Chapter 36: Leadership Opportunities

Friday, September 9, 1983

It looked like the pattern was going to be that we would have breakfast and dinner with our parents, but the program would take up the rest of the day.

Today wound up being our whirlwind tour day. We visited the Library of Congress, Congress itself (though not the actual chambers), and the National Mall, walking along it and seeing the Lincoln Memorial and (from a distance) the White House. Yes, we’d been right at the National Mall yesterday, and likely would be again, but we hadn’t been on it.

We did another brainstorming session later in the afternoon, this time led by a new person, Ms. Kimball, who was some sort of assistant (to an assistant, probably) of James Baker, President Reagan’s Chief of Staff. She was notably better than Mr. Finley. I wondered if Ms. Vila had anything to do with the swap, or if this was always planned.

I noticed several staff people going around and taking copious notes. None of us were (not even me), so it made sense that someone would.

The topics this time were about things like how to bring America together, whether American Exceptionalism was still a valid concept, what our relationship with our allies should be, how we could best support our troops, and so forth. Not all that controversial and much of it would be appealing to Republican voters.

They were taking down contrarian comments as well (things like, for instance, ‘The best way to support our troops is to bring them home and downsize our military’). Perhaps they’d be useful at some point.

I wasn’t really getting a lot of chances to actually meet the other kids. We talked some during the tours, but it was hard to make any real connections there, and the brainstorming sessions were too busy to make connections, either.

Still, at the very least we would all have a list of the other participants (or, at least, they’d promised us one), and maybe they’d come in handy later.

At dinner, they announced that, barring anything unexpected, we would tour the White House tomorrow. I was looking forward to that. It’d be new for me. Dad promised that I’d love it. He’d loved their tour today.

They encouraged us to ‘wear our nice clothes’ for tomorrow. We’d been told to bring some. Even I was going for ‘traditional’ for this - navy suit, red tie, white shirt. There are times when the classics are the smart choice.

Mom and Angie loved their White House tour, too. I heard plenty about it when we all got back together. Besides that, they’d done a lot of what I’d done, just in a different order. Great minds think alike, I guess.

While we were all less tired than before, Mom and Dad still complained of it being late for them, so Angie and I headed off to our room after just a bit.

“So,” Angie said, as we started to get ready for bed, “it all sounds kinda ... boring.”

I chuckled. “I’m not sure I’d go that far, but it’s ... I don’t know. Basically, it’s a feel-good PR event, which is what a lot of these things are, I think.”

“As expected. So ... going to bend Reagan’s ear tomorrow?”

“I ... am not expecting to. Perhaps there’s a slight chance? Ms. Vila seemed interested in me in particular. I’ve noticed a few others getting singled out that way. One guy from California, a girl from Massachusetts, and a guy from Florida. The guy from Florida is Connie Mack the Fourth, who’s the son of Connie Mack the Third.”

Angie looked blank, so I said, “Representative from Florida.”

She shrugged. “I don’t remember Florida representatives that well.”

“Most of the ones I remember haven’t been in office yet, really. I don’t know the Macks that well, but it figures that the son of a representative would get some attention.”

“It does,” she said, nodding.

“I’m pretty sure he — Connie Mack the Fourth, I mean — will wind up in Congress later, if nothing changes. I probably didn’t like him then, but that has a lot more to do with how politics changed than with him personally, so I don’t want to try any ripples. They probably wouldn’t work, anyway.”

“Yeah. I don’t know what you could do, anyway.”

“Back to the original question,” I said. “I figure there’s a reasonable chance Reagan will talk to him. Why not? He’s the son of a Republican congressman. The girl from Massachusetts is some sort of prodigy. She just started Harvard Law at sixteen. Again, maybe worth a few minutes. I don’t know much about the guy from California.”

She nodded. “If you do?”

“I have to play it by ear. Shouting suggestions won’t go well. If he gives me an opportunity ... well, something I said yesterday plays perfectly into putting in an advance word about keeping the Fairness Doctrine. Getting rid of that was a huge mistake long-term. Ideologically, I probably should want to get rid of it, too, but it’s an ends/means discussion. I know what happened, and it was very bad for the country over the long term.”

“I didn’t see any of that, really, but it always made sense to me.”

“By the 2020s it might have been an anachronism — I’m not sure — because of the Internet. Maybe even the 2010s. 1987 is too early. I’d rather take my chances and see what happens if it’s given a few more years. Honestly, Republicans in 1987 should be in favor of it since they claim the media slants everything to the left. Having seen what the media looked like thirty years from now, it feels quaint. Everything on TV right now is ridiculously even-handed compared to thirty years from now.”

“If you get a second topic?”

