by Ann Beattie
The wedding presents are coming in all the time. You’d never get to your own wedding if you had to attend that many showers! But wasn’t Mamie cute, laughing out loud at you in your white feather boa?
“You’re always saying that nothing’s wrong with having a little fun.”
And there isn’t. She had such a good time that day. That is not the sort of thing a military wife would actually have, but I guess, if I had it to do over again, I could wear a boa like that twirled around my neck with my Republican cloth coat . . . though maybe that’s all best forgotten. Every now and then I think about a few funny things I could do, and one of these days I’m going to surprise everyone and just act up a bit! I was so amused by seeing you in your yellow apron imprinted with the information: “Julia Child Eats TV Dinners.” Well, she’s a busy gal, so what if she does? I’m still recovering from Martha Mitchell’s gift, but when you think about it, it does let you know Martha has some perspective on herself. A gold telephone! Her husband wouldn’t have found it one bit funny. If he has any sense of humor, it’s lost on me. If you have patience with Martha, you know, when she settles down she has interesting things to say. I’m fond of her, though sometimes she goes too far.
“You’re a good friend to Mrs. Mitchell.”
One of the staff had a cart he was using yesterday. Pushing the presents down the corridor with a shopping cart, and someone coming behind him with a handheld present that was apparently very delicate. That’s the White House version of going to the market, I guess—though I never had anyone bringing up the rear when I went shopping. We’d be lucky to have something like that, wouldn’t we? Back and forth all day with gifts, and more to come, they must be thinking. You are going to have many lovely things to begin your life with Eddie in New York.
“Yes, but I don’t ever want to iron. You iron beautifully, but I’ve never learned to do it right.”
Tomorrow morning Priscilla will be in the Diplomatic Reception Room, and what do you say Mamie and I have a cup of tea and let you talk to her alone for a few moments? She might have some questions she’d like to ask privately. I don’t know what, just that she might. The designer and the bride might want to talk over some things that don’t involve two older ladies. Well, I appreciate that. She’ll be flying into National Airport, just the way she did for Luci Johnson. She’s a real goodwill ambassador of beautiful bridal dresses, isn’t she?
“She designs the most beautiful wedding dresses.”
Last night your father asked many times if things are coming along all right, and I know he’s very proud of you and excited about this important moment at the White House. He’s worried he won’t be good enough on the dance floor, so we’ve been practicing just a bit, but I don’t want to scare him, so I pretend he’ll simply sail on his feet.
“Eddie is a good dancer.”
Well, your father will be glad to have his dance with his daughter, and hand you off to Eddie! How lucky both of us are that we have such wonderful daughters. It’s no surprise that they’ve found wonderful men. Did I tell you that Clare Luce sent me a note, and she’s planning a wonderful surprise for you.
“She told you what it is? What is it?”
It’s something you might have a suspicion about, but I won’t say more. Let’s just say that it wouldn’t require a whole shopping cart to bring it into the White House. Let me ask you, darling: don’t you think long sleeves are best for my dress? I think they’re always better, and with the dress length, I think long sleeves will be appropriate. New white gloves. I’ll wear pearls. Have you decided on jewelry? Your sapphire and diamond engagement ring really is a dream come true. I guess it also takes care of that “something blue.” I do agree with you that your hair pulled back will be elegant, and Priscilla can offer such good advice about a veil. I like things to be clear, including your sweet face on your wedding day.
“Julie and I wore white gloves to the Inaugural Ball, remember, Mommy?”
Oh, that picture where Julie is yawning? She would be the one yawning, being the youngest! I wore a sleeveless dress that night that I still have, but for a wedding, even a June wedding, I do think long sleeves will be best.
Your father is worried the roses won’t be blooming in profusion, so he’s spoken to one of the gardeners about bringing in extra rosebushes, if necessary! If I told him there was a magic dance he could do to ward off rain, that would be a way to get him to practice dancing! Shall we tell him that, just to have a bit of fun? Yes, let’s pretend there’s a special dance the President is supposed to do to ensure blue skies.
