On meeting the President

By

Larry Smith

I’m writing to tell you about my memorable experience Sunday, October 31, 2004, when I was the first person to greet the President of the United States as he came off Air Force One, when he visited Gainesville, FL…

It all started the Thursday morning before President Bush’s visit on Sunday. My wife Susie walked into the room, as I was having my morning coffee. “You need to call the White House.”

“Who are the Whites,” I asked.

“No, not the Whites, the White House.”

“Oh, come on, give me a break.” I replied, “Who was it?”

“Really, look here it is.”

Sure enough, it was the White House, or at least it was a 202 area code.

It was early, but I called anyway and left a message.

Not very long after, I received a return call from Ms. Cindy Wilsbach, who identified herself as a representative of the USA Freedom Corps. She was wondering if I would be interested in being a candidate to be the Gainesville Greeter for the President’s arrival, as well as provide her with some names of people whom they could also consider as possible greeters.

I asked her what that meant, and she explained that the USA Freedom Corps was a volunteer organization and that it identified volunteers across the country for the President to meet in every community he visited. I declined the offer and explained that there were many good people who had done more for this community than I had. I felt that I had had many blessed opportunities in my life, and although I was flattered, there were more-deserving people for them to choose. I would call her back with the names of some better candidates for the honor.

I was immediately on the phone to a local school principal to get names of young adults who have given back to the community. I called my minister, Reverend Dan Johnson of Trinity Methodist, to get the names of some deserving adults. Calling the White House office back, I gave Cindy the names and numbers of those candidates as well as the names of several more people I personally knew to be dedicated volunteers. Ms. Wilsbach again asked, “At least let us consider you as a candidate.” And again I said, “No, there are better and more-deserving people from this community.” Cindy asked to speak with my wife as I left to attend a meeting. Later, I received a few more calls about some candidates, and forwarded them to the White House office.

I had assumed the USA Freedom Corps would make its decision and move on. They did make a decision around one o’clock on Friday as I was driving to the local Republican headquarters to pick up tickets to hear the President speak on his whistle-stop tour of Gainesville. I received a call on my cell phone, and Ms. Wilsbach was again on the line: “If you had been selected, would you consider being the Presidential Greeter?” Again, I refused and said that they needed to select one of the other candidates. I explained that in good conscience I could not accept the honor over the more-qualified people I had submitted. She explained that they had many other names from multiple organizations, but they still wanted me to consider the position. After a long conversation and multiple refusals on my part, I finally acquiesced under the pressure of her solid persuasiveness. She reassured me that they had reviewed many names and it was ok for me to be the one representing them all. Ms. Wilsbach apprised me of the logistics that the advance team expected of me, and I supplied her with some personal information for the Presidential brief (Imagine me on a Presidential brief!) that the President would be given.

When I finally arrived at the Republican headquarters, I had an overwhelming sense of disbelief. Getting out of my car, I walked to the back of the line of tickets that stretched out the front door and down the sidewalk a good ways. The length of the line prompted me to question, “Do I even need to be here now?” Looking around at all the men and women waiting in line with me, I thought to myself, “This has got to be a joke.” Still skeptical and wanting just to be sure it was real, I called my sister in Tennessee and asked her if she would call the White House and speak with Cindy. She was far enough away that if the offer were not for real, it was no big deal to anyone. She called and it was real.

After getting the tickets, I went home and told my wife but no one else. I was actually in disbelief. All I could imagine was some kind of state-of-the-art candid-camera-type joke (punked at fifty, and not even in Hollywood). I wondered how and why. Heck, the last two political parties I had donated money to were Democratic. I knew the candidates well and felt they would do a good job if elected. Now, the worst part for me was that I felt bad about all the people I had recommended to Cindy, but she had reassured me that there had been plenty of candidates’ names provided by other organizations — far more names than the ones I had offered. In spite of that, they asked me to represent them all. My wife reassured me it would be ok, and so we made plans for the big day.

Saturday morning rolled around and found us going about our routine. Coffee, news, breakfast and getting the family ready to go to the football game, between the Florida Gators and the Georgia Bulldogs, with a few of my son’s friends. We fought the traffic into Jacksonville, parked and made our way to the seats. We all enjoyed the game, although the Gators, who played a good game, lost. Getting home in the early evening, we settled in as the boys played out in the yard with the neighbors. While watching yet more football on the tube, my contact call from Washington came. I said hello to Mr. Greg Knox. Greg was the White House point man for the President’s arrival in Gainesville. A complex job, I assure you. The reality of this was beginning to settle in; it was going to happen. As I listened to Mr. Knox give me all the logistical details, I realized I was going to meet the President of the United States the next day.

Sunday morning came and we started our usual routine as many families do: lots of coffee, waking the kids, and then breakfast. Smiling parents showed up to pick up the overnighters, fighting with the youngest to get his shower and brush his teeth. Around one o’clock we had finally won all the morning battles, so we decided to let someone else know about the day’s event. My wife called her parents, but told them not to say anything to anyone just in case. Like many families, after getting the dogs taken care of and the kids headed in the right direction, we were finally out the door thirty minutes late.

Traffic was not bad until we neared the airport, where the President would be landing and speaking. I called Mr. Knox to let him know that I might be late. He took some information about our car and reassured me that I would be fine. Sure enough, we reached our destination, thanks to the good graces of Dee Welch, a Gainesville police officer.

