I Climbed a Tree on the Back Lawn of the White House
Well, not recently, but this is a true story--
The date I climbed the tree was July 4th. I can’t remember the year, but it was in the 1960's– Probably the early 1960's. At that time, the White House had a policy of drawing the names of a few businesses and/or government agencies from a hat, and inviting the lucky employees, and their families, to enjoy a picnic on the back lawn of the White House, and watch the 4th of July fireworks.
I don’t think they do this anymore. It is probably my fault.
On that happy year, my Dad’s company was chosen, and he showed up on July 4th with his wife and five kids in tow, and an old blanket for us to sit on. I have vivid memories of that day.
When we crossed through the gate and onto the driveway inside it, I was struck by the extreme smallness of the gravel in the asphalt driveway of the White House. The stones were tiny, with a very uniform size. The driveway was absolutely flat. There was not a dimple to collect rainwater, nor a single bump poking up out of it anywhere.
Then we got to the grass. There was not a single weed. Anywhere. Not one dandelion, not one blade of crabgrass. All the grass was extremely, extremely healthy. It was mowed to a uniform height, and there were not any grass clippings to be found. This was disappointing, since I had recently learned how to make a shrieking whistle by pinching a blade of grass between my thumbs and blowing. It was simply not possible to do this on the back lawn of the White House. There was no grass long enough.
Mom answered all my questions. No, we could not sit on the back porch of the White House, not even if it rained. We would have to stay on the grass. No, the President was not home today. No, she did not know where he was. I should have listened more closely to the ‘on the grass’ part.
It was a wonderful experience. There was a striped tent where we could get hot dogs and hamburgers for free, and free sodas too. Smiling grill-masters and attendants in white aprons with ties would hand them over for the asking. After an unprecedented two orange sodas, I was full of energy.
I mentioned before that I was, from my youth, a legendary tree-climber. The White House back lawn had a number of trees, but most of them had their lower branches trimmed off, and a lot of them had metal plaques with words on them that I could not yet read. There was one tree, however, that was close to another tree. Between the two was a black cast-iron love seat. It was painted with black lacquer, and had been there so long that the trees pinched the front and back of it until they had grown partly around the seat. It could not be moved without cutting down a tree, and no one could sit in the love seat because one of the trees was in the way.
The love seat, however, made a wonderful step on which to stand. Before I knew it, I had stood on the seat, grabbed the lowest branch of the tree, and was on my way to the top for a wonderful view of the White House lawn!
I was too young to be trusted to hold a camera. More’s the pity, for my climb was not to last. “Little boy! Oh little boy!” I looked down. A uniformed Secret Service policeman was looking up at me from the ground. “You are not allowed to go up in the trees here. Please come down.” I looked uncertainly at his insincere smile, and did not immediately move.
Another motion caught my eye. A woman was walking at top speed across the grass, impressively fast, as she was wearing high heels. Her earrings and her necklace swung from side to side as she careened towards us. Yes, it was my mother.
“Emmanuel Goldstein! You come down this instant!” she yelled. The policeman stepped back, a wise move in view of her fury. I scrambled down the way I had come. She made me apologize to the Secret Service man and with a firm grip, pulled me over to the family blanket, where I stayed for the rest of the evening.
They didn’t kick us out that day, and it was a wonderful place to see the fireworks. I will always remember being there with the family around me.
For some reason, we, and Dad’s office, were never again invited back to see the fireworks. A few times over the decades, when in Washington, I have walked past the back fence of the White House, but I have never been able to locate the loveseat with the trees growing into it. Maybe some of the children who have lived at the White House have climbed the trees there, from time to time. If so, I haven’t heard about it–and I have been paying attention!
Some things you can only do once, and some things you have to do when you are young. Climbing a tree at the White House is certainly one of them!
Well, not recently, but this is a true story--
The date I climbed the tree was July 4th. I can’t remember the year, but it was in the 1960's– Probably the early 1960's. At that time, the White House had a policy of drawing the names of a few businesses and/or government agencies from a hat, and inviting the lucky employees, and their families, to enjoy a picnic on the back lawn of the White House, and watch the 4th of July fireworks.
I don’t think they do this anymore. It is probably my fault.
On that happy year, my Dad’s company was chosen, and he showed up on July 4th with his wife and five kids in tow, and an old blanket for us to sit on. I have vivid memories of that day.
When we crossed through the gate and onto the driveway inside it, I was struck by the extreme smallness of the gravel in the asphalt driveway of the White House. The stones were tiny, with a very uniform size. The driveway was absolutely flat. There was not a dimple to collect rainwater, nor a single bump poking up out of it anywhere.
Then we got to the grass. There was not a single weed. Anywhere. Not one dandelion, not one blade of crabgrass. All the grass was extremely, extremely healthy. It was mowed to a uniform height, and there were not any grass clippings to be found. This was disappointing, since I had recently learned how to make a shrieking whistle by pinching a blade of grass between my thumbs and blowing. It was simply not possible to do this on the back lawn of the White House. There was no grass long enough.
Mom answered all my questions. No, we could not sit on the back porch of the White House, not even if it rained. We would have to stay on the grass. No, the President was not home today. No, she did not know where he was. I should have listened more closely to the ‘on the grass’ part.
It was a wonderful experience. There was a striped tent where we could get hot dogs and hamburgers for free, and free sodas too. Smiling grill-masters and attendants in white aprons with ties would hand them over for the asking. After an unprecedented two orange sodas, I was full of energy.
I mentioned before that I was, from my youth, a legendary tree-climber. The White House back lawn had a number of trees, but most of them had their lower branches trimmed off, and a lot of them had metal plaques with words on them that I could not yet read. There was one tree, however, that was close to another tree. Between the two was a black cast-iron love seat. It was painted with black lacquer, and had been there so long that the trees pinched the front and back of it until they had grown partly around the seat. It could not be moved without cutting down a tree, and no one could sit in the love seat because one of the trees was in the way.
The love seat, however, made a wonderful step on which to stand. Before I knew it, I had stood on the seat, grabbed the lowest branch of the tree, and was on my way to the top for a wonderful view of the White House lawn!
I was too young to be trusted to hold a camera. More’s the pity, for my climb was not to last. “Little boy! Oh little boy!” I looked down. A uniformed Secret Service policeman was looking up at me from the ground. “You are not allowed to go up in the trees here. Please come down.” I looked uncertainly at his insincere smile, and did not immediately move.
Another motion caught my eye. A woman was walking at top speed across the grass, impressively fast, as she was wearing high heels. Her earrings and her necklace swung from side to side as she careened towards us. Yes, it was my mother.
“Emmanuel Goldstein! You come down this instant!” she yelled. The policeman stepped back, a wise move in view of her fury. I scrambled down the way I had come. She made me apologize to the Secret Service man and with a firm grip, pulled me over to the family blanket, where I stayed for the rest of the evening.
They didn’t kick us out that day, and it was a wonderful place to see the fireworks. I will always remember being there with the family around me.
For some reason, we, and Dad’s office, were never again invited back to see the fireworks. A few times over the decades, when in Washington, I have walked past the back fence of the White House, but I have never been able to locate the loveseat with the trees growing into it. Maybe some of the children who have lived at the White House have climbed the trees there, from time to time. If so, I haven’t heard about it–and I have been paying attention!
Some things you can only do once, and some things you have to do when you are young. Climbing a tree at the White House is certainly one of them!
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