Mrs. Nixon Does Not Bend to Pressure
Two hundred thousand demonstrators are in Washington, May 3, 1971—I will never forget this day. They think they’ve thought things through, but they haven’t. They don’t understand the threat of Communism, and they don’t understand that some of the finest minds in our country have thought things through and arrived at a very different conclusion than theirs. I know this much: Jerry Wilson is a patriot, and he’s going to clear the streets and deal with these demonstrators who might find strength in numbers, though they’ll never prevail because, individually, they are cowards. I’m going to do my part, too. I’m going to stay inside—not because I’m a coward, but because life goes on. Today the wives of the Ninety-second Congress will be having lunch here, and the noise of the buses might have to be drowned out by Beethoven. I only wish Dick could take time out of his busy schedule to be the person sitting at the piano.
Mrs. Nixon Hears a Name She Doesn’t Care For
Well, I’ve taken some flak for what I did, but no matter what I do, I’m the President of the United States, so I’m going to catch it every time. I started thinking about it and I thought, Why not give the Secret Service a runaround and call on Manolo—he’s on my side, I know that—and the two of us could set off for one of the historic sites. Daytime, nighttime, it’s a moving experience to visit the great monuments of Washington, D.C.
Manolo drove—I let him do that part—and when we got to the Lincoln Memorial, I felt the power of it all over again, and there were kids—sure there were; they were getting in some sightseeing before their big day of protesting—there were some kids on the steps, and one of ’em called out, “Hey! It’s the President!” Well, how likely was that? But it wasn’t so dark that they didn’t stop what they were doing and see that it was the President, all right, but they still musta been surprised when I had a few things to say to them, because how often do you have an informal chat with the President? I’d told Haldeman to bring some of ’em to the White House, but then I thought, Why not go out there and show them I’m not afraid? Why not talk to ’em, show ’em that the President cares? I want this war over more than anybody, you can be sure of that.
Well, we did pretty well. I tried to tell them that it was a big world, and that travel was important. I tried to stop them from being so scared because, you understand, they weren’t prepared to meet the President.
Manolo was very moved. He stood there staring up at Lincoln. I said to them that, sure, I could have avoided them, I could have been a coward, but I’m not a coward. How could they think I was, when I stood right there on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial? What they had to understand, though, was that I was making an effort, it wasn’t something I had to do, it was never something I had to get into. The problem was bigger than the war, I told ’em. I said the blacks and the whites were separated, and it was a shame. That there had to be a way to communicate. And the Indians—what did they think about our treatment of them, or did they think about nothing but the Vietnamese people? Our treatment of the Indians was very shabby. Some of the Chicanos are worse off than the blacks, too, by the way.
It was dark, but I gestured. I told them, there are problems that need to be fixed, and some of the problems have to do with having messed up the planet we’re living on. You know, it’s my intention to clean things up. And I let ’em know it was my intention to end the war, too, bring the boys home, the boys and th
e girls. They were pretty impressed, you can be sure of that. They feel their oats when they’re with their friends, but you get ’em alone, talk to them one-on-one, they understand that you care. That the President does. You know, that was a good idea I got from Nancy Dickerson to talk to the young people. Now, Pat, what’s that look for? You can’t be jealous of Nancy Dickerson! Anyway, if it makes you feel any better, I spoke to Helen Thomas, too, she knew I was heading off for the memorial, even if it was you-know-who who’d told me that I should go to them, I shouldn’t just have Bob bring ’em to me. They were good kids. Kids that might grow up to be good Americans, once they’ve been set straight. Their president tried the other night. He got out there and talked to them. I told them, Go to Siberia, see what the folks were like there, see what they thought of living someplace like that. None of ’em probably has a dime to travel, but one day they might. We talked about a lot of things, and some of what I tried to say didn’t go over, I know that, but still, it was good advice: go to them, don’t have them come to you.
