Recently, I received a telephone call from Capitol Hill in Washington DC. No, it wasn’t the Speaker of the House calling for advice. It was my son Jordan.
“Dad, I can get you and Mom into a White House tour next Wednesday morning at 7:30 AM, but I need to know right away if you can do it.”
My dream from the time I was a small boy was to someday go to the White House, either by electoral vote or as a tourist. Having reached the age of 50, I had come to realize that the latter approach was now my only viable option for attaining my childhood goal.
I came close to getting to the White House fifteen years ago. In 1992, during the original Bush Administration, I was part of a group of Southern Baptist ministers attending a public affairs conference in D.C. We were invited to a White House briefing with then-Secretary of Housing and Urban Development (and later VP candidate) Jack Kemp. But it was held in the adjacent Old Executive Office Building rather than the White House itself. Close, but no cigar.
But now, my son was opening the door for me to finally fulfill my dream. A lifelong student of presidential history, as well as a history and political science major in college, I was delighted that this long-awaited opportunity was finally presenting itself.
“Yes,” I replied. “We’ll be there. Tell W. & Laura & the kids that we’re coming.”
Faster than you can say “George Stephanopoulos” I called Sandy at home and told her the good news. Sandy had visited the White House once before, back during the Carter Administration when she was an 18-year-old high school student on her senior trip. It was a much different world back then. Nowadays—in our Post 9-11 culture—getting into the White House is about as easy as getting a baseball player to admit that he’s used steroids. You have to go through your local Congressman, applying far in advance, and even then, it’s far from a sure thing. Jordan, a Congressional aide, had been trying for two years to get us in.
When we got to the White House early that morning, it was a cold day and the snow was starting to fall. Inside, the mansion was beautifully decorated for Christmas. Gold had been chosen as the predominant color for this year’s decor. And the theme of this year’s Christmas celebration was a salute to our national parks. Artisans from each of the 50 states had painted original designs and images on clear glass ornaments in commemoration of our various national parks and historic sites. These colorful ornaments were proudly displayed on the large tree in the circular Blue Room. During our 30-minute self-guided, self-paced walk through the White House’s first floor, we also passed through the East Room, the Green Room, the Red Room, the State Dining Room, the Cross Hall, and Entrance Hall. Along the way, Sandy, never at a loss for words, joked with several Secret Service agents. Fortunately, she didn’t create enough of a scene to bring us under suspicion.
I kept hoping we’d bump into George. I envisioned him sitting there next to the tree in a recliner, with his feet up, wearing a cardigan sweater, sipping his hot cocoa, reading the morning newspaper. But alas, there was no such encounter. No sign of any members of the First Family, as a matter of fact. Not even Barney, the family dog.
By the time we exited the White House and began making our way up Pennsylvania Avenue, the snow was really coming down. Before the day was over, some 3 inches or more would fall in the capital city. Not having experienced a real snowfall in more than a dozen years, Sandy and I relished our windy walk all the way to Capitol Hill—about a mile and half from the White House. By the time we reached our son’s office, we looked 
like survivors of the recent cruise ship that sank in Antarctica. Snow and ice was all over us. After grabbing some lunch and thawing out for a bit, we took a cab over to the National Cathedral. The last and only time we had visited that magnificent structure was almost 15 years earlier. This time, since tourist traffic was slow, one of the guides gave us an hour-long private tour, sharing with us many interesting facts we’d never heard before, as well as reminding us of some we’d forgotten.
Afterward, we made our way back to Capitol Hill to be part of the Capitol Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony. This year’s tree—a 55-foot fir—was shipped down from the state of Vermont. Numerous Vermonters had made their way south for the special occasion. As the sun set, the wind picked up and the snow
seemed to intensify. I can tell you that there was definitely no global warming going on in Washington that night! As we stood there shivering, the entire Vermont Congressional delegation (only 3 people—2 U.S. Senators and one U.S. Representative) took turns speaking proudly of their home state’s great gift to the nation. One the senators even had laryngitis, but that didn’t deter him from offering his own ornate oratorical observations on the magnificence of the tree and the heroic efforts of all that had been involved in any way in its 54-year life span, from planting to cultivating, to cutting to transporting, to erecting to decorating. Before the ceremony was all said and done, I think every citizen of the state of Vermont had a part on the program, with the notable exception of Howard Dean. (I certainly would have recognized his unique scream anywhere.) We were so glad when the Speaker of the House finally pushed the button 
that lit the tree. Interestingly, as soon as she did so, the entire crowd—wet and cold—immediately dispersed. Again, Sandy and I made our way back to Jordan’s office, looking by now like Nanook of the North after a robust day of subzero seal hunting.
The next day, we drove back to Danville. (Interestingly, unknown to us at the time, another Mount Hermon couple—E. B. and Ramona Cassada—were touring the White House that very morning, just 24 hours after we did. By the way, they didn’t get to see the president either.) Scheduled for that Thursday evening was the lighting of the National Christmas Tree on the White House lawn, a much bigger event than the one we had observed at the Capitol the night before. I would like to have stayed, but since George W. didn’t even bother to come down and greet me on my first trip to his home, I decided that I wouldn’t go back to help him with his Christmas tree lights. As far as I was concerned, he was on his own on that one. Besides, Sandy and I didn’t want to spend yet another night freezing out in the cold wind waiting for more lights to come on. We’d rather be all warm and toasty over at Dick Cheney’s place, sitting by the fire and helping him clean his hunting rifles.
