Lowell Deeds

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December 4, 2006

I met Prez Bush, sort of

by @ 10:04 am. Filed under History

On Saturday I attended a book signing by Doro Bush Koch (My Father, My President). Doro is the sister of President George W Bush…But the real guest of honor at the event was Doro’s father, former president George H W Bush himself…
Now, if you are a regular blog reader you know I am a self confessed stargazer.
The morning of the event I struggled with what to wear…
“Does this sweater look OK with this shirt?” I asked my wife
“Are you kidding! Do you really think the former president of the United States is going to notice what you have on?”
The event took place in the ballroom of the Nonantum Resort in Kennebunkport, Maine. Doro read some short excerpts from her book then she and her father took questions from the audience.
After Doro answered the last question hotel staffers moved her to a private room to sign books and escorted the president out of the ballroom. I had bought the book but wasn’t interested in Doro Bush Koch’s signature, so I headed for the hotel exit.
BAM!…
Like Tom Brady looking down field, my eyes quickly caught George H W Bush standing with a few people in the lobby. My wife and I were only about fifteen feet away. We moved toward him hoping to get a “real” book signing. Within seconds he was swarmed by other “book signing hopefuls”.
We stood about four tiers back watching him sign away…but the crowd just didn’t move…I didn’t think I had a chance of getting my book signed.
But…my wife possesses some unexplainable ability, like a broken field runner, to break through crowds.
She cut to the left and dashed forward without me.
Defying Newton’s laws of gravity and space she got within two rows of the former president. She looked back at me…”give me the book”. I handed it off to her with the efficiency of Brady to Corey Dillon.
Seconds later security announced to the crowd “Folks sorry, but the president has to get going”.
My wife was on the goal line and time was running out… Holding the book high over her head she leaped forward toward her goal. “Mr President”,she yelled “will you please sign my book”(What she really wanted to say was “Mr President will you sign this book so my brat of a husband won’t pout for the rest of the weekend”).
The former president turned and took my book. Just then two other Corey Dillon types plunged their books into his hand. Bush took my book and slipped it under his arm.
He signed one of the other books… three seconds go by, ten seconds, fifteen seconds…he signs the second book… twenty seconds, twenty-five seconds…all this time my book is under the arm of the man who was once the most powerful person in the world… thirty seconds, forty seconds…
With polite frustration security yells again…“Folks!, folks!…please, Mrs. Bush is patiently waiting in the car for the president”.
Oh no, I thought, what about my book?
Just then the president takes my book out from under his arm and signs it…If adrenaline was electricity I could have lit the city of Portland.
“Whose book is this”? he asks. My wife answers “that’s mine Mr. President”. He gives her a broad smile and passes it over to her.
Security takes control and whisks Bush out the door.
My wife slips the book back to me like Dillon back to Brady in the flea-flicker. I took the book, tucked it under my arm and scampered around the end breaking away from the crowd.
Outside the hotel I saw the the former president sitting in his Suburban. The window was down. Barbara sat beside him. The blue lights began to flash. As the vehicle started to speed away I yelled “good health Mr President” and he waved.
I remember standing in the cold holding my book knowing how Bob Kraft must have felt when he held the New England Patriot’s first Superbowl trophy.

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