To the Editor:
The U.S. Secret Service has come under widespread criticism in the wake of former president Donald Trump’s recent close call with a would-be assassin. While congressional oversight and internal review sort it all out, I can offer some recent positive experience with the agency — at the White House, no less.
I was 9 years old the first time I visited the Executive Mansion in Washington with mom, dad and my younger brother. It wasn’t unusual for families to enjoy summer vacations at that time, and ours was packed with adventure in early August, 1965. We joined New Jersey friends to take in New York City, including the World’s Fair. Lunching at an automat was fun, and a bygone experience here in the 21st century.
Standing on a city street within view of the United Nations building, dad handed a dollar, each, to Billy and me, explaining, “I didn’t want you boys to be in the big city without some money in your pockets.” Now that was a decade ahead of Glen Campbell’s “Rhinestone Cowboy,” and his dreams of “the things I’ll do with a subway token and a dollar tucked inside my shoe,” but we felt ready to tackle the town!
On our way back south, and home, we stopped off in the nation’s capitol for some sight-seeing. We paused on the street to split two Coca-Colas four ways; I recall us hee-hawing how we’d never pay a quarter for a Coke back home! Our congressman, Charlie Jonas, supplied passes for a tour of the White House, and contrary to now, we could use them immediately.
After queuing up outside of President and Mrs. Lyndon Johnson’s Pennsylvania Avenue home, a docent led our group through several rooms. Interestingly, this was a few days before Johnson would sign the historic Voting Rights Act of 1965 into law.
But LBJ nearly had a mess to clean up — and I don’t mean the Vietnam War, which was in its early stages. Inside the mansion’s Blue Room, I was overcome with a bout of nausea. Pretty soon, I was escorted by a uniformed officer to an out-of-the-way restroom. Despite my childhood imagination, I did not encounter a tall, ruddy-complexioned Texan asking, “Are ya’ OK, pardner?”
Still a bit “green about the gills,” I posed with dad and Billy as mom photographed us seated on the White House’s north portico steps — where presidents typically greet foreign dignitaries, hold impromptu press conferences, and await their replacements on inauguration days. It’s still a prized snapshot, probably developed by Jack Rabbit Photo Processing of Spartanburg.
Tours of the White House require more planning now, but I wanted Robin to enjoy the opportunity. After several months’ wait, Congressman Dan Bishop informed us our tour was OK’d for Aug. 6. I’m sure a cursory background check was performed; nonetheless, we were required to pass multiple levels of Secret Service examination to enter President and Mrs. Joe Biden’s Washington home. The final check had us standing next to a louvered metal barrier where a canine officer sniffed for unseen contraband. We’ll never know whether “Agent Rover” was sporting the trademark aviator shades.
Ours was a self-guided, 45-minute walk-through, beginning at the mansion’s East Colonnade entry and proceeding on the ground floor past the China Room, the Library, the Diplomatic Reception Room, and the Vermeil Room, before climbing stairs to the State Floor. To be sure, you are watched every step of the way, although agents readily answer inquiries as I observed one patiently taking time with a curious visitor in the State Dining Room.
Departing the tour at the north portico, I noted most of the area was chained off from public access, apparently unavailable for a photo to bookend my snapshot from 59 years ago. But you never know unless you ask, so I approached a unformed Secret Service officer. Unlike the dressier white-shirted 1965 uniforms, this agent was ready for action, clad in black tactical gear.
Explaining my request, I prepared for a withering stare and a point toward the exit. Instead, the agent’s serious mien turned into a smile and a helpful, “It’s OK, I’ll take care of you.” He dropped the chain and allowed me to pose on the same step I had occupied long ago as Robin captured the moment.
The picture has joined my pantheon of treasured photos. I guess a bit of politeness, and looking like someone’s old grandpa, sometimes pays off.
Douglas Smith, Rockingham