“There are so many, but the easy one is the AIDS crisis. If Reagan had only done a few things differently much would have been better. I’d far rather talk about the dangers of supporting the mujahideen in Afghanistan, but that’s awfully hard to get into. I don’t dare touch on the Soviet Union. What we did pretty much worked, if maybe not as intended. After that ... well, if I get two topics in, that’s two more than I expect.”

She nodded. “Yeah. I guess play it by ear, like you said.”

By this point, we’d mostly gotten ready for bed. We snuggled up, said our goodnights, and were off to sleep quickly.

Saturday, September 10, 1983

Our day started the way the others had: breakfast with our parents, then splitting off to do our own things. In our case, it was a series of presentations from government agencies about how we could make a difference by working for them.

The truth was: we could. Most of us wouldn’t, but a few might.

It was odd seeing everyone dressed up for these things. I could tell at a glance that most of the kids — particularly the boys, but girls, too — weren’t used to dressing up.

During the morning, I got to talk a bit with the guy from California. His name was Martin Beckman, and he was the son of one of Reagan’s long-term backers. He was also a fairly interesting guy. Like Michael Dell, he’d built a successful business (a courier service) while in high school. He had connections, but he fit in, too.

The upcoming tour was, of course, the high point of our lunch. Everyone wondered if we might see President Reagan, even for a minute or two. Several people thought we would; others were convinced that there was no way he could make even that much time for us.

My guess was that he would put in a quick appearance with all of us. Anything more was pure conjecture. If it happened, it would probably happen quietly. No point getting most of the kids upset if only a few had a special opportunity.

They took us over to the White House around one-thirty. Along the way, I’d learned that the last public tour had wrapped up by now, so we wouldn’t cross paths with them.

We were screened when we entered the building, both with a metal detector and a quick, minor pat-down. Honestly, it wasn’t nearly as intrusive as the average airport visit post-2001, but it was fairly good for 1983. Of course, it was extremely likely that they’d checked everyone’s backgrounds, too. Still, public tours went in the same way, and you’d want to screen them, I imagined. While no one had attempted to assassinate Reagan in this universe, it wasn’t as if Presidents hadn’t been assassinated before.

When we arrived, the staff split us into four groups. One group (the group I was in) would start their tour, while the other groups would wait in the State Dining Room. About fifteen minutes later, each group would start their tour. Once we were all back in the State Dining Room, there would be a brief ceremony, photos would be taken, and we’d head back.

While the first group was on their tour, and the second group was waiting, the third and then fourth groups would speak one-on-one to a member of the staff about their experience at the conference. They were a bit apologetic about the third and fourth groups not having had the tour before their interviews, but it would clearly be more efficient to do it this way. The first two groups’ members would be interviewed once they got back, of course.

After they explained the process, we got started. Our tour was considerably more elaborate than those given to the public. We started off touring the floor we were on (the State Floor), looking at all of the rooms there. Then we headed downstairs and looked around. Unlike the public tour, we then headed over to the West Wing, getting to view the Oval Office, the Situation Room, and a number of other spaces.

Plenty of people were around and working, but no one that I immediately recognized (which, of course, included President Reagan).

As we headed back, we passed the second group heading over into the West Wing.

We went back up to the State Floor, where we were separated. I was immediately intrigued when my group turned out to be Martin Beckman, Connie Mack, Eileen Danielson (the girl from Massachusetts), and a girl from New York named Victoria Martin (who’d also gotten some attention).

They took us upstairs, to the Yellow Oval Room, and had us wait. The furniture was very comfortable, but I hadn’t missed the two guys in suits just down the hall, nor the guy in a suit in here. This much Secret Service tended to indicate that President Reagan was close.

Connie Mack looked around, then said, “Interesting. How do you rate?”

Martin Beckman blinked, then chuckled. “Dad’s a big fund-raiser.”

“I knew that,” Connie said.

Victoria shrugged. “My dad’s a representative from New York.”

“Mine’s a representative from Florida,” Connie said.

“Mine’s a representative for Prudential,” Eileen said, then grinned. “I’m a nobody, politically. I just graduated college, though. It’s probably that.”

Connie and Martin blinked, while Victoria nodded.

“Seriously?” Connie said.

“Yes,” Eileen said. “Boston College. I’ve just started at Harvard Law. They were torn between being horrified that one of their students would take two days off from classes and happy with the reason.”

“Congratulations,” Martin said.

Connie looked at me.

I shrugged and smiled. “I’m a nobody, too. Dad’s a printing paper salesman. My claim to fame is making a few off-the-cuff statements that got in the paper, one of which snuck into one of President Reagan’s weekly addresses.”

