101: DISASTER STRIKES AT MOUNT VERNON

During our six-block walk to Ford’s Theater on the afternoon of May 15, 2019, I had plenty of time to think about my experience inside the White House. For the past six years, I’ve stood in the footsteps of all the Presidents; but usually it’s one or two of them at a time. On that morning, however, I got to stand where 43 different President’s had all been at some point during the 220 years since John Adams moved into that mansion on November 1, 1800. And although George Washington never set foot inside the White House, I knew that later in the day I would be inside his home as well.

It was around 1:00pm when we arrived at Ford’s Theater. The three of us went inside the historic theater to get our admission ticket, but that’s the moment we learned we had wasted our time and efforts to get there – Ford’s Theater was closed due to a performance rehearsal. Although my photographer and Bob were disappointed, they were told that the theater was open to tourists the following morning. I knew that meant we would be in line when the doors opened on Thursday.

Even though I had been to Mount Vernon in 2014, I was excited to return – mainly because it would give me the opportunity to stand inside the home of every President in American history on the same day. I was also looking forward to posing for a photo at the doorway to George Washington’s bedchamber where he had died. While it’s always easier for Tom to capture images of me when photos are allowed, sometimes it’s the thrill of ‘bootleg’ images that helps keep my resin heart pumping faster. I have found it’s better to do the ‘covert operations’ when Bob is with us rather than my photographer’s wife. For some reason, Vicki has always frowned upon some of our tactics.

By the time we made our way over the Potomac River and finished the 17-mile drive south along the George Washington Memorial Parkway to the plantation home of our first President, it was roughly 2:15pm. Not only did Tom and Bob purchase their tickets to tour Mount Vernon, but they also paid an additional ten dollars for the “National Treasure: Book of Secrets Tour” that would take them to places in and around Mount Vernon where some scenes of the famous Nicholas Cage movie were filmed.

I was carried along a pathway to Mount Vernon and as soon as the historic mansion came in to view, the three of us were quickly disappointed. Not only was the carriage front of the house covered with scaffolding, but thousands of school children were also scattered everywhere. It appeared as though every grade school in Virginia had scheduled a field trip to Mount Vernon on that day. When we walked around to the river front of the mansion, it looked the same as I had remembered. Luckily for us, there was no scaffolding on that side of the home. Best of all, however, was the school kids were off in the distance chasing a re-enactor who was marching and playing a drum.

A few minutes before 3:00pm, we met our tour guide for the ‘National Treasure’ part of our Mount Vernon experience at a location called the Mansion Circle. The elderly-yet-stately-looking guide name Greg Reed, who reminded me of Burt Lancaster, gave a brief oral introduction and then led us into the basement beneath the historic mansion. We saw some of the areas below Mount Vernon that were used in the movie; as well as the historic chambers that were recreated for the film. Those chambers led to the secret tunnel that Ben Gates and the President had entered so that Ben could ask about the President’s Secret Book. I thought it was cool to stand in the footsteps of the President, even though it was a movie President who never had a name in the film. We stayed beneath Mount Vernon for about 20 minutes before Greg took us to a couple of other film sites that were located closer to the Potomac River. At one point I heard my photographer tell Mongo that he thought the National Treasure tour was okay, but it wasn’t worth any more money than the extra ten bucks they had spent.

