Meeting Obama

November 12, 2019

The 2008 presidential election season was full of twists and excitement.  The Texas Democratic Primary was coming fast and talk of a debate in Texas was becoming realistic.  Debates mean campaign stops.  It wasn’t more than two weeks after meeting Bill Clinton when word came quickly about the next wave.  A debate was scheduled.  Senator Barack Obama was coming to town.

Bill Clinton playing to a cozy small-town crowd played well for him.  It was quickly understood that this was not going to be the tactic of the Obama campaign.  The Obama craze was coming straight to Dallas, and he was looking to fill Reunion Arena, the Dallas Mavericks old arena.  I had the goal of getting Bill Clinton to sign his first edition autobiography.  It just so happened that we already had a first edition Obama memoir as well, Dreams From My Father.  Was is possible?  Let me send the office another message that I’m going to be out again.

I knew I’d have to get up early to head to the arena to have a shot at getting close enough to try and get my book signed.  When the alarm went off at 6:00am, I jumped up and was out the door by 7:00 with my book and my camera.  As I approached the freeway exit for the arena, I quickly realized how bad I had misjudged the expected crowd.  I could see the line from the arena, through the parking lot, down the street and over the access bridge.  Thousands of people already there since 5am, and here I was strolling up to the parking garage at 7:45 with a breakfast sandwich and a coffee.  I sat there in my car, sipping my coffee, trying to figure out my next move.

Around 8am, I finally got out and started walking past the crowd toward the arena.  I already knew, if my goal was to get Obama’s autograph, there was no point in getting in the back of the line.  I paced the entrance door, trying to figure out what to next.  I overheard conversations in line that the doors would open at 10am to let the crowd in.  My hopes to find a solution began to fade.

I turned around and started walking away.  Not back to my car, just walking the path along the wall of the stadium, just thinking.  I began thinking about how I predicted this day would come.  In 2004, Julie and I went to a Democratic Convention watching party.  I had heard about Barack Obama and he intrigued me, but I had never heard him give a speech.  When he gave his, the entire party watched him with great interest.  But I was captivated.  When he was done, I stood up in front of this party of complete strangers, pointed at the TV and proclaimed, “That man is going to be president someday!”  Even though the entire party stared at me with a look of, “who exactly is this guy?”, even I did not expect it would be four short years before he really went for it.

It was ten past nine as I made my way around the curved wall on the far opposite side of the arena from the gargantuan line, I came across a small group of people gathered in front of a closed double door engaged in light but energetic conversation.  I scanned the group and saw a familiar face, Ms. Johnson (I don’t actually remember her real name).  Ms. Johnson was the founder of a nonprofit that partnered with the nonprofit I worked for at the time.  She was a sweet and tiny elderly lady of color.  She always reminded me of one of my great aunts.  She saw me and smiled.

Ms. Johnson: Well, hello there Mr. Gerard.  It’s good to see you here.

Me: Hello Ms. Johnson.  Glad to be here.

Ms. Johnson: I didn’t know (insert anonymous nonprofit here) was sending anyone for this event?

Apparently, this was a group of special invites from various organizations there to represent their organization’s support for the Senator. I continued to smile and engage in conversation as Ms. Johnson started introducing me to others in the gathering.  While they weren’t looking, I quickly looked in my camera bag.  As luck would have it, I had my work badge with me.  Just then, the heavy double doors fly open as a security guard waves at us to come in.  I quickly threw my badge on and composed myself in casual conversation with Ms. Johnson as we breezed through the door.  I was in, I couldn’t believe it. 

The group made its way down the hall and into the arena seating area.  The all-blue stage was set up at one end of the floor with a half-circle barricade in front.  There were a dozen or so early arrivers standing center the barricade engaged in excitement and a number of workers bustling around completing final details before the gates opened.  The place was abuzz.

I quietly left the group of nonprofit reps and made my way down the steps to the lower level, then to the floor…I was on the floor, walking toward the stage.  Could it really have been that easy?  I stood next to the buzzing dozen against the barricade, fiddling with my camera trying to look busy and important.  Suddenly, a flood of frantic people came running into the arena from every direction, staking out the best positions possible.  And there I was, front row, damn near center, leaning on the barricade right in front of the stage.  It was just that easy.

Little by little, big name guests started coming up on stage as the arena filled with bodies and excitement.  Dallas Mayor Ron Kirk started warming up the crowd.  He also informed us that Obama was sick with the flu, but came to speak anyway.  I really don’t know how presidential candidates keep up the schedule they maintain.  Once the arena was filled to capacity in the seat and the entire floor, former Dallas Cowboy, Emmitt Smith stepped up to the podium and gave a rousing and raucous speech.  Being a hometown hero, the crowd ate it up. 

After almost an hour of opening acts, Senator Barrack Obama finally makes his way on the stage smiling and waving.  The crowd went nuts.  You would have thought shirtless Brad Pitt came out followed by Roger Staubach two fisting his Lombardi trophies.  It was deafening.  Obama walked from one side of the stage to the next, raising the decibel level where ever he went.  It was an extraordinary response.

Obama finally settled at the podium, raising one more united roar from the audience.  It was the typical scene: Obama repeating “thank you, thank you,” while trying to bring down the cheering so he could start his speech.  And finally, he began his speech.  It was inspirational, but not exactly memorable.  You could hear the slight congestion in his voice, occasionally sipping some water.  But the quality of the speech or speaking ability mattered none to this audience.  They hung on his every raspy word, cheering as often as possible.  I took picture after picture, trying to capture what felt like a historic moment.

As Obama’s speech ended, the crowd roared as he backed away from the podium.  He waved at the crowd as he slowly made his way to the stairs stage left to come down to the floor where we stood.  He began shaking the hands of us standing against the railing in front of the stage.  I stood a little past the center point on the floor stage right.  As he made his way toward me, I became nervous.  What should I say?  I thought back to the pissed off look Bill Clinton gave me when I met him at his rally.  Then again, why was I even worried about it?  Just say “it’s an honor,” or something simple.  But no, I just can’t let it be that simple.

Obama got to me.  His slight frame glided from handshake to handshake.  I could see the sweat on his forehead and drowsiness in his eyes.  He looked exhausted.  And as he reached for my hand, it came to me.  I pulled his ear close to me.

Me: Don’t be Nixon tomorrow.

He turned and looked at me curiously.  He thought for a second, then smiled.

Obama: Be Kennedy.

We smiled at each other for a brief moment before he glided over to the next hand.  And just like that, he glided behind the curtain and the moment was over.  What a special and tingly moment it was.

While the crowd gradually made their way out, the team that collected books for autographs came back out with the stacks of signed books.  They called out the names people put in their books one at a time.  Suddenly, I heard my name called.  I darted over, a guy checked my ID, then handed me my book.  And there it was, another signed first edition.  I was on a roll.

I walked outside and headed to the parking lot.  People were everywhere, reliving the moments with each other.  Buzzing with a feeling that was almost indescribable.  It was a feeling like, we can do it. 

The next day, I watched Obama’s debate with Hillary.  To the world it looked like a calm and civil debate.  If you knew, you could see he was still sick.  But he was still doing his best Kennedy.

-TGY-