excerpt from:
East Side – Our Town My Years in the White House
Pat Gallant
Walking home from high school, which was a short four blocks, I was greeted by the boisterous roar of a bullhorn. Right beside our white apartment building was an open limousine. I stretched above the gathering crowds and saw a tall man in a ten-gallon hat perched on the rear of his car. In a recognizable Texas drawl, I heard him spew political rhetoric. He reached over and shook my hand. One strong Texas handshake, at that!I walked away and went upstairs to our apartment, and mentioned it to my mother. For a New Yorker to meet a Texan was an event in itself. It wasn’t until many months later that I identified the Texan on television as Lyndon B. Johnson. Again, I forgot about the episode, only occasionally retrieving the memory as I saw the jowly Nixon moving his way up the political ladder, inching towards the Presidency, forever exasperated by the press. I remember enjoying his exasperation.
Our black and white television had not yet turned to color, but it suddenly lit up as a bright, young Senator from Massachusetts – with the longest hair prior to the Beatles – began talking politics. This time I listened. A political who was bright, young, handsome, witty and dare I say – interesting? And that voice … I didn’t realize at the time how this would personally change my life, moving me into the White House.
I began tuning into the news, hoping to get a glimpse of this young Senator who was seeking the Democratic nomination for president. I suspect all the households were joining suit. And finally, when John F. Kennedy won the Democratic ticket, I sat glued to the news.
On one such occasion, Senator Kennedy appeared on the news, and standing alongside him was my mother. My mother? I was shocked. I looked and looked, rubbing my eyes to better focus. Yet, there she was. When he finished talking, he put his arm around her waist and they walked off. I made a bee-line for my mother’s bedroom, yelling out what I had just seen. She half-listened. I insisted that, whoever this woman was, she was a double of my mother.
It took a few weeks for another appearance, but this time I was watching out for it. And this time the lady was identified: “Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy, wife of Senator John F. Kennedy.”
I charged into my parents’ room and turned on the television. My stepfather, and even my mother, were transfixed. Then the phone started to ring off the hook. Apparently I now had company in my perception.
Pat Gallant
