(Story of my 2014 visit with Carter is adapted from my 2024 book, "Look, Mom—I'm a Congressman!")
Jimmy Carter, America's 39th president (1977-1981), turns 100 years old today. He is the only president in American history to have reached this centennial milestone.
I met Carter a number of times over the last fifty years, beginning with his first White House bid and into his post-presidential years. To be candid, I wasn't very fond of him on a personal level. I found him prickly, somewhat moody, and, on occasion, borderline rude. In my 2014 book, And Then I Met, I reported some of these earlier encounters with him (including two visits to his hometown of Plains, Georgia in 1988 and 1990). These recollections were not particularly warm toward the man. I did soften toward him temporarily when he wrote me a brief note complimenting the job that I did during President Clinton's impeachment trial, but even that cordiality failed to offset my overall coolness toward him.
In 2014, Bobby Linzey, a former Georgia Democratic Party official and longtime pal of both Carter's and mine, called me not long after I had sent him a copy of my book that included those Carter stories. After sharing his divergent opinion of the former chief executive, he delivered an unexpected invitation: "Jimmy's ninetieth birthday is in October, which coincides with the Plains [Georgia] Peanut Festival. We're planning a birthday dinner for him. We want you to come to Plains and be the guest speaker."
I thought Bobby was joking. "You did read the chapters I wrote on him?"
"Yes, I read them. But that's okay. We view some things differently about him, but I know you'll be sensitive and will do a good job."
"Have you run this by Jimmy? I don't want to show up and have my presence ruin his birthday."
"He's fine with it, and he'd like to welcome you back to Plains."
"I sure hope you know what you're doing. In fact, I hope we both know what we're doing." When I hung up, I booked a flight to Georgia for late September.
• • •
As mentioned earlier, I first visited Plains in 1988, which was seven years after the Carters left Washington. When I returned twenty-four years later for Carter's ninety birthday party, little about the town had changed. With a population of about seven hundred living within less than a square mile, things like movie theaters, fast-food establishments, and department stores didn't exist there. The nearest ones were ten miles away in Americus. Main Street still had eight contiguous brick-and-wood buildings dating from the early twentieth century, each of which bore historical significance in Carter's early life. These structures once housed the Carter family's peanut office, farm business, and Jimmy's early legislative and campaign offices. In 1988, most of these buildings stood vacant, with only Hugh Carter's worm farm and his antique store (where Hugh personally hawked mementos of his famous first cousin to visiting tourists) in operation. With business in decline, Hugh closed his two shops in the mid-1990s. By 2014, souvenir merchants had taken over the buildings.
After checking into the Americus Quality Inn (also the location for the birthday banquet), I drove to Plains for the start of the Peanut Festival. During Carter's administration, up to ten thousand people visited Plains each day. In his post-presidential years, the town remained a tourist destination, but the once mighty flood of visitors trekking there in the old days had receded substantially. For this year's fiesta weekend, several hundred came to enjoy the carnival-like celebration. Fast food vendors (including some selling Gator-on-a-Stick—unimaginable snack fare to a native Californian), a jump house, pony rides, lemonade stands, a live band, and craft vendors lined the flag-bedecked streets.
I wandered over to the train depot and joined the small crowd watching as former President Carter passed out dozens of small trophies to the winners in each category of that morning's one mile and 5K foot races. Ignoring the slight drizzle, he smiled and posed for photos with every recipient; their ages ranged from grade school to elderly. Other than a slight stoop in his posture, and his hair and eyebrows now snow-white, he hadn't changed much since the 1980s. He dressed casually in black sneakers, blue jeans, dress shirt with sleeves rolled up, and a tooled leather belt with a large brass horseshoe buckle emblazoned with "JC". A handful of Secret Service agents, also dressed casually but wearing dark glasses and earpieces, kept their distance while studying the onlookers.
When the awards ceremony ended, Carter and his security detail departed in a van, but twenty minutes later he reappeared on Main Street with Mrs. Carter for the start of the parade. Appearing on the balcony of the Plains Inn and Antique Mall Store (formerly Hugh Carter's antique shop), the Carters acknowledged the applause and shouts of birthday wishes from the assembled crowd. Speaking into a microphone, he kicked off what he called "the biggest small-town parade in America" by sharing his secret for a long life: "Eat lots of peanuts!" Mrs. Carter, wearing a sweatshirt promoting her grandson's gubernatorial candidacy, also welcomed everyone to Plains, and then she signaled for the parade's start. A Planter's "Mr. Peanut" drum major waving a baton and leading a high school marching band led the procession, followed by a tractor carrying the town's Shriners, a motorized peanut bus, beauty pageant winners, and various local elected officials and political candidates.