The ‘National Treasure: Book of Secrets’ behind-the-scenes tour lasted a little over 45 minutes and it definitely didn’t knock our socks off; especially my socks, which were held up with Gorilla Glue. When we parted ways with Greg Reed, we were at a location on the property that was close to the tomb of George Washington. At that point of the day, I knew that my photographer’s feet were bothering him again as he struggled to navigate the hilly trails that led to the tomb. But once we made it to the final resting place of George Washington, I waited for the fun to begin. Tom saw an elderly woman who stood sentinel near the brick enclosure and he believed it may have been the same person who he had tangled with in 2014. My photographer quickly approached her and said: “Were you here about five years ago and does this Thomas Jefferson bobble head look familiar? Perhaps you said it was ‘irreverent’ when I asked you to place him on ‘The General’s’ sarcophagus and you were angrily outspoken when I went through the line four times for pictures?” The woman laughed and said it may have been her, but she didn’t remember the event and couldn’t recollect ever seeing me or talking to my photographer. At first I felt a bit sorry for the poor woman as she seemed stunned by the unexpected barrage of questions and accusations. Then after giving it more thought, I knew in my heart that she was the same person who said I was “irreverent” five years earlier. I’m not an advocate for revenge, but that exchange did make me smile on the inside.

We didn’t stay long at the tomb of George and Martha Washington. With the inner gate closed, there was no way I was going to make it on to the top of ‘The General’s’ sarcophagus anyways. We also needed to stop at the original tomb of George Washington, which was located nearby, before we ended our day with a tour of the mansion. For some unknown reason, the three of us missed the “Old Tomb” during our 2014 visit to Mount Vernon. As we made our way along a pathway to the original tomb, I began to get nervous when I heard my photographer say to Mongo: “I’m going to see if the door to the tomb is open; and if it is, I’m putting Jefferson in there for a picture.”

Four days after President Washington died, his casket was placed inside the brick enclosure alongside the bodies of other family members. When Martha Washington died in 1802, she was placed inside the family vault as well. The first First Couple’s bodies remained in the “Old Tomb” until 1831. As I posed alongside the crude brick vault where 22 bodies once laid, I had hoped the wooden door was locked because I didn’t want to be forced inside the creepie old tomb. I’m a ‘team player’ and generally don’t mind my photographer setting me on most anything, but I ‘draw the line’ at going inside a small, dark tomb. Luckily for me, however, an Australian family arrived before Tom could check the vault’s door and before I knew it, we were on the pathway back up to Mount Vernon.

It was roughly 4:30pm when we got in line to tour the Mount Vernon home of George Washington. Tom had strategically made the home tour our final stop as he had one goal; and one goal only; inside the house: To photograph me at the bedroom and near the deathbed of George Washington. My photographer figured if we got caught sneaking the image, we likely would get kicked out of the house and asked to leave the property.

Immediately after I was carried into the New Room, it became evident that we were not escorted by a tour guide. Instead, interpreters dressed in period clothing were stationed in each room; they not only described items in the room, they also answered tourists’ questions. The interior of Mount Vernon was beautiful and had been renovated to appear like it did when The General and Mrs. Washington lived there. After we saw the two parlors, the Old Chamber and then the Dining Room, I was carried up a staircase to the second floor of the mansion. Once we were on that floor, I became very nervous – I could see the entrance to Washington’s bedchamber at the end of the hallway. As Tom slowly carried me past the other rooms to the bedroom where I needed to pose, I thought the three of us we were alone and our ‘covert operation’ would be easily accomplished. That’s the moment when I heard the words: “Welcome to the Washington’s bedchamber. It was in that room and on that bed where General Washington died on December 14, 1799.” An elderly woman, dressed in eighteenth century clothing, sat across the narrow hallway from the bedroom and greeted visitors as they approached Washington’s bedroom. Mongo looked at my photographer; then he smiled and said: “As soon as you’re ready to take the picture, I’ll stand in front and distract her.” I laughed to myself as I had wondered if Bob would attempt to fake a seizure; but instead, he simply walked toward the friendly lady and asked her an impromptu question. While Mongo blocked her view of the room’s entrance by standing on his tip-toes, Tom held me aloft just inside the threshold of George Washington’s bedroom. I was honored to be standing inside that historic room; but at the same time, it felt surreal as I had envisioned that moment since our first visit five years earlier. As my photographer focused on the bed that was covered in a white canopy, I heard the click of the camera. Mission accomplished; and I couldn’t have been more relieved. During my brief time inside the room, I thought about President Washington as he laid in that very bed dying of a serious throat infection. I also knew that the otherwise healthy 67-year old Washington likely didn’t die of quinsy, but instead his three doctors unintentionally killed him by a procedure known as ‘bloodletting’ – a common medical procedure in the eighteenth century. That’s right, George’s doctors bled him to death.