“How’d you manage that?” Eileen said.

“We had a tempest in a teapot with our prom,” I said. “Two friends of mine, Janet Collins and Lizzie Vinton, attended together. We got through the whole thing with no police or security or screaming fits, so that turned out to be national news. I got in front of a camera at the right time, pretty much.”

Victoria chuckled. “I think Dad is supposed to dislike that, but he doesn’t care.”

Connie shrugged. “Same here.”

The door we’d entered through opened and a woman appeared. “Connie Mack?”

“That’s my cue,” Connie said, and headed towards the door, which the woman closed after him.

“So ... why are we here?” Victoria said.

I nodded to the door Connie had gone through. “My guess is that we’re meeting with a VIP over there.”

Martin chuckled. “By VIP he means President Reagan.”

Eileen blushed. “Okay! So ... I don’t rate, I don’t think. Any reason why?”

Victoria shrugged. “Politics or favors. For Connie, me, and Martin, it’s probably our dads. President Reagan is going to spend a few minutes personally greeting any of their kids. Goes with the job. He needs Congressmen, and he needs fund-raisers. For you two ... politics.”

Martin nodded. “He quoted Steve, so that explains that. You probably take the cake as the brightest star in the whole bunch of us from an achievement standpoint. ‘President Reagan greets eighteen-year-old Harvard Law student’ is a good headline.”

“Sixteen,” Eileen said, still blushing, but smiling, too. “Okay. That makes sense. I thought it was a big deal meeting Senator Kennedy!”

Victoria chuckled. “There you go. No way would President Reagan let Ted Kennedy one-up him on anything if he could help it!”

We got off that subject and onto school, extracurriculars, hobbies, and so forth. Martin went next, then Eileen — surprising her — and finally Victoria. She and I spent a few minutes lightly flirting before the woman called her.

“Don’t let him intimidate you!” Victoria said as she left. “Though I get the feeling you don’t intimidate very easily!”

“Thanks! If I’m not a little intimidated, something’s wrong!” I said, grinning.

“Good attitude!”

About two minutes later the door opened. I was already up and heading over before the woman could call my name.

She shook hands, then said, “Hello, Steve. I’m Faith Whittlesey. I’m the Director of Public Liaison, and Adis Vila’s boss. I wanted to welcome you to the White House.”

“Thank you, Ms. Whittlesey.”

“You were an interesting addition. I’m sure Adis mentioned that.”

“She did,” I said, nodding.

“President Reagan would like a few words with you. It’s natural to be intimidated, but please just be yourself. We took note of how you handled yourself in your interviews this summer. Your wording was careful, but we all got the impression that you went out of your way to stay positive.”

I nodded. “President Reagan certainly took my words positively. Well, that, or the speechwriters did.”

She chuckled softly. “The President always carefully reads everything written for him. He could have struck that, but your tone there was very carefully modulated and gave him an opportunity. This summer, again, your tone was carefully modulated, giving us more opportunities. Would it be fair to say that you support President Reagan?”

I nodded a bit. “It would be fair to say that I believe President Reagan has some tremendous opportunities to improve things for America, and I believe he will succeed at them, so ... yes. It’s not so much strictly political as that I believe the Democrats just don’t have anyone who would make a compelling President right now, and ... well. I’m a debater and an extemporaneous speaker. I could easily talk for more time than you have on the subject of why I should be a supporter of the President.”

She chuckled a bit more.

“Suffice it to say that I wish President Reagan every success, and that — barring some enormous changes in the next year — I’m fairly certain I’ll be casting my first vote for President for him. That doesn’t mean I’ll be straight-ticket Republican — as the President himself said, we need both parties to be strong — but I might be. It depends on who I have to pick from.”

“You’re quite the character. I like you,” she said. As we’d been talking, she’d walked me around to another door. She nodded to the man at the door (Secret Service, I was sure) who nodded back.

“Go on in. I’ll be here when you get back.”

The Secret Service agent opened the door, and I stepped in to find President Reagan standing at his desk. It was both a little thing, and at the same time a big deal, that the most powerful man in the world would choose to greet me standing. I’m sure he did that for everyone, but ... still. It was intimidating, and exhilarating, in equal measure.

I’d figured that, at some point, I would have the clout — money, power, whatever — to rate meetings with a President or two. Doing it during high school was another thing altogether.

Until now, it hadn’t been real. Shaking hands with the man in front of me (one of the most famous men of my lifetime, at the very least, and in some ways perhaps the most powerful of all of the Presidents I’d seen in action) made it very, very real.

“Hello, Steve,” he said. “I wanted to welcome you to the White House.”

“Thank you, Mister President,” I said. “It’s a great honor.”