The morning of Saturday July 19, 2014 began with a loud “H*ly Sh!t” and was immediately followed by an equally loud ‘SMACK’. I was startled and all I could do was shake my head as I had no idea what had happened.
After I saw Mongo leave our room around 5:00am for his morning run around the historic monuments, Tom’s alarm went off at 6:00am. As my photographer was in the shower, that’s when I heard the commotion that originated from the bathroom. It turned out that as Tom was about to step out of the shower, he spotted a huge cockroach as it scurried along the floor near the tub. The ‘SMACK’ that I had heard came from a bath towel that my photographer used to end the large bug’s life. Then, being the wild-life photographer that he is, Tom captured a photograph of the deceased insect as it laid on its back with its bent knees in the air.
Fifteen minutes after the reddish insect had met its maker, Bob came through the hotel door to five distinct words: “Houston, we have a problem!” At first, Mongo was relieved to learn that everything was fine back home and that it was only a dead cockroach that was the problem. The real issue was when my photographer met with the motel receptionist, discussed the dead roach, and demanded that all of their money was to be returned immediately. After a phone call to the Virginia Health Department was moot because it was Saturday, Tom threatened to grab the roach’s carcass and display the bug for all of the motel’s guests to see at breakfast. Needless to say, we did not spend another night in the Cockroach Inn. Luckily for us, there was a Comfort Inn that shared the same parking lot; we transferred our baggage to that motel where we stayed in a second-story room. We were happy to be off the ground floor and we also hoped that the dead roach’s friends didn’t know how to use the elevator.
Although we had been slightly delayed thanks to Mr. Roach, we arrived at our first Presidential site of the day at just about 7:30am. The site was the Alexandria, Virginia home of Gerald Ford; a place where he lived while serving as Vice President under Richard Nixon.
Gerald Ford had the two-story brick house built in 1955 when he was a delegate from Michigan in the U.S. House of Representatives. The Ford’s made the home their primary residence until they moved into the White House on August 19, 1974 – ten days following the resignation of President Richard Nixon.
Since the Ford home was a private residence, I was not able to tour the interior. But unlike Nixon’s Vice Presidential home in Wesley Heights, I was able to get a lot closer to Ford’s house. Surprisingly, the house appeared to be nothing special; very moderate and ordinary. But then again, that was a true reflection of Gerald Ford himself.
From Alexandria, where we spent about ten minutes at Ford’s house, we headed to Arlington National Cemetery – a drive that took less than 15 minutes to travel the six-plus miles. In Arlington, I planned on visiting the graves of two Presidents – William Howard Taft and John F. Kennedy. My goal was to stand on both gravesites; but Kennedy’s would likely be surrounded by dozens of tourists – not to mention the possibility of an armed guard. Those two aspects alone would make that goal virtually impossible to accomplish.
Mongo did a good job of getting the Optima tucked away in the parking structure at Arlington, which meant it was time to make the long, uphill hike to President Kennedy’s grave. I was lucky; I got to ride in my well-padded camera case. For 10 to 15 minutes, I could hear the huffing and puffing of my cameraman as he trudged up the asphalt pathway inside Arlington National Cemetery.
As soon as we arrived at the site, I was removed from my case and held up to see the graves of President Kennedy, his wife Jacqueline, and two of their children. The Kennedy plot was stunning; I could see the flat-black slate markers with their names etched into the surface; there were the dozens of reddish granite fieldstones that had been set in a flagstone pattern; and of course, I could see the famous eternal flame – all of which were located in the shadow of the Arlington House that overlooked the burial site.
Just as I had figured, there were at least 50 tourists that were standing on three sides of the gravesite; plus I could see the armed guard. But I wasn’t surprised as the Kennedy gravesite has been one of the biggest tourist sites in the Washington area since 1963. The black barrier chain that butted up with the shrubbery behind the gravesite helped keep tourists out of everyone’s photos. I was happy; we had a clear view of the graves; the eternal flame; and the Arlington House on the hillside above the site.