When the parade ended, I skipped the remaining festivities and returned to my motel room to draft my banquet speech for that evening. Approaching this task left me nervous. I faced the challenge of preparing a favorable talk about a man whom I had just spanked in my newly published book. Also, since the organizers billed my presentation as a "roast," this included the added stress of making my speech entertaining. Finally, and not the least of my concerns, the thirty-ninth president of the United States and former First Lady would judge it while sitting a few feet away from me.
No pressure here.
When I sat down at the small desk in my motel room with pen in hand, I decided that success depended on making Jimmy Carter look good and making myself the butt of any jokes. Through this prism I began constructing my presentation.
• • •
The intervening hours flew. That evening I went to the banquet room fifteen minutes before the designated 6:00 p.m. start time. Some of the attendees already there asked me to autograph their dinner programs or copies of my books. I was still signing when Jimmy and Rosalynn Carter arrived. The crowd cheered as the couple waved and then took their seats at the head table, where I joined them. After we exchanged brief greetings, the emcee asked the three of us to lead the procession to the dinner service. Rather than tuxedoed waiters bringing us the food, and in keeping with Carter's preference, this banquet proved both humble and democratic in nature. All guest—including the former presidential couple—walked to the motel's coffee shop where we collected dishes, served ourselves from buffet-style carts, and then we carried our filled plates back to the banquet room.
Settling back with him at the head table, Carter and I talked at length during supper. In an unexpected surprise given my prior experience with him, I found myself warming up to the nonagenarian. He asked about my experience during President Bill Clinton's impeachment and trial. I told him that House Judiciary Committee Chairman Henry Hyde divided the main case between Arkansas Congressman Asa Hutchinson and me. I handled Clinton's perjury and Hutchinson covered the obstruction of justice charge. I mentioned that when I left Congress, my onetime impeachment nemesis who later became my friend, Clinton's White House Counsel Lanny Davis, had tried to recruit me to his law firm. Back then Lanny told me that he had attended a farewell party at the mansion during Clinton's last few nights in the White House. When they were alone, Lanny broke the news to his former boss of his recruitment effort. Instead of recoiling at the idea, Lanny said that Clinton grew wistful as he recalled that their team had defeated me for reelection in a very bloody House race. Despite this two-year onslaught against me, Clinton said that every time he encountered me during it, he found me very respectful and polite. Clinton told Lanny that he had concluded that I voted as I did because, as a former prosecutor and trial court judge, I felt that the evidence compelled me to do so. He said that there was no political advantage for me in impeaching him. Just the opposite—it had cost me my political career. After sharing this insight with Carter, I leaned in closer to him and lowered my voice so that Mrs. Carter wouldn't overhear the coda to the story: "Lanny also told me that Clinton said, 'Yeah, Rogan did what he did because he thought it was the right thing to do—not like those other two fuckers from Arkansas, Asa Hutchinson and Jay Dickey! Fuck those guys!'"[1] His born-again Christianity notwithstanding, Carter (an old Navy man) erupted in laughter upon hearing Clinton's salty expression of dismay toward two Arkansans whom he felt had betrayed their hometown boy.
Carter pointed to the vintage 1976 campaign button pinned to my lapel. "What's that badge you're wearing?" he asked.
"I wore this in honor of your birthday," I told him. The badge depicted Mrs. Carter and bore the legend, "Rosalynn for First Lady." I handed it to him, and he passed it to his wife.
"Oh, my!" she exclaimed. "I've seen Jimmy on many campaign buttons before, but I've never seen my face on one!"
"Mrs. Carter," I replied, "they made these buttons because the campaign knew it would help win votes for your husband." She handed it back, but I asked her to keep it. I had brought it to give to her. Thanking me, she told me that her son Chip was the collector in the family. "I can't wait to show it to him," she added.
