Senior Daze

by Katie Bourg

About Katie: Having arrived in time for the Great (?) Depression, WWII, and all other 20th century problems, I am endowed with long and varied memories. Writing classes have long been my home away from home. Other people's stories are fascinating, and sharing is growth at its best. Hope you seniors will join me with your stories. Try it. You'll like it.

I felt a little sad to hear of the passing of former governor Albert Rosellini earlier this month. I met him once, and thought it insignificant at the time. Looking back, maybe it wasn't.

I never ran for office, but I supported a few times. I helped out at the polls when people came in to vote. I always made the effort to be informed.

When my daughters were in their early teens a neighbor set me up. She was hosting a coffee for the incumbent governor, who was running for a second term. She came to the house and in my presence told my daughters they were welcome to come with me to meet the governor. It was a hot summer day and I was enjoying my patio. I'd already had one disturbance. We lived on Thornton Creek in Lake City, and a white mouse had shown up on my planter. If he was white he had to be a pet, not just the ordinary run of the mill rodent. That was the pitch I was being given as they begged to keep him. The neighbor arrived just in time to side with the girls. That was two strikes against her, in my book. But we went to the coffee.

The event was held in one of the nicer homes on Lake Washington. We all lined up and waited as Mr. Rosellini made his way toward us, shaking hands and conversing pleasantly with each visitor. Most of them seemed older than me and acted rather giddy as they were showing their devotion to their favorite candidate. I was a little irritated; my mind still on that mouse. It didn't help that I had been raised in a politically active family and was rather jaundiced when it came to politics in general.

But I smiled appropriately when he reached me, accepted his firm hand, and appreciated his complete attention for the moment. Then he turned to my daughters, and asked their names, one at a time. And did they have any questions for him? They did, and he spent considerable time discussing their concerns. I was little stunned, both by their brashness, and his patience. He seemed not to notice. By the time he moved on, my daughters were mesmerized. The coffee came to an end. We thanked our hostess and took our leave.

As we walked toward my car Karen, my middle girl, said, "Oh, it was so exciting, and I was so scared."

"What were you so scared of?" I asked. "Governors don't bite."

And then I remembered.

I was ten, growing up in a house full of political talk, hearing all day every day the rights and wrongs, the in and outs of what happened in the state capitol. I was bored, but more aware of the system I lived in than most of my friends. My father was deeply involved in veterans affairs and a state commander of a major organization. I was frequently taken to state affairs and sat through multiple speeches.

A day came when I walked with my father into the huge capitol building with the gold dome. The interior was a cavern filled with brilliant lights. We walked up many stairs to an office where reporters were waiting. A board was placed across the arms of a big green chair for me to stand on, so I would be shoulder to shoulder with the governor when he came out of his inner office.

It didn't work, I was higher than him.

Someone lifted me down, removed the board, and returned me to the chair. The springs in the chair kept me off balance and fearful of falling, and of the man who came to stand beside me. The press was present to take pictures as straight-armed, I held a paper 'forget me not' against the man's lapel, indicating I was selling it to him. He reached around my waist, and pulled me against him.

"Come on," he growled as he grinned at me. "Governors don't bite."

Like myself, all my daughters have at one time or another been actively involved in the social systems of our land, not running for office but doing what they can at some level. I don't know if I've ever told them so, but I'm rather proud of them. And I wonder now, just how much their governor's words have to do with their later involvement. As my governor's words have had to do with mine.

Just maybe Governor Rosellini's interest in the questions of young girls not yet ready to vote may be as much a part of his legacy as all his other accomplishments, which were far more than we knew at the time.

As for the white mouse, the girls considered it an honor, and named him 'Albert.'