Just as we finished our photo session with me near Kennedy’s grave, the most surprising and unbelievable thing happened – all of the tourists were gone. There were no other people in sight other than my photographer and Bob; even the armed guard had disappeared. I was all alone with the Kennedy’s, but I wasn’t sure for how long. It was at that moment when the decision was made, as the stars had aligned and the holes of the Swiss cheese had lined up perfectly and unexpectedly, that I decided to be photographed as I stood on the tombstone of President John F. Kennedy. Would we be arrested? Were there surveillance cameras in the area? Would I end up on the eleven o’clock news? My resin-based adrenaline was flowing, but I wasn’t about to back out now. I might not ever get another chance.
Time-wise, I stood on JFK’s grave marker for less than 30 seconds; just long enough for my image to be captured for posterity. But during that brief time, I thought of the man who had brought Camelot to the White House. He was our nation’s youngest elected President; yet his courage and determination helped save the world during the Cuban Missle Crisis in October 1962. Kennedy’s resolve; his vision and foresight; helped put the first man on the moon in 1969. In that brief moment that I stood silently on the black slate, which was rougher than I thought it would be, I could almost hear him say in his New England accent: “Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.”
As fast as I had landed onto the slate marker, I was snatched back off and put back into the sanctum of my padded case. I had done it – I stood on JFK’s headstone. What a resin-based adrenaline rush that was! That stunt was far riskier than the one where I stood on Lincoln’s tombstone. After all, Abe’s marker was inside the memorial and out of public view. This was Arlington; this was Kennedy; and we pulled it off!
But then, as I stood alone in my case, I started to second-guess my actions. That’s when a little guilt started to set in. This was no ordinary cemetery – it was Arlington National Cemetery. There were small signs posted in every section of the cemetery that read: SILENCE and RESPECT. I had to believe, however, that somehow John F. Kennedy was smiling down on me as I stood in all my glory on his grave marker. JFK was a Thomas Jefferson admirer; and he likely knew in his heart that I was standing there out of respect and admiration for him; as well as for the Presidency of the United States. I was good to go; at least mentally.
After a brief visit at the graves of Bobby and Ted Kennedy, who were buried within a few hundred feet of their brother John, it was time to head towards the tomb of the first President buried in Arlington – William Howard Taft. It was a bit of a hike to Taft’s gravesite, but for the most part, it was downhill.
Once we were in front of the main walkway, I was taken from my case for the approximate two-hundred-foot walk along the brick-pavers that led to the final resting place of our 27th President and his wife. At first look, the memorial that stood over the grave of William Howard Taft resembled an old-style Shell gasoline pump. I wanted to stand on the monument, but without suitable footing, I was simply held near the tombstone for my photo.
Although I could’ve chosen to stand on the granite base of the monument, I posed for one final photograph on the footstone; which was located six to eight feet from the front of the monument. That small marker, which was nearly covered over by the grass and soil, appeared to be made of the same type of granite as the main memorial. On the top of the small marker was Taft’s initials – WHT. Next to that footstone was another small marker that bore the initials HHT; which was Helen Herron Taft.
The two Presidential gravesites were our sole focus while we were in Arlington National Cemetery. Due to the lack of a lot of time, we chose to bypass the Tomb of the Unknowns, as well as the other famous burial places in the cemetery.
We made it out of the cemetery without incident and more importantly, without me going to jail. After my photographer had endured his long-winded hike in Arlington, Mongo and I were happy that Tom had a chance to rest during the 45-minute ride to the next site – a site that would be out of this world.
That was a memorable and remarkable day! Any day that begins with a giant cockroach in the bathroom can only get better! JFK would have pleased to have Thomas Jefferson visit his grave. At a dinner honoring Nobel Prize winners at the White House he said, “I think this is the most extraordinary collection of talent, of human knowledge, that has ever been gathered together at the White House, with the possible exception of when Thomas Jefferson dined alone.” That statement was true until Scott Gast, Tom Watson and Bob Moldenhauer ate lunch there!