NASHVILLE, Tenn. — Have I ever told you about the time I got thrown out of the White House? It happened and here’s how it unfolded.
It was 2007 and our bowling team was basking in the thrill of winning Vanderbilt’s first-ever NCAA team championship. My son John is the head coach and one day he walks into my office and says someone at the White House just invited the team to meet President George W. Bush.
We were delighted and excited that we would be the first college bowling team invited to meet the president. John soon received follow-up details with a checklist of security measures, timetables and so forth.
The rules stated that no “reporters” were allowed but since I was the athletic communications director – not a reporter – I didn’t see that as pertaining to me. After all, if I didn’t write about our experience how would most of Vanderbilt Nation know it happened?
The next day I emailed the inviter to see how I would go about filing my story, an inquiry that seemed perfectly reasonable to me. John didn’t think that was very smart but there was nothing we could do now but low-key it and assume all would be ok. We went about preparations to attend. (Incidentally, everyone pays their own way to these things; no taxpayer money is involved.) We scurried to create a “presidential” red, white and blue bowling ball to present to President Bush. It was a beauty and we were proud of it.
Entry to the White House requires a detailed background check and then navigating a gauntlet of impressive and intimidating security personnel that studied each and every attendee with an eagle eye. It was no place for jokes. The guards were packing impressive heat.
We cleared security and gathered just inside the East Wing. As we milled around the foyer waiting instructions, someone from the staff picked up our bowling ball and hauled it off momentarily for inspection.
And about this time, someone called out “Is Rod Williamson present?” I raised my hand and this young man, I’m guessing an intern, said “Follow me.” As he led me around a corner and down a hallway, I assumed he was taking me to meet back up with our gift and chose me as one of the elders in our entourage.
Wrong! The staffer opened a door, beckoned me in an “after you” motion and as I stepped through, the door abruptly slammed behind me. Shocked, I was now alone on the South Lawn and had been cut from the flock. As I wandered in a daze, I realized someone still considered me a “reporter” and reporters were not allowed.
My emotions ran wild! I was mad – I’m not a reporter! – and I was terribly sad. My son and his team were going to meet the President of the United States and I was not going to get to witness it. Unhappy was too mild a description of my mental state.
I watched the Marine Corps band assemble under a shade tree (they would later be playing at the reception) and looked on as the caterer organized refreshments under a large tent. I tried to rationalize that missing the inside stuff wasn’t that big a deal but I wasn’t buying what I was selling.
Suddenly the infamous door swung open and there was John, accompanied by what I think was a Marine Honor Guard member. Frankly I didn’t have time to size it up.
John strides up to me and quietly but sternly says “follow me and don’t say a word.” Being the father and not exactly used to hearing my son issue such orders, I start to say “Wha…” when he cuts me off with another “don’t say a word.” I finally got the picture.
We silently follow the Marine to the East Room, where the team is now assembled on risers. Whew, I’m back with the flock. I learn an older staff member had asked John if everything was all right and he said that a member of his party had been removed. The staffer asked if John wanted that member to rejoin and he said yes. Bingo. It wasn’t that complicated. (I later noticed the closer to the entry of the president the older and grayer the staff members were.)
I had missed a nice tour of the East Wing but I would proudly stand in the third row of those risers and watch President George W. Bush stride across the East Room and shake hands with my son before greeting our national champion team. It was an electric moment.
When you are in the presence of the president, you don’t think about politics. You don’t think about your past votes or why you disagreed with this decision or that policy. This is THE President of the United States and it is awe-inspiring.
Soon after the president’s brief chat with our team (he is a very good small talker), we were led past giant paintings of American political titans to the circular steps leading down to the South Lawn that I had just scouted 45 minutes earlier. By now, a crowd of perhaps 150 others – I never knew who they were – had gathered on folding chairs to listen to the president’s public remarks. There were reporters and cameras there.
Right after Billy Donovan and the Florida Gator basketball team was introduced, the loud speaker announced, “Ladies and Gentlemen, the national champion bowling team from Vanderbilt University” and we descended the staircase as that Marine Band played “Dynamite”, our school fight song. “My gosh, we really did win something special,” I thought as I floated down the steps.
It was a surreal moment to an absolutely awesome, unforgettable, nearly perfect day.
