Political Misfortune
Politicians are making their presence felt again. It’s like their big mouths, usually kept in check, are suddenly wide open—almost like the Grand Canyon. I’ve seen enough elections to remember when Millard Fillmore was in office. Those folks seem ready to pop up on every talk show again, even calling back figures like Calvin Coolidge for another round.
When you see that paper plate loaded with tuna mayo, you just know it’s a political gathering. The Democratic Party—well, the bread they’re serving has probably been around since the days of Ulysses S. Grant. I mean, that loaf might’ve been baked back when the Dutch snagged that island for, what, a slice of cheesecake?
Looking back, I recall George Bush and Barbara had these king-size beds. Not for the fluff, but because Barbara wore those hefty three-strand pearl necklaces that kind of got in the way. She had it on when I visited her suite named after her at the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island. She shared some wise words: “When you’re out, you’re out. Life continues after work, so let’s not whine.”
I spent quite a bit of time with Barbara. The late designer Arnold Scassi helped her with outfits and makeup, much like I tried to. But, honestly, I don’t think it worked. One time at the Marriott, she asked for a hairdresser, but nobody showed up, so she ended up shampooing her own hair.
Years ago, the president’s successor was in Philadelphia, a city that prides itself on brotherly love. I stayed at a nice hotel, and my husband had just gifted me a chunky crystal bracelet for my birthday—two hearts nestled in diamonds, one for him, one for me. I was eager to wear it, but since I had to shake hands and give hugs all day, I figured it would be safer to leave it behind to avoid any slips. You know how it is; excitement sometimes makes you forget practicalities.
There was no safe in the room—only one at the front desk. So, I took off the bracelet because it could easily twist off my wrist. I signed it into the safe and headed out to work. Years later, I can only assume someone else was busy too.
After the event, I went back to claim my bracelet. It was gone. The safe was empty. Nothing left, not even a trace. Hotel employees had no idea. I even spoke to everyone who might have had access. Nothing. The person in charge was clueless. Even with all the political activity, no police reports were filed about any break-ins.
That feels like a lifetime ago now. My husband is no longer with me, and I lost my bracelet. I realize it might sound silly, but if anyone out there finds it and wants to return it—no questions asked—I would really appreciate it. Honestly, I can’t even remember who won that year, just that I want my bracelet back.
Another memory I have is sitting with Barbara Bush, discussing why she chose not to dye her gray hair. There was a time when she had to meet George during his congressional run in Texas. Back then, she had just finished an appointment and the temperature was soaring, plus the plane had no air conditioning. The brown rinse she used started to run all over her face.
She dabbed at it with a tissue while I just sat there. She then went for her handkerchief, but that brown color kept running down. She rushed to little John, using toilet paper to cover him. The wet paper stuck to her like it had its own agenda. By the time we landed, her face looked like a paint palette.
I stumbled upon “Airplane” through this small, local band, and I remember her mentioning how she somehow fell into a tuba while doing her thing. It’s a great story, and it’s certainly one I’ll never forget. But, again, I’d really like that bracelet back.