Once the photo was successfully captured, the three of us took a moment to stand in silence at the bedchamber entrance to pay tribute to our first President and the Father of our Country. When we were finished at Washington’s bedroom, I was carried down the same staircase that The General used every morning when he awoke between 4 and 5 am. That staircase led to Washington’s personal study; which served as his sanctuary and no one was allowed to enter uninvited. George used the room to read, write, and enter data into his diary. He also bathed, dressed, and kept his clothes there as well.

It was a few minutes before 5:00pm when we walked out of Mount Vernon and into the heat of the late afternoon sun. That tour of Washington’s home couldn’t have gone any better; and I had Bob Moldenhauer to thank for our success. As we headed for the Acadia, I heard my photographer say that he wanted to stop at the museum to see and photograph George Washington’s dentures that were there on display. It was a long hike along the gravel pathway to the museum and Tom struggled with each agonizing step. It had been a long day of sightseeing, and the bottom of his feet were in terrible pain; caused primarily from him walking in wet socks and shoes at Shadwell and Monticello a few days earlier. But once we entered the Donald W. Reynolds Museum, the bounce in his step returned and we headed directly to the display case that featured a pair of Washington’s dentures.

I was shocked when I saw George Washington’s dentures; they looked like a prop from a horror film. There was no doubt that the ill-fitting contraption that went into the first President’s mouth was not only painful; the false teeth were also very unsightly. And contrary to popular belief and myth, George’s teeth were not made of wood. Instead, some of the false teeth may have been fashioned from hippopotamus ivory; although new studies have determined that Washington likely purchased teeth from some enslaved people and their teeth were fastened to the spring-loaded metal apparatus.

Tom wanted me to pose near the dentures, but the lighting and the large display case made photography difficult. After he captured several images of me with the teeth, Tom began to place me back inside the camera case when Mongo approached with an ingenious idea. Bob said that he could hold me up behind the clear case and my camera guy would be able to photograph me standing over the teeth. The idea worked to perfection – Tom got into position, Bob carefully held me up from behind the display case, while at the same time he stayed hidden from view. I wanted to smile for the photo, mainly to show that my resin teeth looked better than George’s choppers, but my lips were painted shut.

About a minute after I saw the light from the flash of Tom’s camera, Bob attempted to squat down as my photographer wanted to capture a second image. Suddenly, I couldn’t feel Mongo’s fingers around my legs, and I knew I was in a free-fall towards the marble floor. It was the same feeling I had earlier in the day on the sidewalk near the White House; only this time everything went black. My photographer has to explain what happened to me from that moment on.

Just as I got in position to capture a second image, Jefferson suddenly disappeared, and I heard a loud ‘clunk’ on the marble floor. That was immediately followed by the voice of Mongo yelling: “No. Tom, no. Oh no.” I walked around to the back of the display case, and although I wasn’t sure what I would find, I didn’t think it would be good. And I was right – I saw TJ’s twisted, headless body lying on the hard floor, while his head was on its side roughly four-feet from the body. Bob stood up and kept apologizing over and over: “Tom, I’m so sorry. Please don’t hate me for dropping him; it just slipped out of my fingers. I know how much that bobble head means to you and how many miles it’s travelled and now it’s destroyed. I’m so sorry.” I reassured Mongo that he hadn’t dropped it on purpose and that I thought I could surgically repair him; although when I picked up the pieces, I realized ‘Humpty Dumpty’ might not get put back together again. His head was severed cleanly from the neck; which was the lesser of the damage. Both of Jefferson’s legs were badly shattered; his left leg (which had been damaged in the past) was twisted and totally detached just above the ankle. His right thigh was also badly broken just above the knee and I could see the stainless steel skeleton through the gash in TJ’s black painted pants. The initial prognosis seemed dismal at best and I realized at that moment our Presidential journey might be over. If Thomas Jefferson was truly dead, he would not be replaced with a replica. As sad as I was with the thought that our quest had come to an end, Mongo was even more distraught. Bob had travelled with us to many Presidential sites and he had not only grown fond of the bobble head, Mongo also realized that Jefferson had opened some doors for us that might otherwise have stayed closed.

