Hello... Jimmy?

By Paul Gray

President Carter has promised to make himself available to citizens on the telephone--by occasionally answering rings at the White House and by arranging what he terms "live call-in sessions" to be broadcast on radio. The first will be carried by CBS on March 5 with Walter Cronkite acting as host and screener. If Walter's attention happens to wander, there could be some interesting exchanges between the President (P) and the callers (C):

C: Now see here. I ordered three hot and sour and two shark fin. You got it exactly backward. The moo shu pork came without any pancakes and where are the lichee nuts?

P: There's been a mistake, ma'am. I'm Jimmy Carter.

C: Right. And I'm Butterfly McQueen. Now . . .

P: No, no. I really am Jimmy Carter.

C: Hmmm. You do sound a little like him.

P: That's because I am him . . . I mean, me.

C: Well land sakes! What are you doing working in a Chinese restaurant?

P: Hello?

C: Mr. President? My name is Fred Pullet and I represent an association of small chicken breeders. Me and the boys were flicking the feathers around and we got to wondering if you have any plans for the afternoon of June 18.

P: Uh . . .

C: Good, good, that means you can address our annual convention. Nothing too formal, just an hour of remarks on the problems faced by us small chicken breeders.

P: You breed small chickens?

C: Ho, ho, that's rich, Mr. President. Of course, we hear that joke all the time, but me and the boys hardly ever get tired of it. Now, this year's shindig will be held just outside Hot Coffee, Mississippi. We'll be easy to find, but I'll tell you how to get there anyway. You got a pencil handy?

C: Hi, President Carter. I'm a college freshman, and my roommate tells me that you will answer our questions.

P: That's right, Miss. And if I don't know the answer I will get it from someone in our Administration who does.

C. Gee, that's really super. Here's the deal. My philosophy prof says that ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny. But Margaret, she's my roomie, and I think it's a crock. What is your theory on this ontogeny-phylogeny business?

P: I'm glad you asked me that. I have to run off to a National Security Council meeting just now, but. . .

C: Mr. Carter, I turn to you because Ann Landers might take weeks and weeks to answer, what with the lousy state of the Postal Service and all.

P: Aha! The Postal Service! Now there is a problem I feel the need to discuss, openly and honestly with my fellow . . .

C: Postal, schmostal. I don't care a fig about that. I've got something really big on my hands. This morning, my husband told me he is having an affair with the cleaning lady.

P: Now, I'm not going to get into the business of condemning my fellow man for behavior that I would never in a million years consider imitating myself. My position on the proper place for lust was made painfully clear during my campaign . . .

C: Never mind that. My question is: Do you think it will be harder to get a new husband or a new cleaning lady?

C: Mr. President, this is Fritz.

P: Fritz! What are you doing here?

C: I know, I shouldn't be clogging up the people's lifeline to the presidency. After all, I'm your Vice President and I have free access to you 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. Don't I?

P: Well, there may be times when . . .

C: But the reason I'm calling right now is that something urgent has come up. Joan is a little confused about whether we're supposed to bring the Tab and the potato salad or whether we were assigned the hamburger patties and paper napkins.

C: Mr. Carter, my name is Charity Strudel, I live in Sheboygan, Wis., and I am 87 years old.

P: Imagine that! And how are you?

C: Well, my sciatica has been acting up, those store-bought teeth still don't fit just right, my husband Otto has been sitting around in his undershirt ever since Vince Lombardi left the Packers, the credit union is trying to repossess my icebox, the weatherman is predicting more snow, my oldest and dearest friend has gone through est and come out of it a stranger to me, they don't make chocolate bonbons the way they used to, my tabby just had a litter of kittens in the bread box, the mechanic says the old Hudson needs a valve job. All in all, I can't complain.

C: Mr. President, I tried to get you through the White House switchboard, and the operator told me you were on a public line.

Do you think that's wise?

P: Yes. It's a new policy designed to keep me and the people informed about our mutual thoughts and . . . wait a minute. Your voice sounds very familiar.

C: Let there be no mistake about it. President Nixon.

P: Uh, President Nixon, sir, I mean ex-sir, this is the first time we've spoken personally like this, if I remember correctly?

C: Maybe yes, maybe no. I'm having trouble remembering things like that. And no wonder, what with all my papers gathering dust and God knows what else there in Washington. But before I run through that and tell you why Brzezinski is not half the man that Kissinger was, we must make one thing perfectly clear.

P: What's that?

C: Can Cronkite hear what I'm saying?

C: President Carter, I'm in the middle of a seven-minute layover between flights at O'Hare . . .

P: Excellent.

C: . . . and I have some questions that need quick answers.

P: Splendid. Shoot.

C: Taxes?

P: Lower.

C: Employment?

P: Higher.

C: Government services?

P: More.

C: Crime?

P: Less.

C: Gotta run. Thank you, Mr. President.

P: Have a nice flight. And thank you, Billy.

C: Hello, is this Amy's daddy?

P: It certainly is.

C: I'm Heather's daddy, calling from Phoenix and . . . er . this is a little embarrassing.

P: Now, now, two devoted fathers have no reason to be embarrassed around each other. What can I do for you?

C: Aw, you're gonna think this is silly . . .

P: Please . . .

C: O.K. Heather wants her dog to say hello to Amy's dog.

P: Now that you mention it, it does seem a little . . .

C: ARF! ARF!

Paul Gray

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