Nancy, me and Politics

As a child, I have a vivid memory of watching Dwight Eisenhower speak at the Republican Convention. He did not have a nice voice like my father…. and husband. Yes. I know this is a bit odd.  But I do remember it. 

I have touched on my other “political ” experiences in a previous blog—losing to Monica as school secretary, Duane Wong brandishing “ Vote Brown” buttons from behind the kindergarten fence.  Mr. C dumping on Kennedy.

But by 1968 I was convinced that I wanted to be a news correspondent.  A la Nancy Dickerson.  When my mother thought I needed “something” to make me more of her ilk, she booked me on a TEEN TOURS trips. By this time I had been sending fan letters to Nancy Dickerson for a year or more.  Nancy was very kind and always wrote back and I practiced my “ Kristie Smithson, NBC News, Washington” line often.

When the Teen Tours trip was scheduled for Washington, D.C. I wrote to Nancy Dickerson—contacitng her from Mt. Vernon-- and she invited me to join her at the D.C studios.  I, rather stupidly, put on my best seersucker culottes suit and decided to climb to the top of the Washington Monument.    Then I hailed a cab—quite a feat for a 15 year old—and was taken to the NBC studio. 

At this time Nancy was doing a five-minute news show at different times during the day.  She was one of the only women—maybe two others—on the national U.S. news.  She looked a bit like Jackie and definitely had Lyndon’s ear. 

So I showed up in the taxi –aged 15--and Nancy greeted me at the NBC studios and complemented me on the yellow and white seer sucker suit and mentioned that she might like that for a step daughters.  Then I was ushered in, watched her do her five-minute show from behind a glass and was in awe.

Fast forward to 1969…. I was now 17 and my mom and I were doing a college tour.   It was a bit rough as my dad had booked it and was not into the complications that standby flights might incur.   In Chicago, my mom went to D.C. and I sat.   Finally, I arrived in D.C.  I think my mom was pretty pleased that I had managed to arrive at the hotel.

Right about this time, the Senate was voting about the legality of the  Viet Nam War.  I insisted that we sit in the gallery.    Three rows in front of us was Nancy Dickerson and she turned around and said:  “Aren’t you the girl from California?”   I do believe that my mother was a bit impressed.

Now when I watch John Dickerson report about politics, I cannot help but think of his mom and how kind she was to me.  She even gave this advice about college:  “Don’t study journalism; study political science.  Otherwise you won’t know what’s going on.”   And I did.  And I never became a news correspondent.  But John always makes me tear up a wee bit when I see him doing well. 

The Teacher WITH NO NECK

I was raised with a great deal of love, some Roy Rodgers and a lot of Walt Disney.  To this day, I have trouble differentiating between Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone because they were both played by Fess Parker.

When I entered a new school, out of the cocoon of Ivanhoe Elementary, I was introduced to many new things.  Amongst them, was the story of THE TEACHER WHO HAD NO NECK.  Apparently, it, THE NECK,  

had been "shot off in the war.”

Now, at the time of this story, it was 1962.  Viet Nam wasn’t on the radar for most people except a few “advisors;” Churchill, FDR and WW2 were distant memories and Korea a decade past.

Mr. M, as he shall be called, wasn’t all that old.  Just had NO NECK.  Today he would probably be called “shoulder heavy. ”

I didn’t put a great deal of thought into how his neck had landed so neatly back onto his torso;  so precisely that a chunk of his anatomy could be forever displaced wthout seeming to cause damage.  I just accepted it.  Like I accepted that Hoss and Little Joe were real brothers.  I was much too busy trying to figure out how to work “sanitary belts” and giant Kotex pads.  And dispose of them without too much humiliation.  

Between remembering locker combinations, the lyrics to obscure German songs and gym routines with burpees, Mr. M’s necklessness was accepted and forgotten.   He had never been a teacher of mine and I never had to deal with his missing neck.

 But that is until the day my grandson wanted a family tale while
 we sailed up the Endicott Fjord toward a glacier. 

As the ship rocked back and forth, I told him the story of THE TEACHER WITH NO NECK and he just looked at me.

“Grandma, how OLD were you?”

“”Ummm. Junior High.”

“WHAT!  You were in Junior High and you believed that??”

But he still  “believes” in the Tooth Fairy and I still believe in the joy it gives me when my grandson and I now have our secret “neckless” shrug that means “let’s laugh.”