No Free Rides


The campaign workers returned to the buses once Mr. and Mrs. Reagan were on board the plane. Our little party of four resumed the same seats at the front of the last bus. The caravan pulled out and headed back to campaign headquarters, but when it reached the main drive to the terminal, our bus peeled off and headed straight to the terminal. The driver opened the door and, in a voice that all could hear, boomed, “Here you are, Dr. Johnson. Have a safe trip to Houston.”

As I rose to leave the bus, the gentleman to my left stood up. He looked me in the eye, clasped my right hand in both of his, and said earnestly, “It’s been a privilege to have met you and to know that such capable and dedicated people are working on Mr. Reagan’s behalf. We’re winning because of people like you. Thank you and good luck in Texas.”

I stumbled off the bus, my brush with history—and with politics—at an end.

Readers are invited to submit their personal “brushes with history, ” for which our regular rates will be paid on acceptance. Unfortunately, we cannot correspond about or return submissions.