Jimmy Carter, Bubby and me
What happened when my grandmother took my little sister and me to President Carter’s inauguration
US President Jimmy Carter takes the Oath of Office by the US Capitol on Inauguration Day, January 20, 1977 Photo by Arnie Sachs/CNP/Getty Images
The night before the Jimmy Carter inauguration — a crisis. My father got sick, my mother wouldn’t leave him, and we were too young to go without a grownup.
By “we” I mean that my little sister Dina was going, too.
My mother had gotten four tickets from our Congressman’s office, Benjamin Rosenthal, of Queens, NY.
Who would take us? I had staked my middle school reputation at the Yeshiva Central Queens on going, and my aura was looking dire.
And then I had a thought. A brilliant thought. Who was the toughest person I knew? Tough enough to sleep outside a war-torn field with the wolves? Who could cross a raging river into Switzerland with a baby on her shoulders? Who was so formidable that rabbis turned to her during their sermons to check their facts? Who was that chapter’s president of Emunah? Who made her gefilte fish with fefer (pepper), the proper Litvishe way?
And most importantly, who despite arthritis, bursitis, colitis and phlebitis was always up for something new anywhere, anytime, any place?
It was midnight, but Bubby answered on the second ring.
“Vaht? Vaht inauguration?”
“Please,” I begged. “We can’t go without you.”
My mother left my father alone just to drive the three of us to the airport, at 6 a.m.
Bubby did not have a morning look. Her sheitel always looked the same. Religious.
I hailed my first taxi ever from the D.C. airport, and said: “Inauguration.”
The White House lawn was packed, teeming with excited Americans.
We were pressed into a spot on the lawn right behind an ABC cameraman. Actually, it was our second spot, because Bubby made one of her famous disappointed faces at our first spot, complaining: “Vhere can I sit?”
I told the cameraman that ABC was my favorite channel (this was way, way pre-streaming) and he let Bubby sit on the corner of his wooden platform.
Apparently, just at that very moment, my parents, back in their bedroom in Queens, had asked each other: “I wonder if they’re ok?” meaning us. (This was way, way before cell phones.)
And, just at that very moment, the ABC cameraman turned his rig around, and — I’ll let my mother tell it:
“There was Bubby, Bubby! Right there on TV!! We were shouting and plotzing!”
Looking up the schedule now in one of the Carter memorials, I see that Linda Ronstadt sang “Crazy,” and the United States Marine Band played. I do remember talk about Roslyn’s modest, frugal cloth coat, and how hard it was to see little Amy Carter.
Bubby was meh on the new President, but very excited about the new Vice President, Walter “Mandel.” Apparently, she thought he was Jewish (mandl is the Yiddish word for almond). I didn’t have the heart to tell her otherwise.
My little sister Dina loved the excitement, but I was so relieved when my D.C. cousins, actual adults, picked us up, took us all out for a nice dinner and drove us to the airport.
I was just relieved to have been relieved of being a grown up.
Rest in peace, President James Earl Carter.
And no thanks, I am not going to the upcoming inauguration.
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