Month: June 2017

On September 11, 2001, the U.S. Capitol and House and Senate office buildings were evacuated. As we stood on New Jersey Avenue, wondering what to do or where to go next, Capitol Police suddenly ordered us to “MOVE BACK!!!” We were confused and disorderly. I went up to an officer to find out what was going on. He looked me dead in the eye and yelled, “This is NOT a DRILL. MOVE!!!”

And we moved, farther away from the Capitol. And then, farther away again, for good measure. I looked back up toward the Capitol and saw that, unlike the rest of us, the Capitol Police officers did NOT move. They stayed put, right where they had been. I thought, “Oh, my God. These guys must be scared to death!” But they still stayed right there.

Since then, I have always appreciated those men and women who stood their ground and protected us when the rest of the world seemed to be falling apart, when they didn’t know if a plane was coming for us, when they had no idea what danger they may have been in.

Today reminded me of that long-ago, but not so far-away day on the Hill. After news of the shooting at the Republican team baseball practice came through, our Capitol Police officers stayed at their posts, doing their jobs, despite knowing that two of their own had been shot while doing theirs.

And I thought of how fortunate we all are that Officers David Bailey and Crystal Griner stayed on their posts, doing their jobs, likely saving dozens of lives with their quick thinking and courage.

Griner, Bailey and their fellow officers probably haven’t created any jobs or built up great stores of wealth. But today, the Congressmen and their staffs on that field didn’t need wealthy “job creators.” They needed well-trained government employees – REAL “good guys with guns.” And, fortunately, that’s exactly what they got.

That’s why today, I thanked every Capitol Police Officer I encountered – and hope that time’s tendency to erode such feelings does not dilute my gratitude and appreciation for the men and woman who stand their posts every day just to keep us safe.

Today, I rented a pickup truck at Home Depot to haul 40 bags of mulch back to my house. When I go into the truck, I had an immediate, visceral, throwback feeling to when I was a tiny girl, riding with my Uncle Frank in his truck.

I loved riding with Uncle Frank. All of us kids did. But sometimes I got to go by myself because my cousins Francine, Vivien and Candy were busy in school. Francine was in the third grade, Candy in the first, Vivien was in “kinnygarden” (as she frequently reminded me, as if she were in college or something), and Alicia was still just a twinkle in Uncle Frank’s eye, so she hadn’t yet usurped my position as the baby cousin. But since I was in the half-day program at McGuffey Center pre-school, my afternoons were free and sometimes that meant I got to hang out with Uncle Frank.

There was no one like my Uncle Frank. He was sweet (but pretended to be gruff), smart and funny and he loved me like one of his own. He constantly teased me and always greeted me with “How ya doin’ “Stephanie Joyce WOOTEN Jones?” He could built or fix anything. New baby? Bam! The house would spring another room. Grammy needs a bathroom on the first floor? Voila! Grammy has a new bathroom on the first floor.

When I told him I didn’t like that my feet couldn’t touch the floor when I sat on the grownup furniture, he built me my very own little wooden bench so I could sit with my feet firmly on the ground (or that I could prop my feet on when I sat on the sofa). He painted it a soft pink with a glossy black top and made sure everyone knew “that’s Steffie’s bench.” I watched the Beatles’ Ed Sullivan debut and President Kennedy’s funeral on that bench …

So, I loved it when I got to spend time with Uncle Frank, especially when that meant going anywhere with him in his truck. I’d scramble in and park myself in the passenger seat, Uncle Frank would start the motor, which was really loud. Then we’d back out the driveway of the house he had built, the tires making a crunchy sound as soon as we hit the street, and off we’d go! Uncle Frank drove and I talked. And talked. And talked. And he pretended to listen.

I don’t remember where Uncle Frank and I went (other than the time he drove me to Cleveland and we stopped at McDonald’s on the way back – he said the only time I stopped talking was when I was chewing and even then I still had something to say), but I’ll never forget how it felt riding with him at that truck.

All of that came back today when I climbed into my rented pickup truck in the Home Depot parking lot. There was no crunchy sound when I pulled onto the street, but driving that truck brought back such a happy memory and filled my heart with such joy that I burst out laughing and called out, “Look, Uncle Frank! I’m driving a truck!”

And I swear I could hear him laughing right along with me.