The President, Co-owner, with Mrs. Nixon, of Irish Setter King Timahoe, Called “King,” Meets Elvis Presley, Known as “The King” but Called “Mr. Presley” by the President
King Timahoe, the Nixons’ Irish setter, could be quite a pest. “King” disliked leashes, was disobedient, maniacally energetic, and spoiled. (Just ask Alexander Butterfield.) King wouldn’t have tolerated being dressed up by the Lyndon Johnsons. (Though it is possible LBJ would have been amused if the staff person assigned to costume King Timahoe had been bitten. Johnson would have told this story happily at, say, Senate lunches.)
King Timahoe would have had a great time if anyone had let him into the room when Elvis visited. King always had a great time. Undisciplined. Fast. A dog who pretty much got his way. A spaceship could have flown in the window, and that would have added to the already bizarre fun. King could have barked at the spacemen. Peed on Elvis.
A little background information, since we all know Elvis met Nixon. (The photograph continues to astonish and is still often requested.) Elvis, in the doghouse (pun intended) with his wife and father for buying too many expensive guns and cars, ran away from Graceland. He flew around the country in a pretty manic state, breaking out in hives—from chocolate, his doctor maintained—or, more likely, in a rash that was a drug reaction.
Elvis had met Paul Frees, who was famous for doing voice-overs. Frees was the voice of the Pillsbury Doughboy. Americans heard Frees, though they never saw him. In any case, Frees—every bit as far-out as Elvis, but with less money—showed Elvis his credentials from the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs, and explained that cops let him go along with them on drug raids in Marin and even transport suspects to the police department in his Rolls-Royce. Frees was an “agent at large.” Presley biographer Albert Goldman writes: “[Elvis] could go after the magic emblem of a federal narc! Gazing raptly at the document, as if he were beholding the Holy Grail or the Shroud of Turin, Elvis murmured: ‘There isn’t much that I’ve got that I wouldn’t give to have one of those!’”
Thus began Elvis’s journey toward President Nixon. On the plane to D.C., he met Republican Senator George Murphy (who was riding in coach; the stewardesses thought they might like to meet), and he asked if Murphy could help him with what he wanted to accomplish. It seems the senator could. In Washington, Elvis first called on the FBI, but J. Edgar Hoover was not available, and the person who did meet him turned him down. Elvis, however, had earlier left a note for President Nixon (6:30 A.M. A penny for the thoughts of the man in the guard’s station who was approached by Elvis, already in full regalia). The note was relayed to the President’s office, and, much to everyone’s surprise, the President agreed to meet with him. At this time, President Nixon was just starting another bureau to deal with America’s drug problem, so Elvis’s arrival seemed fortuitous. Also, forty-one-year-old Egil “Bud” Krogh had just started to work at the White House, and he thought the meeting would be a good idea.
Enter Elvis, clad in purple, with an enormous gold belt buckle he’d been given for drawing the biggest crowds ever to his shows in Las Vegas. With this he wore amber-tinted sunglasses and a cape. That’s the picture everyone snickers over. Apparently reeling under the influence of drugs, Elvis asserted his patriotism (accurate, given how he construed patriotism), then began badmouthing the Beatles, who, he said, sang about drugs, were disheveled (no capes or purple outfits), and made money in America only to return to England, leaving behind corrupted youth, but not their money. Jane Fonda was also on Elvis’s shit list. The Smothers Brothers. Elvis asked outright to be deputized; the President—who often said he had very little authority—floated the question to Bud Krogh, who wasn’t experienced enough to know whether the President was hoping to hear him reply in the negative or in the affirmative. Soon, the only person who appears not to have been functioning at lunatic level, the Assistant Director of the FBI, who initially said no to Elvis (Elvis had suggested giving the FBI a “donation” of five thousand dollars), arrived at the White House with the documentation. Fast-forward to the future: hippies snorting, throwing darts into the official photo of Elvis and President Nixon.
