Bill Clinton; moving

President Bill Clinton, President of the United States. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I am proud to be living in the state that produced Bill Clinton. He is one of the reasons I'm here.

I have never gotten the privilege of meeting Bill Clinton, but I came pretty close once. It was 1992 when he he was running for President. Al Gore was his running mate. I was a part time correspondent for a daily newspaper at the time--a Republican leaning one.

I was new to politics then, but was learning quickly. In my off hours, I was also an activist, fighting against the State of Illinois' efforts to build a new airport close to the tiny town where I lived.

When I heard that Bill Clinton and Al Gore were coming to Chicago, I made up my mind that I wanted to go. My friend Michelle, who was also my anti-airport partner joined me. When we got downtown, we had never seen so many people. We walked toward a raised platform surmising that it was the place they would stand. We got closer to see the area was cordoned off. Suddenly, we were stopped by a big, burly Chicago cop. I quickly shoved my camera case at Michelle and said, "here, take this."

The cop asked for credentials. I told him I was with the press. I didn't have special credentials. I had only a press pass issued by Will County, but I showed it to him. If I remember correctly, we had to do a little fast talking too. We were like two giddy school girls about to meet the high school football jock. No one was more surprised than as that he grinned and gave me a nod. He looked at Michelle and asked about her. I said she was with me--she's my camera man. He let us in.

We walked to the front of makeshift stage. where we laughed at the encounter and our own brazenness. It wasn't a lie. I had planned to cover the event, take notes, write a story and submit photos to the paper. We really had every right to be there. We waited a very long time until finally, we saw a bus in the distance. Out stepped Bill and Hillary, Al and Tipper Gore, former Sen. Carol Mosely-Braun, then Mayor Richard M. Daley, as well as singer Michael Bolton who was traveling with them.

The crowd was electric. They each delivered a short speech. We were close enough that we could have touched him.

When it was all over, the crowd began to disperse. There were so many people pushing and shoving; that at times, I no longer stood on my own two feet. I was levitated by the crowd. I am short--only 5'-1" tall. Everyone around me was taller. I almost felt helpless. It really was pretty scary. I vowed I would never put myself in a situation like that again. Yet, I was really glad I did it this time.

When I got back to the paper, I submitted film. I wrote a story, which did not interest them. I really had to talk fast to get them to print a picture with a caption at least. I told them this man was going to be the next President of the United States and they were really lucky that I had his picture for them. They may have just been pulling my leg, because the picture appeared the following day.

I had one more near Bill Clinton experience--in 1996 when he was running for a second term. The venue was outdoors at the Homewood/Floosmoor High School football field. A friend of mine who was working for the local Democrats got tickets and asked if I'd like to go with him to see Clinton. I was thrilled. We watched as the helicopters flew overhead. I recall Clinton talking about building a bridge to the 21st century. He stood before posters and graphics illustrating that bridge. I was star struck; I still am.

When my husband and I came to Arkansas on vacation, it was during the time that Clinton was being impeached. We stayed at a resort, but we didn't have much fun. I refused to leave the television set at the cabin. I was riveted as I watched what I thought was a terrible injustice to my President.

Finally when my husband retired, he was already certain he wanted to live in the Ozarks. We were looking for a place to move. We had really considered moving to Missouri. It seemed as though it was a little cheaper to live there. We looked for houses in both states. One night I told my husband that I didn't want to look in Missouri anymore. I really wanted to live in Arkansas because it was the state that produced Bill Clinton. We moved here in 2005 and never looked back.

Hearing Bill Clinton at the Democratic National Convention last night was just like déjà vu for me. I felt the same exhilaration that I had felt during his campaigns and while he spoke from the White House. The happiest political moment was the day he was inaugurated. Michelle came to my house and we watched together. Both of us sat in silence, hanging on every word, a box of kleenex between us.

I have always been a fan of Bill Clinton's. There was just something about him. He is quick-witted, smart, and ambitious, not to mention easy on the eyes. He has the ability to hold millions of people in the palm of his hand when he speaks. Yet while he talks plain and has an unassuming demeanor, his mind is sharp as a tack. There is no one like Bill Clinton and there never will be. Who knows, perhaps one day I will even get to meet him? That would be such an honor.

I will always remember!

Cover of John F. Kennedy

I remember the day!

Lined up for a spelling bee in Ms. Salemi's sixth grade class at Riley Elementary School in Northlake, Illinois, I will never forget. Word came over the intercom that President John F. Kennedy had been killed by an assassin's bullet.

Moments before, the room was filled with gregarious pre-teens. But upon hearing that tragic news, we watched our teacher--a young, pretty, single woman who had been our inspiration, our mentor--as she begin to weep. She tried to hide her emotion from her students, but it was as if she was personally touched by this tragedy. It was like she had heard of the death of her best friend. Try as she might, she couldn't hide such raw emotion--no one could. Many of us cried with her.

Though the full gravity of the events of that afternoon were unknown to us at the time, we were mature enough to know that something horrible had occurred. We knew that this day would be one we would always remember.

I'm not sure whether it was the assassination of a popular U.S. President or the emotional display of our teacher, but we were keenly aware that something bigger than us was very different, very wrong. We had no way of knowing how different. No one did.

Living through the rest of that day was like being in a fog. There was no relief. When we returned home from school, it continued. Our television sets were taken over by news of the assassination, and then days of mourning and the funeral. I watched every day of the coverage. Even today, if there is a major news event, I watch as events unfold, following to their conclusion.

We felt the uneasiness in the pit of our stomachs that afternoon, perhaps for the first time. Like a tiny microcosm we experienced the same horror, dread, and tragedy felt by the entire country and the world the day the President of the United States was assassinated.

I believe that day really did change us--as individuals, as well as a country. We were shaken by this event, to our very core. We lost our innocence that day.

I was young--I admit that I knew little about the world around me. But for me, I think this event lit a tiny spark of curiosity, a yearning to learn about what lies beyond the walls of the small bungalow my family called home. I learned to question, even the obvious. It wasn't until years later that those embers began to light.

The fire continues to burn.

Image via Wikipedia

I will never forget the image of Jackie Kennedy, her blood-stained pink suit, the blank look on her sad face as Lyndon Johnson was sworn in to succeed her husband as President of the United States. She had lived the life of a princess but suddenly was faced with unimaginable horror. I felt such empathy for her that I wanted to burst.


But even with years of healing, the scars remain. I do not for one moment believe that Kennedy was killed by Lee Harvey Oswald, a lone-shooter from high above that Dallas street. I no longer trust all that I hear or read. I believe truth means different things to different people. I abhor violence. Deranged people should not have access to weapons. Evil people do exist.

I don't think I am very different from my classmates lined up on opposite sides of the room for that spelling bee forty-eight years ago. One thing is certain; we will always be a generation that remembers the day Kennedy was killed. It will forever be a sad reminder of how good things rarely last.