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Though I have written about the following some years ago – a really long while ago now – let me beg your indulgence to do so again.

When today’s column endeavor comes out, know that I actually wrote this one the last day of the year. You know, 2024. Time waits on no one, and for we geriatrics it seems truly on the wing. Oh, yes.

So here it is.

Back in the summer of 1980 I did two things that provided me pleasure. One, I attended the annual Barbershop Harmony Society’s annual convention-contests, and much enjoyed that form of acapella singing, both quartets and choruses. The event is held in a different major city each year. The quality of such vocalizing must be heard to really appreciate it. Believe me. Great choreography too.

Then, I made a trip that summer to our nation’s capital. By invitation.
You see, earlier I had written my U.S. Representative asking a favor. Also, I did the same thing to the President’s press secretary.

The favor? I wanted an invitation to attend some function, any kind of event, at the White House, where the President would be in attendance. Is that cheeky or what, I ask you.

We were living in Manteo at the time. So that was where I was, at home, when the call came. It was a lady, who introduced herself as an aide to the President. She was calling to invite me to a scheduled press conference in August, in which the President was to address a specific issue.

I had mentioned in my initial two calls that I was a newspaper columnist, and at the time there were a dozen or so papers, mostly non-dailies, that carried the column. That was back in the day before the demise of many newspapers.

So. On the day of my big event, I left Manteo quite early, to ensure I would be in that other Washington in plenty of time.

The big challenge when I arrived in our nation’s capital was finding a place to park. Fortunately I was driving a very small car, a Fiat, and managed to squeeze into a space right in front of the U.S. Treasury building. (My great uncle, David Franklin Houston, was Secretary of the Treasury, and in Woodrow Wilson’s first term, Secretary of Agriculture.)

And yes, I attended the press conference, sitting just a few rows back from where the President stood at the lectern. (No, it’s NOT a podium.)

After the press conference, we in attendance were divided into smaller groups, and directed to various locations in the White House discussion. They served us punch or iced tea, and petit fours.

When it was all over, I really worried that my little car might not be where I left it, for a newspaper man had told me inside that at 4:00 p.m. they cleared all vehicles out of the immediate area. Oh, Lord.

I had written a little note, telling why I was parked where I did, and stuck it under the windshield wiper. When I came out, sure enough, all the cars had vanished. That is, with the exception of my wee Fiat. The note was gone. Evidently some policeman with a big heart read it.

And that, friends, is my story. Oh. Who was the president at the time? You guessed it. Jimmy Carter.

True story.