That day, Elvis also gave a photograph of himself and his wife, Priscilla, to Nixon, as well as a photograph of his daughter in a baby bonnet. He held these things in one hand, while using the other to shake hands. Elvis also bestowed upon Nixon a Colt .45, which he’d earlier had to leave for safekeeping with the Secret Service. Nevertheless, President Nixon thanked him for this kindness. For his part, Nixon gave Elvis’s two friends and bodyguards souvenir cuff links and a pin for each of their wives. RN said of the men: “Boy, you’ve got a couple of big ones here! I’ll bet they take good care of you.” No one in the Secret Service looked anything like Elvis’s friends/bodyguards. Elvis replied in the affirmative. A photograph of the foursome was taken. For no reason I can understand, King Timahoe was not let into the Oval Office. During this time, it’s likely King’s thoughts were of catching a crow on the White House lawn, running away from valet Manolo Sanchez, or sleeping on expensive upholstery. What might have been the thoughts of Ollie Atkins, White House photographer? Or Egil “Bud” Krogh? And the thoughts of John Finlator of the FBI, the person who met Elvis and turned him down, only to be forced to show up later with exactly what the King wanted?
The fiction writer would of course be very interested in presenting everything from the POV of Mr. Finlator, token Sane Person. King the dog is just too easy; every day is pretty much the same for a high-strung dog who knows it will be indulged. My personal interest (of course) is in imagining what Mr. Nixon said to Mrs. Nixon that evening as they had dinner. It was December 21. Her mind would probably have been on Christmas. Any problems with groups scheduled to see the White House Christmas tree? Presents all ready for Dick and the girls? He might still have been thinking about the encounter with Elvis. He had said to Elvis: “You dress pretty wild, don’t you?” Had the President ever heard Elvis’s rendition of “Blue Christmas”? Whether he had or, more likely, hadn’t, he had still let Elvis know that he knew things were a bit amiss, and he’d given him good advice, as well; he had assimilated this good advice and wanted to pass on his wisdom. He’d said to Elvis: “Never lose your credibility.” That was the thing: you couldn’t lose your credibility, or what would you have? Well, of course then you didn’t have credibility, but how were you going to get it back, if you’d lost it? There was nobody coming behind you with a cart to pick up the credibility and put it in and deliver it back to your door, that was for sure. Mrs. Nixon would agree. She’d worked hard all her life, and she had credibility as a mother, and as a secretary, and as a teacher, and as the wife of Richard Nixon. Maybe it wasn’t the thing to do, to have Haldeman sign off on Elvis’s visit with a scrawled “You’ve got to be kidding” and Krogh . . . well, he was a youngster, and a bit inexperienced. Elvis was a man who went from rags to riches, just the way the song said, but who also went into the Army and served his co
untry. He did do that, and it didn’t do his career one bit of good, even if he did meet a teenager in Germany and wait for her to grow up; then, when it was a little more suitable, he married her. Anyway, better to have those people, patriots, dress up—better that real performers and patriots put on costumes than the hippies, who only wanted to cause everything to come crashing down so they could dance in the rubble in their feathers and their yak-fur vests.
“Dick! I was on the phone with Dolly. She’s going to call you later.”
“Everyone in the Christmas spirit? That’s good. Hang up your stocking and the President will fill it if Santa doesn’t. All of you hang them up. We want to see Fina’s and Manolo’s stockings hung. Has somebody arranged for Fina and Manolo to have their own stockings? Pat, I’ve got quite the story to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“Well, you know, there was a note or something delivered to the White House today by Elvis Presley. I didn’t see it. And that reminds me: he said he’d brought me a . . . well, another present I haven’t looked into, either. Nice of him. Brought pictures of his wife—that teenager I read about in Life—Life or someplace like that. He came in to see me, quite colorful, I guess you could say, wearing a cape, all dressed up in purple velvet. Tall man. The thought was, it would be appropriate for the President to meet with him because I’ve told you about the Drug Enforcement Administration we’re starting, putting a lot of money into that one. Well, here comes Elvis, and it must have made him pretty happy that I’d meet with him and have a picture taken. Ollie got that down. There I was with Elvis Presley, who said he’d come wanting to help us fight drugs, and so forth. Not a bad idea, someone the youngsters know.”
“Elvis was here and I didn’t know about it?”