Pastor Danny
“Dad, I can get you and Mom into a White House tour next Wednesday morning at 7:30 AM, but I need to know right away if you can do it.”
My dream from the time I was a small boy was to someday go to the White House, either by electoral vote or as a tourist. Having reached the age of 50, I had come to realize that the latter approach was now my only viable option for attaining my childhood goal.
I came close to getting to the White House fifteen years ago. In 1992, during the original Bush Administration, I was part of a group of Southern Baptist ministers attending a public affairs conference in D.C. We were invited to a White House briefing with then-Secretary of Housing and Urban Development (and later VP candidate) Jack Kemp. But it was held in the adjacent Old Executive Office Building rather than the White House itself. Close, but no cigar.But now, my son was opening the door for me to finally fulfill my dream. A lifelong student of presidential history, as well as a history and political science major in college, I was delighted that this long-awaited opportunity was finally presenting itself.
“Yes,” I replied. “We’ll be there. Tell W. & Laura & the kids that we’re coming.”
Faster than you can say “George Stephanopoulos” I called Sandy at home and told her the good news. Sandy had visited the White House once before, back during the Carter Administration when she was an 18-year-old high school student on her senior trip. It was a much different world back then. Nowadays—in our Post 9-11 culture—getting into the White House is about as easy as getting a baseball player to admit that he’s used steroids. You have to go through your local Congressman, applying far in advance, and even then, it’s far from a sure thing. Jordan, a Congressional aide, had been trying for two years to get us in.
When we got to the White House early that morning, it was a cold day and the snow was starting to fall. Inside, the mansion was beautifully decorated for Christmas. Gold had been chosen as the predominant color for this year’s decor. And the theme of this year’s Christmas celebration was a salute to our national parks. Artisans from each of the 50 states had painted original designs and images on clear glass ornaments in commemoration of our various national parks and historic sites. These colorful ornaments were proudly displayed on the large tree in the circular Blue Room. During our 30-minute self-guided, self-paced walk through the White House’s first floor, we also passed through the East Room, the Green Room, the Red Room, the State Dining Room, the Cross Hall, and Entrance Hall. Along the way, Sandy, never at a loss for words, joked with several Secret Service agents. Fortunately, she didn’t create enough of a scene to bring us under suspicion.I kept hoping we’d bump into George. I envisioned him sitting there next to the tree in a recliner, with his feet up, wearing a cardigan sweater, sipping his hot cocoa, reading the morning newspaper. But alas, there was no such encounter. No sign of any members of the First Family, as a matter of fact. Not even Barney, the family dog.
By the time we exited the White House and began making our way up Pennsylvania Avenue, the snow was really coming down. Before the day was over, some 3 inches or more would fall in the capital city. Not having experienced a real snowfall in more than a dozen years, Sandy and I relished our windy walk all the way to Capitol Hill—about a mile and half from the White House. By the time we reached our son’s office, we looked 
like survivors of the recent cruise ship that sank in Antarctica. Snow and ice was all over us. After grabbing some lunch and thawing out for a bit, we took a cab over to the National Cathedral. The last and only time we had visited that magnificent structure was almost 15 years earlier. This time, since tourist traffic was slow, one of the guides gave us an hour-long private tour, sharing with us many interesting facts we’d never heard before, as well as reminding us of some we’d forgotten.Afterward, we made our way back to Capitol Hill to be part of the Capitol Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony. This year’s tree—a 55-foot fir—was shipped down from the state of Vermont. Numerous Vermonters had made their way south for the special occasion. As the sun set, the wind picked up and the snow
seemed to intensify. I can tell you that there was definitely no global warming going on in Washington that night! As we stood there shivering, the entire Vermont Congressional delegation (only 3 people—2 U.S. Senators and one U.S. Representative) took turns speaking proudly of their home state’s great gift to the nation. One the senators even had laryngitis, but that didn’t deter him from offering his own ornate oratorical observations on the magnificence of the tree and the heroic efforts of all that had been involved in any way in its 54-year life span, from planting to cultivating, to cutting to transporting, to erecting to decorating. Before the ceremony was all said and done, I think every citizen of the state of Vermont had a part on the program, with the notable exception of Howard Dean. (I certainly would have recognized his unique scream anywhere.) We were so glad when the Speaker of the House finally pushed the button 
that lit the tree. Interestingly, as soon as she did so, the entire crowd—wet and cold—immediately dispersed. Again, Sandy and I made our way back to Jordan’s office, looking by now like Nanook of the North after a robust day of subzero seal hunting.The next day, we drove back to Danville. (Interestingly, unknown to us at the time, another Mount Hermon couple—E. B. and Ramona Cassada—were touring the White House that very morning, just 24 hours after we did. By the way, they didn’t get to see the president either.) Scheduled for that Thursday evening was the lighting of the National Christmas Tree on the White House lawn, a much bigger event than the one we had observed at the Capitol the night before. I would like to have stayed, but since George W. didn’t even bother to come down and greet me on my first trip to his home, I decided that I wouldn’t go back to help him with his Christmas tree lights. As far as I was concerned, he was on his own on that one. Besides, Sandy and I didn’t want to spend yet another night freezing out in the cold wind waiting for more lights to come on. We’d rather be all warm and toasty over at Dick Cheney’s place, sitting by the fire and helping him clean his hunting rifles.
Pastor Danny
