In the afternoon we were scheduled to be at the State Department for a two-hour panel discussion entitled Art and Diplomacy — 21st Century Challenges. (Security was the same drill, but we had to get inside to get the goodies for the evening.) The people on the panel were very distinguished and very boring. Let’s move on to the good stuff.
The State Department reception was scheduled from 5 to 7 PM in the Benjamin Franklin room. The room is on the 8th floor of the State Department, which happens to be the top floor. We took an elevator to the 8th floor. You had to have a special pass to get on the elevator. After arriving at our destination, we had to wait for the official receiving line. The last receiving line I remember was at our wedding. The line consisted of Anne Johnson, followed by Colin and Mrs. Powell, followed by another General and his wife. Who these people were, I don’t know, but General #2 did introduce my friend Colin later in the evening. After the receiving line, it was on to Ben’s room.
It’s called the Benjamin Franklin room because 1) there’s a huge portrait of Ben in the room and 2) Ben used it for state dinners. Even back then the dinners must have been large affairs, since the room was easily the size of a football field. More art, more antiques — pretty boring by now — but the food, that’s another story. These were not your cocktail party hors d’oeuvres. (Oh, let me digress. Where can you go these days where the cocktails are anything other than beer and wine? Not at the State Department. It’s the last bastion of booze at the highest level — gin, scotch, bourbon — you name it. I guess it’s OK to get tanked, since the average guests take cabs when they leave and the brass get picked up in stretch limos.) The hors d’oeuvres were stuffed mushrooms, bacon wrapped scallops, beef on the bone, … You get the picture — these were victuals fit for a general or two.
We did the tour of the Benjamin Franklin room, stopping at the food table and the bar as often as we could. Every once in a while we would view a priceless painting or two. Finally, General #2 introduced General #1. (Again, as an aside, I should mention that Colin Powell has his own flag that always travels with him. It’s got some fancy stuff in the center, like maybe the Department of State Seal, but the neat part is a star in each corner of the flag — four stars for the four-star General. Wherever he goes, the flag flies where he’s staying. He had just returned from Jordan on Sunday, so the flag flying Monday at the State Department signals to all that “The General is in.”) What was he doing in Jordan? Didn’t he realize he had a reception back in DC for yokels like us?
Colin’s speech (again note we’re on a first name basis) was much longer than Laura’s, but equally forgettable. My mission was simple. We had snagged Laura in the AM, and I wasn’t going to let Colin escape in the PM. Joan was NOT going to get all the glory. I WAS going to get a picture with Secretary Powell. Remember, Colin was tired after returning from his trip to the Middle East. I’m certain he just wanted to escape after making his remarks. I know this is true, because after he was accosted by me and Joan, he flew from the room. But, not before I approached him after his remarks, putting my hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Secretary, would you please shake my hand so my wife can get a picture?” Before he could respond, I grabbed his hand and smiled for Joan. She fumbled for her camera, trying desperately to turn it on. Colin looked straight at her and said, “Your shutter’s not open, babe.” What! Tell me about sensitivity training in the military. Babe! I was incensed … mainly because where was the photographer when I needed her? I would not let go of Mr. Secretary’s hand until we had our photo. Snap, flash. Finally, our moment of fame. Only after the film was developed were my hopes dashed. The picture did not show the friendly handshake! Oh well, beautiful art and antiques, good food, friendly company. What more could I want? Another thirty seconds of fame, please.