I carefully placed the pieces of Jefferson into the camera case and we solemnly made our way to the parking lot. During the 12.5-mile drive from Mount Vernon to the Days Inn in Alexandria, I couldn’t help but wonder if a successful surgery would be even possible. It also dawned on me that Jefferson’s death would put a damper on our second visit to the White House on Friday. I had envisioned TJ at the Oval Office, but now the ‘Holy Grail’ of our travels was in jeopardy.

Back in Alexandria, Bob and I finished dinner at the nearby IHOP for the second straight night. I knew it was ‘do-or-die time’ for TJ; and quite frankly, I was nervous.  I had made surgical repairs to his left leg numerous times in the past; and I’ve reattached his head and ponytail before as well.  But the injuries that he suffered at Mount Vernon were very severe. I picked up the bobble head’s contorted body from the motel room’s “surgical table” and in one motion I gave it a solid twist. At that moment, I actually expected his legs to break in two – surgery over.  Miraculously his legs popped back into place with a small cracking sound; although the open gashes remained on both limbs.  I applied Gorilla Glue to the damaged areas of each leg, and I let Jefferson’s torso dry for about ten minutes.  Once dried, it surprised me as to how strong TJ’s body seemed to be as I stood him upright on the table.  With no filler available, I re-wrapped the bobble head’s left leg securely with white gauze tape. Although Jefferson was still headless, he appeared to be back to normal; especially since the damage to his right thigh was hard to see with his black painted trousers.

The next step of the surgical procedure was for me to reattach Jefferson’s severed head.  In 2013, when President Garfield had separated TJ’s head from its spring, I had used a small gob of Tack adhesive to make the repair.  But this decapitation was different – Jefferson’s neck was broken; the spring had remained inside his hollow resin head and was still attached to the top piece of the neck.  I’ve never had much success with ‘Super Glue’ in the past, especially when the pieces couldn’t be clamped.  Usually, my fingers get stuck to one piece or the other, while the repaired sections fall apart.  With nothing to lose, I applied one single drop of Gorilla Glue to the smooth section of Jefferson’s neck.  Carefully aligning his head with the body, I held the two bonded sections together for about three minutes.  When I let go, I was shocked.  I expected Jefferson’s head to fall off onto the table while the bead of glue on his neck was still wet.  But his head stayed in place and it was nearly straight. Jefferson’s head still leaned slightly to the right, but that was from the fall onto the sidewalk near the White House earlier in the day. 

Conscious again, Jefferson tells the rest of the story: The last thing I had remembered was free-falling towards the floor after posing near George Washington’s dentures.  When I woke up, I was standing on the table in our motel room and my photographer had a relieved look on his face.  Mongo appeared to be smiling as well.  Tom carefully placed me alongside the television set where I stood for the remainder of the night.  I heard my camera guy tell Bob that the extra time would allow the glue to set and dry before morning.  As I eavesdropped on their conversation, it seemed as though I had been knocking on death’s door and survived.  Moments before the near-fatal accident, I was close to the bed where George Washington had died.  Unlike our first President, however, my “doctor’ didn’t perform the bloodletting procedure on me; or even a resin-letting procedure for that matter.  It was the modern medicine of Gorilla Glue and gauze tape that saved my life.  ‘Tis well!