Over the weekend of August 17th, a new motion picture opened in cinemas across the United States. "The Butler" is based on the life of Eugene Allen and his service as a butler at the White House over the course of eight presidential administrations. He eventually became the head butler (technically, the "Maitre d'hotel") at the White House. As the film premiered, I thought back on a balmy summer evening 30 years earlier when I had my own encounter with the man about whom the film is based.
In 1983, I worked at the White House in the Office of Media Relations and Planning. Ronald Reagan was president and D.C., indeed the country, were markedly different than how they are today. For example, even a "low ranking Munchkin" like myself had the ability to arrange for people to have a private West Wing tour after 5:00 p.m.
On that particular evening, I invited a former boss's wife, Karen, to visit the West Wing. Following our walk through of the Oval Office, Cabinet and Roosevelt Rooms, we ventured to the front exterior of the West Wing itself, along the north side of the White House.
As Karen I passed in front of a window to an office in which the top three members of the White House staff were meeting - James Baker, Ed Meese and Mike Deaver - Karen stumbled on a defect in the sidewalk, tumbling to the ground. What we did not know at the moment was Karen broke her arm. What we did know at the moment was Karen could not get off the ground.
What I also realized was that the three most powerful men in the White House, besides the president himself, were gawking out the window at the tableau I felt I created. My former boss's wife law sprawled on a West Wing sidewalk in pain. Baker, Meese and Deaver seemed to be glowering at me from their perch inside the White House. Throwing up seemed to be my next order of the day.
Before I could stew any further, Eugene Allen - by that point in time, the head butler - appeared seemingly from out of nowhere. He took command of the situation with authority, grace and kindness. In a matter of minutes, my friend was in a car and off to the hospital.
Allen next turned his attention to me and what I am sure was a horrified expression etched on my youthful face. With a firm grip on my shoulder, a kindly smile, and a gentle voice, he said: "No need to worry. These things happen." Although I found it hard to believe other folks on the bottom rung of the White House jungle gym invited people in for a tour of the West Wing who ended up injured, his warm tone did calm my own rattled nerves.
Allen would serve the president for three more years before retiring, after 34 years of service. He passed away in 2010.
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