News that former President Jimmy Carter was briefly hospitalized after becoming dehydrated at a Habitat for Humanity project in western Canada didn’t surprise me. Just worried me, because the combination of “hospital” and “92-years-old” is always concerning. It didn’t surprise me because I’ve been at a HFH project with President Carter and know what he can be like on site: all business. Whatever the weather, whatever the unfinished task at hand. He’s an accomplished carpenter with a work ethic sometimes at odds with his own well being.
I can still recall seeing him–in the late ’90s when he was in his early 70s–at a Houston “Jimmy Carter Work Project” on a roof hammering away on some plywood, seemingly oblivious to the Habitat folks below trying to coax him down. It was sweltering. An August-in-Texas hot house.
“Mr. President, you’ve been up there a long time, would you like to take a break?” came the beseeching inquiry from those below. “We’ve got more Gatorade over in the shade.”
“Not now. I’m still busy.” It wasn’t dismissive, just direct.
I was there as an in-house writer and a media go-between. The combination of a former president, the press and Secret Service sorts required it. The agendas didn’t exactly overlap seamlessly.
That’s mainly because Carter could be a handful. Even when properly hydrated.
For him, this was serious work, not opportunistic PR optics for politicians who know that everybody loves HFH because everybody loves sweat equity and volunteerism.
He had to be reminded respectfully and pragmatically why it was necessary to set aside some time to stop doing the important work he was doing to sit and talk to some print and TV strangers. The resultant publicity, as only a former president can deliver it, was in Habitat’s best interest. It helped with volunteers, in-kind services and donated construction materials. It was a win-win-win scenario.
A couple of other vintage-Carter moments still resonate from the experience.
One was the president shuffling along in a middle-school cafeteria line, pushing a plastic tray and agreeing to extra gravy on his mashed potatoes and an extra lemon in his iced tea. There was no presidential protocol; he didn’t jump the line. He didn’t look like he was going native for the modest-means occasion. He looked like he was in his overalled element with nice folks doing good work for humanity.
Later, he partook in the dedication of a house that had just been finished. There’s a standard ceremony that includes a few words and a quoted bible verse from President Carter.
Everyone had gathered at the appointed time, but it was apparent who was missing: the president.
People looked at their watches and made Habitat small talk, until a voice–unmistakably familiar and rural-Georgia–emanated from inside the nearly finished house next door. “Now, move that a little to your left, no a little more, no not that much. OK, that’s perfect. Thank you.” It was the president who had just finished some cabinet work, and, before leaving, was noticing that a couple of workers were putting in some final-touch landscaping. He had to weigh in.
I thought to myself–without sharing–My God, he really is a micro-manager. Some things don’t change–regardless of context.
BTW, President Carter was back at the Canadian worksite the day after he was hospitalized. Two days later he was back in Plains, Georgia–teaching Sunday School.