October 19, 2010

Mr. President, when do I get my meeting?

By Cary Clack
San Antonio Express-News

Dear Mr. President: Over here, I'm a little to your left — no, not there — over here, way in the back, way back. I'm the obscure columnist with his hand up. No, I'm not in the White House press room. I'm not even in the White House or, for that matter, in the northeast part of the country, and that's the thing. Back in the day, 2008, when you were going to announce your choice for vice president, I wanted to be one of the 100 million knowledgeable journalists and citizens who got the inside scoop with an early morning text announcing your selection. If I'm not mistaken, it was a Mr. J. Biden of Delaware.

I still get those texts sometimes, although there's nothing I can do about them, like the one on Friday about some event happening here in San Antonio on Sunday. The text began, "President Obama needs you to talk to voters ..."

That's not my job. What would have been my job is if I'd gotten a text saying, "You need to talk to President Obama? Here's what you need to do ..."

And it almost happened. Week before last, one of the leaders of an organization of columnists I belong to sent out an e-mail informing us that you would meet with us at the White House for an interview Oct. 15. After arranging for my newspaper to send me, I let it be known that I was in. Another e-mail followed saying there was now a limit on the number of columnists who would be in the meeting, so cuts were made. That was a bummer, but —since I made the cut — not as bad a bummer as it could have been.

That was to come. A couple of days later, after travel arrangements had been made, we received another e-mail from our organization's leadership saying that the White House would now meet with only 10 of us and they, our leadership, would make the choices. I wasn't one of them.

Apparently the fluctuating number of columnists allowed was a result of crossed wires between the White House and my organization. Imagine a miscommunication between politicians and the media.

I was a victim of downsizing, a casualty of a columnist-reduction measure, left standing outside the White House gates before I left San
Antonio.

Never mind, Mr. President, that I read Dreams From My Father before your keynote address at the 2004 Democratic National Convention and before anyone doubted where you were born; or that — also before that speech — I contacted your senatorial campaign staff about hitting the campaign trail with you in Illinois and got a call back the night after the speech to arrange it. (We never got schedules coordinated.)

So last Friday I was left hanging while some of my colleagues asked you tough questions in the Roosevelt Room while y'all sipped soft drinks, coffee and tea — although I'm guessing tea isn't a favorite beverage around the White House these days.

I'd prepared half a dozen questions, of which I hoped to ask you at least a couple, but it wasn't meant to be. Things happen. No hard feelings. I don't blame you, Mr. President. You owe me nothing.

However: Back during the campaign, you did say in Missouri that family lore had it that Wild Bill Hickok was a distant cousin of yours. Well, the last person killed by Hickok in a gunfight was my great-great-grandfather's half-brother.

Your cousin killed my uncle, Mr. President.

Not that you owe me anything, but let's put an end to this long-simmering family feud with, oh, I don't know, an hour-long face-to-face interview? Since, you know, I didn't make it to the White House last week.

As I said, I did have a few questions to ask you, but given the circumstances right now I have just one: What time do White House tours begin?

I suspect that's the best chance I have of getting there.

Cary Clack's column appears on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. To leave a message, call 210-250-3486 or e-mail cclack@express-news.net.