We walked up to the University Air facility, and were told to wait until Erin Jones came to get us. Waiting beside a fire truck and watching the crowd pour in, we drank some bottled water that the firefighters were passing out. Erin arrived, introduced herself and then escorted us into the facility, taking us through all the security to our seats. She asked if we needed anything and advised me that she would be back in twenty minutes. I assured her we were fine. My first priority then became entertaining our five-year-old for twenty minutes. Susie, in her perfect motherly fashion, had been sure to bring things for him to do. I started playing Go Fish with my youngest son, Wiley, to pass his time and keep him happy. My middle son, Travis, didn’t need entertaining, as he was busy pointing out where all the snipers were, while also identifying all the USAF aircraft sitting on the tarmac.

“Ten minutes, Dr. Smith,” I heard, as Erin walked by.

“Ok,” I said. “Go fish, I don’t have any fours.” I was struggling to beat my five-year-old at the game.

A few minutes passed.

“Are you ready, Dr. Smith?”

“Yes.” I was happy to escape from another defeat at the hands of my son’s mastery of Go Fish.

“Please follow me.”

I followed her around behind the stands, and then back through the crowd, to exit on the far side into the area with the Air Force planes and some men who looked like Secret Service. I met Greg Knox for the first time, shook hands, and thanked him for this opportunity. He acknowledged it graciously, even while talking on the cell phone and then loaded me into a van with Erin. Talking with Erin, I learned that this was actually her second time meeting the President. She was looking forward to it as much as I was. The van pulled out across the airport, to where I saw the Presidential motorcade lined up and waiting for Air Force One to arrive. What a limo it was. Just by looking at the President’s limo, you could feel the heaviness, the weight of the office, and sense the necessity for all the security. Completing our walk along the motorcade, Mr. Knox placed Erin and me inside another van that was almost beside the Presidential limo. Someone opened the left passenger door of the limo while we were sitting inside the van, revealing the six- to eight-inch-thick tank-like construction of the doors and car. I realized being the President was the most dangerous job in the country, maybe the world.

The two of us, along with the driver, anxiously waited for the arrival of Air Force One, talked about the event, the magnitude of the process, and the office. Greg came by and instructed me again about what to do and expect. The van door closed. A jet landed, but it was the press corps, I learned, not the President. We chatted some more and then Greg Knox opened the door and told me again that the plane would taxi back down to where we were. I would go with him, and he would position me beside the stairs.

I stepped out of the van and followed Greg. “Greg, do I speak first or will he, or what?”

Greg smiled, “Don’t worry — he’s a very friendly guy, you’ll know what to do.”

I never heard the President referred to as a “friendly guy” before, so I figured he probably was. I knew no matter what else came out of my mouth, it started or ended with “Mr. President.”

Finally, Air Force One came in for a landing and rolled to a stop The aft door opened and people started down the steps. Greg led me to my position, past some very big and serious-looking Secret Service agents, who were looking me straight in the eyes. They had gotten off the plane first through the aft door. I got the point. A truck moved the stairs into place by the main cabin door.

“Stand right here,” I heard from Greg, and then he was gone. I was standing there by myself, below the Presidential Seal of the US on the side of Air Force One. Everyone — camerapersons, press corps from I do not know where – was looking at the plane and there I was standing and waiting. No Secret Service people were around, only me standing there… and well, they do have snipers.

What can you say about meeting the President? What can anyone say? What can I say? So much and so little. I can talk about the two or three minutes of the experience or I can talk about the journey that brought me there to it. I do not know where to start. As my son Travis says, “Don’t let Dad tell you; he makes a paragraph out of a sentence.” Yes, I guess I do.

It was just less than twenty-four hours ago that it happened. It already seems like a dream, the hand shakes, the conversation, the memory filed away somewhere in my brain. One of those favorite memories that pop up every now and then into your consciousness when you least expect them, right out of the blue.

The next morning I checked the caller ID on the phone and saw that our newspaper, The Gainesville Sun, had called last night. I debated whether to call them back. The Gainesville Sun calls the University of Florida’s football coach, not mine. The Gators lost — that was news. I was sure it was a wrong number. How can it be that important when someone like me meets the President of the United States? Then I understood; the answer was simple: because the event was personal. Personal enough that I did not share it with anyone beforehand, and, more importantly, he did not either. I realized now more than ever before that this is why it was private – it was not important for me personally, but rather for the USA Freedom Corps. What is that? Well, I learned Sunday. The President’s way of saying thanks to all the volunteers across this country who give back. Do not ask me why they chose me. I have not done the few things I have done for recognition. I realized today, more than ever before, that no one should volunteer for recognition. It is about simply reaching out, being a part of the community you live in. It is true about it “taking a village” but remembering that it does not take a government. Look outside of yourself at the needs of others. Look next door, and then down the street, then across your city and across this great country that we all live in. I believe anyone can understand why it is personal to the President too. Everywhere he goes he is extending the hand of this great nation to people all across this country and saying thank you – to the people who get up, go out and participate in the process we call community. People who for the last four years we have never heard of, not even knowing or thinking we should know their names, but the President knows their names. Greeters, he calls them. The first people he meets from every community he goes to, thanking them for their volunteer service in their communities.

The experience, well I remember it. Air Force One as it slid in over the tree line low to the ground, quiet and awesome on its approach. I remember the Secret Service and the handlers. I remember being reminded where to stand, what to expect. I remember hearing his voice saying “Hello, Dr. Smith,” and then extending my hand to shake his. I remember his words, as he looked me in the eyes and thanked us all. I remember he said, “I want to thank all of you who give your time to your community. I do this everywhere we go to say thanks for your service.”

“Thank you, Mr. President, and welcome to Gainesville.”

We chatted some, and then it was over.

I want everyone to know that this experience was for all of you who have given time to others. Not an experience for me alone but for all of us, to remember that people at all levels do appreciate what service you have given back to others, and remember that it’s personal. Thank you, Mr. President, from all of us.