Man, and though I didn’t know it at the time, he was also a subtly-insideous self-serving man that used politics, politicians, and opportunity to advance his personal-aggrandizement agenda.
No, it started before that, all this Forrest Gump stuff, but I want to start at this point in time, because it was here that I realized what an incredible journey I was embarking on. I want to talk about the Arrival Ceremony of Primier Gorbachev on the White House Lawn, because even though we had no idea about how this would impact the world very shortly, the truth is, I really had no idea how this would impact me personally. One thing all of us on that lawn did know and understood, was that this was historic. There was an air of revolution, of magnificant change, and we all huddled together to get a glimpse of the event -- to breathe it in and let it become a part of our very beings.
At first, I didn’t care too much about any of the politics of this. All I knew is that I was going to accompany my husband, to witness the Arrival Ceremony of Gorbachev on the White House Lawn. We were able to do this, because my husband had done some favors for one of Reagan’s lackey’s in the line of doing his job as a Delta Airlines employee. The lackey’s name was S.M. Studibert (not his real name). He was Reagan’s Advance Man, and though I didn’t know it at the time, he was also a subtly-insideous self-serving man that used politics, politicians, and opportunity to advance his personal-aggrandizement agenda.
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