Barbecue at the Sandfly with Kamala

Kamala Harris is coming to town today. She and Tim Walz are hosting a rally at the local sports arena, known as the Enmarket Arena, here in Savannah. The wife and son have tickets. Alas, I do not.

I’ve only seen one president in person, Barack Obama, who I saw a couple times. Both were at the White House, which, for some reason, I visited twice within the span of a couple months towards the end of his presidency. On one occasion, Martha and I were invited to take a tour of the White House, and we got to see the President head out on Marine One. My lasting impression – the Obama strut, which you don’t get a real sense of on television. Dude walks like Denzel. If a man can be said to lead with his dick, that’s Obama. I don’t mean that in a sexual way, just that he walks like he has a motor in his balls.

Ugh. Why does she look so goddamned happy all the time? Doesn’t she know America has become a third world country in which you can’t even go to get a loaf of bread without being shot? (Photo by AP)

Another memory of that visit: our tour guide was somebody who worked at the White House and I remember him showing us the gallery of presidential portraits. “Here is where the portrait of our first female president will hopefully go,” he said at one point, referring to Hilary, who was then leading in all the polls.

I asked a question like, “You’re not worried about the election, are you?”

There was something in his answer, a hesitancy I hadn’t been expecting, which I brushed off as my imagination. I don’t think whatever low-level staffer was giving us the tour had any inside info that would have lead him to conclude that she was losing, but perhaps he know the race was tighter than the general public suspected. Anyway, turns out Hilary’s portrait never did occupy that space.

A final memory: the Obama dogs were out for a walk and, on their return, we got to say hi and they took a real shine to Martha. She has that effect on dogs, babies, and her husband.

The other time I visited the Obama White House was for a Hanukkah party. I don’t know how I got on the invite list. Maybe they keep a folder of third and fourth tier Jews to invite to such events. I have no idea. But I remember how happy people were to be there and how festively the White House was decorated for the season. Obama delivered a few, unmemorable remarks beside Michelle. No strut this time, but he made a few jokes which the crowd, predictably, ate up. (Don’t worry, the jokes were all kosher.) A great experience.

There’s a story about George HW Bush doing a train tour through the country during his campaign for a second term. He would come out and wave as the train passed through every small town because, he said, this might be the only chance any of these people ever get to see a president. It’s a lovely sentiment, and true. Even now, when our presidents are as familiar to us as comic book characters, it’s still remarkable to see one in person. Not because presidents are special in and of themselves, but because of what they represent. For better or worse, when we see them, we see ourselves. Not as individuals, but as a nation.

The office of the Presidency of the United States is a helluva thing. No president is a king or a Caesar. They’re citizens just like us (at least until the Supreme Court decided to make them above the law) but they’re citizens we entrust to send our military into battle, help negotiate our laws, and guide the nation through good times and bad. They have tended to come from American aristocracies, but not always, particularly in the last century. Harry Truman didn’t come from much. Neither did Ronald Reagan or Jimmy Carter or Bill Clinton or Barack Obama. Neither did Kamala Harris.

We revere our presidents not because they are descended from the blood of gods, but because their blood is the same as ours. “Out of many, one” applies to the presidency as much as it applies to the population at large. Seeing one in the wild is to hold up a mirror to ourselves. We may not always like what we see reflected back to us, but presidents always reflect our American character to one degree or another. Sometimes it’s the best of our character, sometimes… not so much.

So I’m bummed that I don’t get to go to the rally today. Bummed that I won’t see another president in person (I know she’s not president yet, but I think she will be). But happy that she’s in my hometown, eating barbecue at the Sandfly, maybe getting a maple pecan cone with Tim over at Leopold’s. Happy that my wife and son will get to experience the energy of a Harris rally, and happy that I don’t have to wait in line with them because as much as I wanted to go, I’m also happy to have the house to myself for a few hours. Presidents are cool and everything, but napping without fear of interruption is even better.