President George H.W. Bush signed a copy of the issue of From Mary to You featuring his mother, Dorothy Walker Bush. (Photo courtesy Joni Albrecht)
The first time I talked on the phone with President George H.W. Bush, Millie barked in the background. Having authored her own book, she gave whole new meaning to the phrase “publicity hound.” I had to wonder if the president had a “Millie button” under his desk.
I was working at Mary Institute, an all-girls prep school in St. Louis, writing about the president’s mother, Dorothy Walker Bush, a 1918 grad. Mrs. Bush was about to celebrate her 75th high school reunion, and her son was the president of the country. It was high time to feature her in From Mary to You, the beloved school magazine that paired well with Town and Country. I was raised on the Farmer’s Almanac, and glimpsing the genteel lives of alumnae was both escapism and sport to me. I couldn’t wait to ask the “first mother” about summers in Kennebunkport.
On a whim, I decided to try for a quote from the president and faxed a request to the White House, not expecting a response. I threw in a deadline and then forgot about it, moving on to my interview with Mrs. Bush, which I conducted by phone, the manners she’d gleaned at Miss Porter’s School still polished at 91.
One evening weeks later, I ran out to do laundry but returned home to grab an Aretha Franklin tape. Climbing the stairs, I heard my husband reciting my Social Security number in a strange, high-pitched voice. On my arrival, he covered the phone and mouthed, “White. House. This is the White. House.” I hadn’t mentioned the article to him.
The operator rattled off our employers’ names, birth dates and colleges, then asked if I would mind waiting for the president. I didn’t mind.
I ran laps through our small apartment, as far as the cord would allow, grabbing paper and pen, trying to breathe normally in case HE suddenly came on. I sat; I stood. I struggled to hold a pen, sure I was going to say something stupid.
President George H.W. Bush's official portrait, 1989
Finally, the operator announced, “Mrs. Albrecht, I’m connecting you with President Bush.” His characteristic voice — equal parts John Wayne and Jimmy Stewart — cracked and boomed, “Hello. Joni? It’s a pleasure to have the opportunity to talk about my dear mother.” He had me at hello.
After Millie’s bark and the operator telling the president he was needed on another call, which set my mind racing from baseball to NASA to Kuwait, we talked about his mother, who “lived the values she always tried to teach us.” I promised to send everything for final approval. “Yes, Mr. President,” may have been all I said during the call.
For two months, we went back and forth finalizing the article. He sent family photos and a couple of his trademark postcards “from the campaign trail,” inviting me to a rally in St. Louis, where I delivered to him magazines hot off the press. We exchanged warm smiles, head nods and thumbs-up from across a crowd.
In my second call with the president, I made an offhand comment that his initial call had surprised me, that I had forgotten about the deadline. I told him of the Aretha tape, how I had nearly missed his call. He laughed, saying he would have tried me back. He said he wanted his mom to be in the spotlight for a change, especially in light of her 75th reunion; his voice revealed how truly he meant it.
“I would never dream of missing anything related to my dear mother,” he told me, his words both checking and inspiring me.
In November, I sent him framed copies of the magazine. I took time with my note, careful to convey how sorry I was that he’d lost the election. Mr. Bush suffered two losses that month, the election on the 3rd and his mother’s death on the 19th, just months shy of her reunion. I heard back from him in December that the magazine would hang in his presidential library, to be built somewhere in Texas, and that the article had come to mean so much more “on the passing of my dear mother.”
Correspondence from President Bush about the article featuring his mother (Photo courtesy Joni Albrecht)
What was celebrity awe for me at 26 is now, at 52 with two grown children, admiration from across the aisle. President Bush’s thousand points of light, his dream of men and women helping their fellow citizens, which he described as “brilliant diversity spreading like stars across a broad and peaceful sky,” stands in stark contrast to talk of morons and grabbing.
He wasn’t a perfect leader, but he led with grace and civility. He didn’t boast of wealth or the silver spoon that fed him. He praised his mom. He called my apartment. Twice. He said please and thank you.
Perhaps his spoon wasn’t as much silver as it was stellar.
George H.W. Bush died Nov. 30 at 94.
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