I introduced Carter to my friend David Azbell, who once had served as press spokesman for former Alabama Governor George Wallace. Running four times for the presidency (1964 as a Democrat, 1968 as a third-party candidate, and 1972 and 1976 as a Democrat), Wallace had challenged Carter for their party's nomination in that final race. David's father, Joe Azbell, had managed Wallace's last two presidential campaigns. Carter told us that Wallace had called him after Carter beat him in the 1976 North Carolina primary: "Wallace told me that he was dropping out to endorse me. He pledged his delegates to me because he said he wanted to live to see a Southerner elected president."
I told Carter that I had always felt that Wallace's candidacy that year had given Carter's chances significant help: "Because nobody took your candidacy seriously in the beginning, and because Wallace's earlier populist appeal terrified the Democrat establishment, in many early primaries the anti-Wallace voters threw in with you as a way to 'stop Wallace' in the South and split his base. Of course, by the time you stopped Wallace, nobody could catch up to stop you." I told Carter that another of his rivals for the 1976 nomination, former Senator Birch Bayh (D-IN), had been my law partner before I returned to the bench, and that I had once chided Birch about his Meet the Press appearance on the eve of the critical 1976 Florida Democratic primary. During this interview, Birch (who was not on that state's ballot) asked all of his Florida supporters to vote for Jimmy Carter in their primary to help stop Wallace. Carter guffawed when I shared with him Birch's reply after I reminded him of his failed campaign strategy: "That was the absolute dumbest thing I ever said in my entire political life!"
Over dessert, Carter reminisced about the national campaign that preceded his first presidential run, which was the battle for the 1972 Democratic presidential nomination won by Senator George McGovern (D-SD). He shared this recollection of McGovern's doomed race that year: "Most of us Democratic governors that year didn't support McGovern for president in the primaries, but we all wanted to be his vice-presidential running mate at the convention. I was hoping he'd pick me, even though I supported Scoop Jackson[2] over him, and I had placed Scoop's name in nomination. Given how McGovern's campaign ended up in a landslide defeat, it was probably a good thing he didn't choose me!"
I replied that if McGovern had selected him as his running mate, it wouldn't have hurt Carter's later prospects: "McGovern's disastrous convention was run so poorly that the presidential and vice-presidential nominees didn't deliver their acceptance speeches until around three in the morning. Had he picked you, it wouldn't have hurt you in the long run, because nobody would have been awake to know that you were on the ticket with him!"
I told him about the day I had spent campaigning with his former rival for the White House, Gerald Ford (see the previous chapter, "Cold Shoulder"), and how, when I asked him whether press reports of a close bond between him and Carter were exaggerated, Ford quickly disabused me of that suggestion. "As he talked about you," I told Carter, "he spoke with a personal affection in a very heartfelt and moving way. I came away from our discussion believing he viewed you not only as a friend but as a brother."
Carter nodded. "That feeling is reciprocated," he replied. "We did have a pretty bitter race in 1976. After I won, and during the transition, Jerry was very helpful to me, and he did all he could to make it as smooth as possible. I think the ice really began to thaw when I opened my inaugural address [in 1977] by paying tribute to him. That started it."
"Later that year," Carter continued, "President Reagan asked Richard Nixon, Jerry, and me to represent the United States at Egyptian President Anwar Sadat's funeral.[3] On our way to Egypt aboard Air Force One, the three of us got a chance to talk. When Nixon retired to his cabin, Jerry and I sat up all night talking. That started our friendship. Over the years since, whenever we asked Jerry to do a program at the Carter Center, he always came to help. We became very close personal friends, and we were like brothers. In fact, Rosalynn and Betty [Mrs. Gerald Ford] became very close friends, too. So yes, we're very close to the Fords."
When Carter finished his tribute to Ford, he flashed a broad smile and added. "I'll tell you another story from that race against Ford that I'll bet you've never heard. After I won, and during the transition, a member of Ford's team came to Plains and pleaded with me to allow him to remain in his position as head of the CIA during my upcoming term. I met with him and listened to his plea, but then I turned him down and replaced him. His name was—" Here Carter paused and stretched out the punchline to heighten the impact of the answer:
"—George Bush!"
After we shared a laugh over that irony, I replied, "That's strange. I don't remember hearing Bush brag about that in 1980 when he ran against Reagan in the Republican primaries!"
Still laughing, Carter replied, "No, I don't think he did!"
