The London Fog

It was almost twenty five years ago that a son informed me that he was in the group to meet the Vice President's plane returning to the home state on December 26 for the Christmas holidays. The son also arranged for me to be included.

Actually I had met the VP earlier - 1964 to be exact. At that time he was campaigning for the U.S. Senate and was ringing doorbells in our neighborhood. He had rung ours and I told him that he impressed me more than the incumbent. We both lost in that election.

The official address for the visit was a house on the grounds of the hotel in the city. The son and I walked into the hotel about 9:00 A.M. on the morning of the 26th. It was cold outside and I was wearing a London Fog topcoat. It was a good year for London Fog for there must have been twenty others wearing the same in the lobby. For a moment I had the idea that I was at a hearing aid convention. All the other LF topcoats had built-in ear radios and shades. I stood out like a sore ear - my coat was minus the radio attachment and no shades.

After an introduction to the local Administrative Assistant (AA) to the VP, he served as a tour guide around the grounds and into the house where the VP was to stay. Strange feeling to walk through a a gate which had a sign "U.S. Secret Service Command Post - KEEP OUT -". It didn't say " this means you so we entered the house. Outside bushes, trees, and culverts were inspected by hearing aid convention goers with shades. After a quick tour of the downstairs, the AA went outside to check the status of a locked door.

Standing alone in the foyer, I heard footsteps clomping down the stairs.

Talk about paranoia - I was three miles south of it.
How do I explain my presence?
Would I be whisked to an uncharted island for interrogation?
Would they contact my family?
What about my toothbrush?

Footsteps supported a completely equipped London Fog coat.

I went to the attack - defense is better that way -

"Hi - how's it going?" I boomed.

"Hi" replied the complete LF and out the rear door it went. (Never did find how it was going. That told me something about my level of clearance.)

Later told the son about this experience. Said he: "If you are wearing that coat in the house in the middle of July you are grabbed before you know what is happening. They look for something out-of place."

They missed a good one - I sure was out of place.

The plane was due to land at an old Air Force Base which supported government projects. Coming into the base reminded me of the opening scene of the former base air base in the movie "Twelve O'clock High". The scene at the fire station on the flight line resembled a Hell's Angels conclave. There were at least thirty police escort motorcycles parked outside.

Entering the building we pawed our way through nineteen cubic tons of cigarette smoke. (Of course this was before the mega-bucks anti-smoking lawsuits.) After adjusting to the smoke motorcycle police and the group of London Fogs became visible. The aura was one of 'anticipatory tension'. An outsider coming into the building would realize that here was a bunch of professionals - but professional what?

The LF in Charge thanked the police escorts for their services - it is paid volunteer duty performed off-time by the local police. (Forgot to find out if the two German Police dogs were on off-time.)

The police sergeant addressed his group:
*All stalled cars are removed from the freeway;
*Each overhead bridge is guarded and is closed to traffic and pedestrians when
the escort passes;
*Do not reveal your position on the radio.
*Make no reference to the main escort.
*After the escort passes your ramp, leave and take the next assigned position.

A background radio squawked out that Air Force II was approaching the base. Cigarettes went out, helmets on; silently the escort group shuffled to their steeds and mounted them. Nine vehicles lined up along the runway. On the ground and on the top of hangars were sharpshooters with high-powered rifles.

The plane landed and the cars absorbed the occupants of the plane.

"And they are off!"

Police car No. 1 burned rubber and squealed out to a quarter mile lead. The rest of the procession followed with a gap of one car length between. Overhead a chopper weaved up and down the highway. Entering the Freeway it was noticeable that there was no inbound traffic except the escort. The motorcycle crew was effective in blocking the access ramps. It didn't take long to realize the importance of our car (the last). As soon as our car reached the access ramp the mounted police officer would take off for his next assignment up the road, leaving the ramp unguarded. Those guys might be there yet if our car had not passed.

We zoomed into the city and as we passed a local park the morning joggers took it in stride. The motorcycle escort dwindled to two front and two rear as we turned into the hotel grounds. The Administrative Assistant went into the house with the Clan.

The VP was standing on the porch and he called our son by name and said "glad to see you." After I was introduced the VP said "We are mighty proud of the work that --- is doing for us".

'And a dove sat on his shoulder and a voice out heaven said "This is my beloved Son in whom I an well-pleased." '

I looked for the dove. This wasn't dove season.

I reminded the VP of our front porch meeting in 1964. Strange that he didn't remember me - I remembered him. He made a profound statement :"1964 - that was a long time ago." He invited us to come into the house to keep out of the cold. I told him 'no thanks that we are just waiting for the A A to come out.' (Didn't tell him I wasn't cleared for 'how's it going'.)

It isn't everyday that I have the opportunity to turn down a VP invitation. Think of the number of people who had paid $XXXX per plate and were fifty - yea a hundred times further away from him than I.

As we turned away I saw a LF standing on the front porch. For once I was in style - except for the hearing aid. And in spite of the rarefied atmosphere I came away without a nosebleed.