George H. W. Bush
Former President George H. W. Bush and first lady Barbara Bush in 2001. (U.S. Department of Defense photo by Joseph Lozada/Wikimedia Commons)
If you knew me at all, you would be shocked, shocked, to see the only framed photo of a politician to be found in my personal collection. It's of former President George H. W. Bush, who died a few days ago in Houston at age 94.
Full disclosure: I'm also in the photo. I am sitting to Mr. Bush's immediate left at an oval conference table in the White House executive wing. A dozen other religious publication journalists also are seated around the table.
We had been invited to spend an hour with the 41st president to discuss issues of church and state -- specifically the Episcopalian Church and the state of Maine, as it turned out. The 60-minutes of face time were considerably reduced by a presidential anecdote fondly recalling the "charming little church" he attended in Kennebunkport.
Although my table placard displayed my birth name, Stephen, Mr. Bush casually, and to my ego's delight, called me Steve throughout the meeting. It was as though he and I had just come in from a round of golf. The record will show, however, that I did not call him Poppy -- or even George, for that matter. It was "Mr. President" all the way.
Although disarmingly informal, Mr. Bush wore the mantle of office with palpable dignity and civility. He listened to his guests with intelligence and understanding, projecting genuine care about matters of concern to us. Confession: He won me over. I actually felt like I owed him an apology for not voting for him. ("I'm so, so sorry, Mr. President. You lost me at Dan Quayle. How petty of me.”)
Fast forward 20 years from that not-so-historic meeting to another table, this one inside a small harborside diner in Wells, Maine. As my friend and I were enjoying our fried clams, two inboard motorboats with government markings pulled up outside, only a few yards from where we were seated by the window. Four impressively fit men climbed out of the first boat, and two of them quickly circled around to the diner entrance and stood guard. In the second boat was a 20-something couple and, you guessed it, George H. W. Bush.
As I learned from our server, it was not unusual for Mr. Bush to drop in from Walker's Point, a 20-minute boat ride away. He and his grandchildren, whom I recognized from pictures, entered the diner sans fanfare and sat two tables away from us beside the same window. It was fun to see him again up close and personal, older, of course, but still vigorous. I quickly told my dining companion my White House story, and he immediately challenged me: "Do it now!" he said. "See if he remembers you. Tell him how you felt back then. He'll love it!"
Hesitant at first, I finally resolved to do it. After all, how many times in life do you get a chance to close a loop with a former president? Why, it would be almost cowardly not to saunter – respectfully, of course – over to his table and remind him, on the off-chance that he didn't recognize me, of our unforgettable (for me) meeting two decades ago. ("Steve! So good to see you again. Sit down and join us for dessert!") It would be a fine reunion.
As I waited for my meal payment to process, I glanced over at the table where Mr. Bush and his grandchildren were quietly conversing. I made a three-quarter turn in their direction, preparing to start my reunion saunter. Then it happened. Mr. Bush glanced toward me with no trace of recognition but with a look of tolerant patience at being recognized in public. Confession: I felt it again. The dignity. The civility. The room-filling decency of one who had served his country with honor and grace and just wanted to eat his clams in peace.
I did not have a reunion with George H. W. Bush. He had earned the privilege of dining with his family without interruption. Dignity and civility, I realized afterward, invite corresponding qualities of respect and courtesy. They call upon our better angels to make the space we occupy on earth a little more livable, more humane, more decent. That we once had such a leader who embodied such qualities now seems so long ago.
R.I.P., Mr. President, and thank you. May we someday see your likes again.
"The Ethics Coach" Stephen Swecker is a retired clergy member of the West Virginia Annual Conference of The United Methodist Church. This post is republished with permission from his blog, Ethics Unplugged.