impossible.
Standing squarely in front of the door and four feet away from it, was a Marine Corps major. He was breathing hard.
"Are you Mr. Buck?" the major asked.
"Yes," Buck said and then after a pause added, "sir."
"May I please see your identification, sir?" the major asked.
Buck fumbled through his wallet looking for the card. Over the years it had become an empty formality when he passed through the White House gate. He merely lifted his entire wallet toward the Pot who nodded and he walked on in. For a moment Buck felt a sense of embarrassment. It was altogether possible that he had left the identification card at home.
He flipped through the cards in their cellophane holders. The major stared straight ahead, ignoring Buck's discomfort. The major was still breathless and the sound of air sucked in and pushed out of his nostrils was the loudest noise in the corridor. Diners Club
card, law-school library card, a picture of his daughter, a picture of the Porsche just after it had been waxed, a gas-company credit card, a membership card in a professional language association, a picture of his parents. He looked in the billfold of the wallet: seven dollars. Buck looked up at the major. There was one more pocket in the wallet. The identification card was there. He almost sighed with relief.
The major took the card firmly, and glanced at the identification picture. Then he moved sideways to study Buck's profile. Buck's embarrassment deepened.
"Mr. Buck, this card says you have a small scar on your left wrist," the major said. "May I see that scar, sir?"
"Just a little thing from a high.school football game," Buck said, pulling his sleeve up.
The major stared intently at the scar. He came back to attention and extended the card to Buck.
"Follow me, sir," the major said. He started off down the corridor at a crisp walk.
"Yes," Buck said and then hesitated. If the major called him "sir," perhaps he was not supposed to call the major "sir." Buck decided not to. It gave him a sense of satisfaction as he stuffed the card back in the wallet.
By now the major was several steps ahead of Buck. Buck trotted until he had overtaken the major and then fell in stride with him. Buck, who was several inches shorter than the major, found that he was almost at a slow run.
They passed out of the White House Annex into the White House and down several corridors which Buck had never seen before. They swung around a corner and in midstride the major stopped and came to attention. Walking toward them was a tall lanky man and a woman who was taking notes on a note pad. Immedi
ately to the left of Buck and the major was an elevator. Buck realized two things almost simultaneously:
first, the elevator was painted GI green and was operated by an Army officer, secondly, the man walking toward them was the President and the woman was Mrs. Johnson, his secretary.
Buck had heard of the woman before. Her nickname was "Johnnie" and she had an aura of her own. She walked with authority and self-assurance. She struck a delicate balance in her attitude toward the President:
she was both a nanny and a secretary. She had started her career as secretary to the President's famous father over forty years before. Since that time she had become a competent and efficient instrument of the family without becoming in the least familiar. When the President first entered politics as a candidate for Congress he had begged Johnnie's services from his father. Years later, when he entered the White House, Johnnie quite automatically accompanied him. Her hair was now white, her figure heavy, but her manner toward the President was completely unchanged. She was not the least afraid of him nor was she the least familiar.
When the President was five strides away the major snapped off a salute. The President nodded at the major, moved toward the elevator with a springy walk, the stride of an athletic person who liked physical motion. "Tell Pete not to even hint to
Standing squarely in front of the door and four feet away from it, was a Marine Corps major. He was breathing hard.
"Are you Mr. Buck?" the major asked.
"Yes," Buck said and then after a pause added, "sir."
"May I please see your identification, sir?" the major asked.
Buck fumbled through his wallet looking for the card. Over the years it had become an empty formality when he passed through the White House gate. He merely lifted his entire wallet toward the Pot who nodded and he walked on in. For a moment Buck felt a sense of embarrassment. It was altogether possible that he had left the identification card at home.
He flipped through the cards in their cellophane holders. The major stared straight ahead, ignoring Buck's discomfort. The major was still breathless and the sound of air sucked in and pushed out of his nostrils was the loudest noise in the corridor. Diners Club
card, law-school library card, a picture of his daughter, a picture of the Porsche just after it had been waxed, a gas-company credit card, a membership card in a professional language association, a picture of his parents. He looked in the billfold of the wallet: seven dollars. Buck looked up at the major. There was one more pocket in the wallet. The identification card was there. He almost sighed with relief.
The major took the card firmly, and glanced at the identification picture. Then he moved sideways to study Buck's profile. Buck's embarrassment deepened.
"Mr. Buck, this card says you have a small scar on your left wrist," the major said. "May I see that scar, sir?"
"Just a little thing from a high.school football game," Buck said, pulling his sleeve up.
The major stared intently at the scar. He came back to attention and extended the card to Buck.
"Follow me, sir," the major said. He started off down the corridor at a crisp walk.
"Yes," Buck said and then hesitated. If the major called him "sir," perhaps he was not supposed to call the major "sir." Buck decided not to. It gave him a sense of satisfaction as he stuffed the card back in the wallet.
By now the major was several steps ahead of Buck. Buck trotted until he had overtaken the major and then fell in stride with him. Buck, who was several inches shorter than the major, found that he was almost at a slow run.
They passed out of the White House Annex into the White House and down several corridors which Buck had never seen before. They swung around a corner and in midstride the major stopped and came to attention. Walking toward them was a tall lanky man and a woman who was taking notes on a note pad. Immedi
ately to the left of Buck and the major was an elevator. Buck realized two things almost simultaneously:
first, the elevator was painted GI green and was operated by an Army officer, secondly, the man walking toward them was the President and the woman was Mrs. Johnson, his secretary.
Buck had heard of the woman before. Her nickname was "Johnnie" and she had an aura of her own. She walked with authority and self-assurance. She struck a delicate balance in her attitude toward the President:
she was both a nanny and a secretary. She had started her career as secretary to the President's famous father over forty years before. Since that time she had become a competent and efficient instrument of the family without becoming in the least familiar. When the President first entered politics as a candidate for Congress he had begged Johnnie's services from his father. Years later, when he entered the White House, Johnnie quite automatically accompanied him. Her hair was now white, her figure heavy, but her manner toward the President was completely unchanged. She was not the least afraid of him nor was she the least familiar.
When the President was five strides away the major snapped off a salute. The President nodded at the major, moved toward the elevator with a springy walk, the stride of an athletic person who liked physical motion. "Tell Pete not to even hint to
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