A
SPORTS TRIP TO THE WHITE HOUSE
by Mike Moffett
The
e-mail from the White House naturally caught my eye when I reviewed the
numerous messages that congregate daily in my electronic in-box. It was an
invite to a May 21 Washington, D.C. event where President Trump would recognize
2017 NASCAR champion driver Martin Truex, as well as a NASCAR Nation that
overwhelmingly voted for Trump to be president.
This
was in contrast to the NBA Champion Golden State Warriors and their fans who
overwhelmingly voted against Trump and who eschewed a White House visit.
Having
never met the president, I pondered why I’d received the invitation. Perhaps he
or his staff read the Weirs Times on-line. Or, more likely, it was related to
the fact that I’m a sports columnist and a New Hampshire State Representative
who lives about a mile from our wonderful NASCAR track—the New Hampshire Motor
Speedway in Loudon.
I
checked my calendar and then RSVP’d my appreciation for the invitation and replied
that of course I’d come to the White House.
I
shared the news with my spouse Beth—who is much smarter than me. She did not
feel compelled to make the D.C. trip, but encouraged me to attend if I wanted
to. Then she asked to see the invite, and noted that my name was misspelled.
“You
didn’t send them any personal information did you?” she asked.
I
stood slack-jawed.
“Please
tell me you didn’t respond!”
I
had to admit that I’d sent them all my personal contact information, date of
birth, social security number, etc.
“That’s how identities are stolen! You’d
better check with the White House or you’ll need to change all your credit
cards and bank account numbers.”
Trusting
soul that I am, I realized that I’d likely been snookered and would have to
deal with the awful consequences of identity theft.
But
then I got an acknowledgement and more information from the White House Social
Office.
“If
the Russians or whoever already have my identity, then why would they keep
writing?”
“Are
they still misspelling your name? Do they want more personal information?”
“No.
They just told me about dress code, White House security measures, and which
gate to go to.”
“Hmmmm.”
OFF
TO D.C.
When
the invitation proved to be real, I made travel plans. Greater D.C. is my old
stomping ground from my days as a Marine in Quantico, Va. And as a former
social studies teacher, I love the area’s history. I’d been by the White House many times, but never
inside its grounds.
So
on May 21 I found a great parking spot on Constitution Avenue in time to do
some sight-seeing before the White House event. Washington can be deadly hot
from May through September, and the 85 degree temps made traipsing around in my
suitcoat a bit taxing, but I was happy to be there.
To
some, Washington, D.C. personifies politics and power and many of our lesser
angels. Indeed, many think of it as a corrupt swamp needing drainage. That
those lesser angels are busy and active throughout the District of Columbia is
oft-apparent. But a walk-about also reminds one of what Abraham Lincoln
referred to as our “better angels.” Our national capital, with all its
monuments, edifices, history, and spirit represents unparalleled achievement.
While
many of the District’s permanent denizens may be oblivious to Washington’s
mystique, its wide-eyed visitors always inspire me with their excitement and
awe. Some Dutch tourists chatted me up while we walked along the ellipse. They
were clearly delighted to be visiting our American capital and I hoped that our
country, with all its imperfections, might always inspire the wonder that was
so evident on their faces.
I
briefly stopped by the White House Visitors Center at 1450 Pennsylvania Avenue
to absorb some history and charge my cell phone. As a shameless Facebook
devotee, I anticipating doing texts, photos, e-mails, tweets and live-streaming
from the White House and wanted my Droid to be fully juiced!
GETTING
INSIDE
Finally,
I headed to the designated gate, along with other NASCAR invitees. I naturally
expected tight security, but the measures surpassed my expectations. There were
four check-points and search areas, with attendant metal detectors and the
like. But my name was on every list and in I went.
I
walked through part of the East Wing to a door that led out to the South Lawn
for the NASCAR event. I thrilled to the sounds of the Marine Band, the
“President’s Own,” the best band in the world. I mingled briefly with guests
and then moved to the shade of a giant tree, beneath which the band played a
medley of fabulous tunes. I live-streamed the awesome music while literally
standing in the midst of the uniformed musicians, allowing my Facebook friends
a chance to not only hear great music, but actually see the players—up close and personal.
The
South Lawn grass was lush and extra-long, though not as long as the grass on
the ellipse south of the South Lawn, which was almost a hayfield. (Mr.
President, when you read this, please address the situation. In fact, I’d
recommend you getting on a lawn tractor yourself and doing the mowing. Great
optics!)
TRUMP
SPEAKS
Finally
the band played “Hail to the Chief” and the president emerged from the White
House with Truex and the driver’s family members and race team.
President Trump is clearly an “alpha
male” who draws energy from crowds and who relishes his job. Love him or hate
him, he projects exuberance. He used notes but largely spoke extemporaneously.
He praised NASCAR and the Truex team and also noted that NASCAR fans don’t take
a knee during the national anthem—a thinly-veiled dig against last year’s NFL
protesters.
Truex then offered a few gracious
comments, and everyone got in line for photos with the Commander-in-Chief.
Given the heat and the length of the
line, I demurred. I took a few more photos and headed out while the band played
“Semper Fidelis.” I wanted to experience more of that wonderful D.C. history.
Getting out was easy compared to getting in.
After
flying back to New Hampshire I told Beth I was glad I went. My spouse—who is
much smarter than me—said she was happy for me.
But
she added that if I ended up a victim of identity theft, then at least she’d know
who did it!
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