I stood at the front door for a good two minutes debating whether to knock or walk in like I own the place. What is the protocol for entering your principal’s home on your first day of being a personal assistant? This certainly wasn’t covered at any point in high school or college.
I stared at the large, shiny brass knocker.
Then stared at the brass doorknob.
Then took in the entirety of the bright red door.
And then I decided that the confident person would walk in just as he would walk in to any office. So in I went.
We Collide at the Stairs
Walking confidently through the door and down the entry hallway, I collide with her at the bottom of the stairs.
“Good morning, young man,” she says. “Brian, right? Here are my notes this morning. When I get back, we’ll talk about the luncheon menu and then about the bar-be-cue this evening.”
And she was off, moving full-tilt as she was (apparently) running late to her daily communion.
A little too enthusiastically I respond with, “good morning!”
And she was out the door.
It’s All on the Notecard
Important daily tasks were communicated via fine-papered notecards trimmed in a thin, red line with her name in red ink at the top. Today’s tasks:
- Pine tree at end of driveway
- Boxwood flowers
- Back door of pool house
- Dishwasher in pool house
I didn’t get beyond that because the phone rang. If you thought the indecision about how to walk in the door was ridiculous, the ten second inner debate about how to answer the phone raged on as the phone jangled away.
“Good morning. Hickory Hill,” I said into the phone receiver.
‘Just Don’t Quit’
It was her son’s scheduler—”The Congressman”, as she referred to him—calling to introduce herself, graciously welcome me into the fold, let me know that she was a confidante and a resource should I need anything. And to emphatically say, “just don’t quit!”
And just like that, the phone call was over.
Still standing over the phone table (yes, a phone table where people in the 1950’s kept their telephones), I looked back to the notecard.
And the phone rings again. Now a seasoned veteran with one successfully answered phone call under my belt, I answered the phone with what I thought would be a strong, confident voice. Instead, my voice went completely Peter Brady on me and cracked so high, I’m pretty sure neighborhood dogs winced.
It was the accountant. He reviewed the monthly budget for me (which totaled around $15,000 per month for groceries, entertainment and petty cash), how to handle the credit cards and to watch out for clever traps the grandkids would use to finagle cash out of me. He then invited me into the fold, told me not to be intimidated by her and then emphatically told me, “just don’t quit!”
And with that, he hung up.
I turned on my heel, walking away from the phone table towards the kitchen and the phone rings again. This time, I manage to answer the phone with the voice of a man done with puberty and one who does this sort of thing all the time.
It was the lawyer. He welcomed me to the staff, reviewed the roster of staff at the house, mentioned a salary issue with the cook and then emphatically told me, “just don’t quit!”
And then he was gone.
This time I stood over the phone, staring at it, thinking, “three people in less than 15 minutes have all emphatically told me not to quit. On my first day. In my first hour. And they all knew she would be out of the house and chose this time to call. What have I gotten myself into?”
I had no idea.This is the second installment in a multi-part series about my incredibly brief employment with one of the nation’s most revered political families. All entries are tagged as “Camelot.” The most recent will always appear at the top of that page.