At once, all the living and deceased former presidents materialized in the replica of the White House’s East Room. It was a grand reunion. The recent presidents swarmed the founding fathers. Old friends were reacquainted, and rivals made amends.
The room was abuzz with debates, discussions, and friendly banter.
The two presidential members of the Adams family, John and his son John Q. spent the most time together, talking in length with both George Bushes. Former generals and war heroes Andrew Jackson, U.S. Grant, and Dwight Eisenhower discussed military strategies. FDR was happy to be out of his wheelchair. Washington was admiring everybody’s teeth, Reagan was passing out jellybeans, and Ford was celebrating the Michigan football National Championship. Clinton wisely kept his distance from Trump, who chatted with Grover Cleveland Alexander for an hour. Then, as if on cue, the room fell silent as Obama embraced Lincoln, tears dropping from both their eyes.
We toured the museum and library together. Many reminisced when we passed through the models of the Lincoln Sitting Room and the White House family quarters. We walked the grounds and entered Nixon’s childhood house. Taft had to stay outside because he couldn’t fit through the door. Nineteenth-century leaders awed at the sight of Army One, the helicopter in which Nixon left the White House after waving goodbye with hands raised in victory.
Then it was photo time. I took my own Mount Rushmore picture of Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson, and Teddy Roosevelt. I next shot (with my camera) the four presidents who had been assassinated: Lincoln, Kennedy, Garfield, and McKinley. Then I snapped a photo of the four who died in office: Harrison, Taylor, Harding, and FDR. Then, I grouped the nine vice-presidents who assumed office (Can you name them all?). I had the shortest president, Madison at five-foot-four, standing on a chair next to Lincoln, who at six-foot-four was the tallest.
I knew that these dignitaries would soon want to get down to political rhetoric, so we reconvened in the East Room for dinner and discussions on how to mend the country’s woes. News must travel quickly through the great Oval Office in the sky because each president was abreast on current events. Soon topics such as the economy, gun control, immigration, homelessness, and the environment were all being debated.
Several presidents took the floor. Many founders marveled that the nation had grown and thrived beyond their wildest hopes. Madison praised both the changes and stability of the constitution. Monroe beamed about the superpower that America had become. Jefferson raved about the progress and equality that had been achieved for women and African Americans.
Everybody agreed that President Biden has his hands full. The dialogues were intense. There wasn’t any finger pointing, but nothing was getting accomplished. Tension was building. Then, voices started to rise, some even yelling. The mood of the room had dramatically shifted. It was becoming a shouting match. I looked over at Lincoln, who was sitting as quietly as a spectator at a tennis match. I rushed to his side, imploring him to do something.
He nodded, grabbed Teddy Roosevelt’s riding stick, and brought the room to order by whacking it violently against his chair.
I couldn’t wait to hear what he had to say. He cleared his throat, “Gentlemen, our host would like to say a few words.” He looked at me.
“What? Me? No, I’m not very political. You say something,” I told him. “Something profound, something Gettysburg Address-ish!”
“No, son, you brought us here. What would you do if … if you were one of us?”
What should I say? My mind raced. I love America, but it’s so upside down. Baseball players make more per inning than teachers do in a year. Our inner cities are battlegrounds, but we send trillions to wars overseas. I have to show my ID to pick up an online purchase at Home Depot, but I don’t have to at the ballot box. We send spacecraft to Mars, but we can’t stop drugs from crossing our borders. A college freshman knows not to spend more than he earns, but the government doesn’t. We put limits on plastic straws, but the rich and famous zoom around the globe in their private jets. Bags don’t fly free anymore.
I didn’t have any answers. So, I said, “Maybe we should do what they did before Continental Congress sessions.”
“What’s that?” Lincoln asked.
“Pray.”
“I knew you’d have the answer,” he said.
All heads bowed. Just then, Washington stood. He walked over to Lincoln and I.
“Mind if I lead us?” he said.
