New Years Eve in 1979, I went to the bar at the Nine O'Clocks party held at the Piedmont Driving Club to get a drink and saw another gentleman ahead of me. I was not a member of the Nine O'Clocks nor the PDC and neither was the man whose face I instantly recognized when he turned around: Hamilton Jordan. The Chief of Staff to President Jimmy Carter had been a major focus of study for me as I followed his career in the media during my college years and then as a newspaperman.
As a rule, I generally shy away from celebrities. I don't see much to gain from my spending a few minutes talking with them and I respect their privacy enough to generally steer clear. But this was different. From the moment Jimmy Carter announced his run for the presidency, I had been reading and admiring from afar the architect of his meteoric rise. So I introduced myself to Hamilton, chatted for a while and told him I had been a volunteer in their campaign when I was a college student. Now, as a reporter for The Augusta Chronicle, I told him I would be honored if he would let me interview him sometime.
"I don't do interviews with the press," Hamilton said.
"I know," I said. "I've read that. But I'm interested in hearing your side. I'm offering you a chance to tell your side of the story."
As we both stood there in our tuxedos, alone at the bar, Hamilton stirred his drink and thought for a moment. "Here's my card," he said. "Call me sometime and I'll speak with you."
I was stunned. As a young reporter, 18 months out of school, working for my second newspaper, I had just scored an opportunity of a lifetime: a rare interview with a private man who shunned publicity and had the scars to prove it. I couldn't wait to get back to my managing editor in Augusta and begin making my plans. Boy, was I disappointed.
"We don't have any money in budget to send you to Washington," my boss said. "Just do it over the phone."
Again, I was stunned. What kind of two-bit newspaper was I working for? This was a Georgia newspaper and this was an administration run by Georgians. I continued to bargain. I contacted Hodding Carter, whose family newspaper I had worked for previously in Greenville, Miss. Hodding was then the press spokesperson for the U.S. State Department – a position that would guarantee one anonymity, except for the fact that he appeared before the cameras each day as the government's only spokesperson on the Iran Hostage Crisis. The intense media scrutiny given to the kidnapping of U.S. personnel in Tehran was unprecedented, leading ABC to establish "Nightline" at 11:30pm to keep the ratings going. Hodding also agreed to an interview.
But my boss wouldn't budge. So I pulled out my third pitch: I scored an interview with my parents' friend and recently retired Attorney General Griffin Bell. Here was a trilogy of Carter Administration icons, but it didn't matter to a small town paper ruled by a focus on profit, and keeping expenses to a bare minimum. Newspaper editors are objective, so I'm sure it had nothing to do with the fact that The Augusta Chronicle was the most Republican newspaper in the South.
So I took a gamble. I took the time off as vacation, drove to Washington, stayed with Donna and Mike Egan, whose son was a lifelong pal. Mr. Egan was Associate Attorney General, working for Griffin Bell.
True to his word, Hamilton allowed me to interview him, though my dreams of a White House moment were slightly dampened when he told me to meet him across the street at the Executive Office Building. We talked a lot about how the press had treated him. His focus on work and desire not to get involved in the Washington social whirl only made him more fascinating to the media. The stories ranged from his living in his car as a student at the University of Georgia to illegal drug use to insulting the wife of the Egyptian ambassador.
I asked Hamilton about these rumors and reports and he was open about them. He not only denied them, he was stunned that the press could publish them with no basis of truth. He answered all my questions with honesty, integrity and with such a believable candor that I came away with an even greater appreciation for him than I had already. As I prepared to leave, I asked him what he thought about the fact that Election Day 1980 fell exactly on the one year anniversary of the taking of the hostages in Iran. He looked taken aback.
"Honestly, I never realized that until you just mentioned it. I imagine that will get some media attention," he said. And it did. The crisis became a metaphor for the entire presidency and Ronald Reagan exploited it perfectly during the campaign to end Carter's presidency at one term. My series of interviews with all three men ran in the Chronicle, to great acclaim. Eventually, my editor agreed to reimburse me the vacation time and mileage that I had invested.
I ran into Hamilton a few more times in the following decades, once at Christ the King for Easter services, as we each chased our then toddlers, my daughter Sally and his son, Hamilton Jr., on the Peachtree Road lawn as Mass was performed inside. I saw him last a few months ago when he courageously spoke to a packed Atlanta Press Club session, talking about his 20-year battle with three kinds of cancer.
This past Sunday morning, I was packing for a trip to a PRSA Counselors Academy conference in Naples, FL and running late. As I grabbed my suitcase and laptop, I realized I didn't have a book or a magazine to take. So I looked in a pile of books near my dresser and I saw Hamilton's "No Such Thing As a Bad Day," his memoir about his battle with cancer that had been a New York Times bestseller. He gave out autographed copies at the Press Club. I tossed it in my suitcase and left for the airport.
Yesterday morning, I woke up in Naples and began packing for my return. I IM'd with my wife Jan, who informed me that Hamilton had died unexpectedly on Tuesday night. I was stunned.
I've been unfaithful to my blog as of late. I've been feeling quite guilty about that as I've focused more on work and family. It seems a number of my recent entries have been about people I knew whose death surprised me. Hamilton's did as well. As I sat down on the Delta jet to return to Atlanta, I opened his book and began to read about his time in Vietnam, in the White House and in the numerous hospitals in which he fought his battles. He traced his first cancer to Agent Orange, an herbicide sprayed recklessly by the U.S. government to defoliate the jungles of Vietnam. Hamilton and thousands of other Americans (and no doubt many more Vietnamese) later contracted cancer.
I was burdened by his loss as I left the plane and walked to the MARTA station to return to my office. There, in line to purchase a train ticket, was Mr. Egan. He looked a little bewildered by the Breeze ticket machines, which is my reaction every time I step up to them. I had purchased a few extra ones on my way out of town. I offered Mr. Egan an extra and we rode back to the city together. I told him of Hamilton's death the night before. He had not heard.
"I always loved Hamilton," Mr. Egan said. "He was one of my favorite people in Washington."
I've been so blessed in my life with good health. Though my Dad died at age 78, my mother is still going strong at 91. All of my siblings and our spouses and children are all alive and healthy and I thank God for that gift. But the older I get, the more often people I have known and admired leave us here on earth. A piece of me dies with each of their departures. I'm a bit strange that way. I think about the people who have left us as much as the ones who remain. I firmly believe I will see them all again when I, with God's blessing, embark on my own journey to Heaven.
I'm burdened today by Hamilton Jordan's departure. He was such a modest, measured, surprisingly soft spoken, quiet, yet incredibly strong, gifted and visionary strategist. He was mistreated and his talents were under-appreciated by the media of which I was a part and with which I still work as a public relations professional.
Hamilton left his family and those of us who admired him too early, but due to his life's work, he left us much better than he found us. As I enjoy a Memorial Day Weekend with my family, I will undoubtedly add him to my long list of people I think of fondly – and without whom our lives will not be as rich.
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