Tag: Presidents

Laid to Rest

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My mother was a collector of fine furniture, ceramic pitchers, and–occasionally–commemorative coins.

On March 17, 1977, she purchased this Franklin Mint medal. It celebrates the inauguration of Jimmy Carter, the thirty-ninth President of the United States.

This bronze coin has occupied a space inside a box in my father’s WWII army trunk for the past few decades.

I was nineteen and a first-time voter when I cast my ballot for Carter in November 1976.

Most of my college friends at the University of Missouri were Gerald Ford supporters.

I suppose they were willing to forgive him for pardoning Richard Nixon.

I wasn’t. I opted for Carter, the peanut farmer from Plains, Georgia.

As history would have it, Carter’s four years as president (1977 to 1981) included many ups and downs.

For instance, Carter successfully negotiated the Camp David Accords, political agreements signed by then Egyptian president Anwar Sadat and Israeli prime minister Menachem Begin.

Carter also signed into law bills that created the U.S. Department of Energy and Department of Education.

However, the Iran hostage crisis (when fifty-three U.S. diplomats and citizens were held hostage at the U.S. embassy in Tehran by a group of Iranian college students who supported the Iranian Revolution) and related oil crisis led to his unraveling popularity.

In November 1980, Ronald Reagan defeated Jimmy Carter. His loss was punctuated on January 20, 1981, when the hostages were released on the first day of Reagan’s presidency.

Of course, we now know Jimmy Carter wasn’t through yet. He lived another forty-three years and made good use of his century-long (1924-2024) life.

After leaving the White House–with his wife and life partner Rosalynn Carter ever by his side–he established the Carter Center. He worked tirelessly to promote and expand human rights.

That led him to receive the Nobel Peace Prize in 2002.

Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter also became famous for the houses they helped build for Habitat for Humanity and the faithful lives they shared with family and friends in their community and all around the world.

***

This morning, after watching C-SPAN coverage of Jimmy Carter’s funeral at the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C.–and listening to a parade of praise in eulogies given by past Republican and Democratic leaders and grieving family members–I extricated the bronze medallion.

I brought it into the light. I placed it on the shelf of our bureau in our Arizona sunroom. I pondered Jimmy Carter’s astounding legacy of faith, hope, service, and perseverance.

I wondered if–as he was laid to rest–our nation’s democracy might not be far behind.

I hate the trite phrase “only time will tell.” But it certainly applies as inauguration day–January 20, 2025–approaches.

Consider this. Tucked inside the box that normally houses the Carter medallion is a little booklet with information about the tradition of the presidential inaugural medals. Here is an excerpt:

“The Official 1977 Inaugural Medal commemorates the solemn ritual, repeated every four years, through which Americans and their President refresh the nation’s commitment to free government.

During the inauguration, the President, in the presence of Congress, pledges to serve faithfully and to uphold the Constitution to the best of his ability.

Americans have always treated this ceremony as a portentous moment in the life of the republic, a time of celebration and of renewed dedication.”

But we live in 2025. Will the incoming president uphold the Constitution to the best of his ability?

That bit of history–beyond the funereal pageantry of today–has yet to be written.

One Step Closer to Midnight

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At six, I ducked. I covered. When Cronkite broke the news, I grieved for JFK. I wondered what might have been. I watched John-John salute his dad’s horse-drawn casket as it passed by.

At sixteen, I drove and grew. I discovered the stage. My long hair hid my face, but through the blond strands I watched the lies and disgrace of Nixon and Watergate unfold and consume our nation.

At twenty-six, I cradled my first-born son. I played ad man in the tallest building in the world. I watched the AIDS epidemic rage without relief. Reagan stood by to pontificate.

At thirty-six, I grieved for my father and raised two little boys–alone. Clinton signed Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. In short order, I watched the military expand its closets. Meanwhile, I found a way out of mine.

At forty-six, I climbed the ladder, fed our dog, and paid more child support. I watched my weight escalate. My blood pressure and responsibilities soared as George W fanned the flames in Iraq.

At fifty-six, I grieved for my mother. I shed my corporate skin. I wrote. I sang again. I photographed dragonflies. I watched Obama change course and support marriage equality. I felt hopeful.

Now, six days before my sixty-sixth, I cleave to my husband and pray that the masses will continue to support Biden–our buffer from total mayhem–while insanity lurks on the horizon.

We watch and sigh as another wave of misguided declarations from the misnamed Supremes–and their perpetrators–land on the doorstep of freedom and turn back the clock on once-protected classes.

What has become of our red-white-and-blue country? The country I still love–that beacon of hope–no longer exists. Now we are black and blue. Punch drunk from the previous administration. Bruised from an insurrection that took us to the brink nearly thirty months ago.

Still, we watch and wait for justice and accountability. Will it ever come? Or are we simply poised for another distraction? Another round of fireworks to illuminate our darkness and denial?

It certainly feels like we are one step closer to midnight.

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If my poem moved you, check out my latest book A Path I Might Have Missed on Amazon.