Carter asked if I had a favorite for the 2016 Republican presidential nomination. I didn't. As a sitting judge, the canons of ethics precluded me from engaging in partisan activities. He speculated that defeated 2012 GOP nominee Mitt Romney would run again, and then he told me that he credited his own grandson, James Earl Carter IV, for derailing Romney's previous White House bid. "James wanted to help President Obama's reelection campaign," he explained, "and so he started scouring the Internet for Romney quotes and speeches. He uncovered the video with Romney's '47 percent' quote. That's what killed Romney." The video that Carter IV unearthed came from a Romney campaign reception where the presidential candidate told a group of his major donors assembled at a Florida mansion, "There are 47 percent of the people who will vote for [Obama] no matter what… who are dependent upon government, who believe that they are victims…. These are people who pay no income tax…. And so, my job is not to worry about those people. I'll never convince them that they should take personal responsibility and care for their lives. What I have to do is convince the 5 to 10 percent in the center that are independents." Carter's grandson turned over the video to a magazine, and the ensuing press coverage brutalized Romney as someone indifferent to the needs of 47 percent of Americans. Romney spent the rest of his losing campaign trying to assure voters that he really did care about all Americans, but that self-inflicted wound never healed.
"I think Obama owes his reelection to my grandson James," Carter told me. "The video proved to be pivotal in the campaign. That '47 percent' quote stuck to Romney for the rest of the race, and he couldn't shake it off no matter how much he tried to explain it away or apologize for it. It was a turning point."
• • •
The emcee interrupted our conversation when he started the program. After welcoming remarks and head table introductions, I stepped to the lectern to begin my speech. Feeling more relaxed and less nervous after the very pleasant time I had just spent with Carter before and during dinner, I took a chance and opened with a story about Ronald Reagan, the man who defeated Carter's reelection bid in 1980. When it drew a big laugh, even from Carter, by telling a story centered on the man who defeated him for reelection, I knew I was almost home free.
All of my pre-speech nerves proved unwarranted. Throughout my talk, the banquet's guests of honor, along with the audience, laughed and applauded. When I returned to my seat, Jimmy was still laughing as he patted me on my back and thanked me.
After the dinner wrapped up, and as I said goodnight to the Carters, he gripped my hand. "You'll be at church tomorrow morning for my Sunday school class, right?"
"I'll be there—but only if you don't call on me."
"Well," he grinned, "if I do call on you, I'll be kind—just as kind to you as you were to me tonight!"
"Mr. President, now I'm scared."
• • •
If, in 2014, Plains had remained essentially unchanged in the twenty-six years since I had visited, one significant difference became apparent. Carter's Sunday school classes that I had attended back then were informal to the point of mild chaos. From the moment Jimmy arrived until he concluded his class, flashbulbs fired, people in pews stood up and moved around while taking pictures, others changed seats constantly to get a different view, and the rude or ignorant chatted among themselves while disregarding his efforts to present the Gospel. After the service, when the Carters stood outside posing for photos with visitors, people jostled their way into the line. Once reaching the former first couple, they pawed at them for autographs (after he had made clear his "no autographs at church" policy). They shoved at him news articles or manifestos that they felt he needed to read. They held up the line by monopolizing their moment with babbled commentaries, or they did all of the above.
When I settled into my pew this Sunday morning for the return engagement, I learned that a new sheriff had arrived to bring order to the Wild West.
Her name was Jan Williams.
I first took notice of her as we waited outside the church for the Secret Service metal detector inspection. She stood next to an agent and joined him in studying the faces of the visitors in line. Someone behind me asked her if she was a Secret Service agent. "No," she replied. "They won't let me carry a gun. I'm far too dangerous."
"Then who are you?"
"I'm the person in charge."
Indeed, she was.
Before Carter's class began, "Miss Jan" (as everyone called her) stepped to the front of the sanctuary, smiled, and welcomed everyone to Plains. "Uh oh," I overheard one Carter class repeater whisper to another. "Here it comes."
Her companion replied, "Yeah. Miss Jan. She frightens me."
For the next twenty minutes, Miss Jan offered a charming mix of Southern hospitality, patient and loving teacher, and no-nonsense drill instructor outlining a strict list of dos and don'ts. As long as everyone followed her rules, she promised a cherished memory from attending President Carter's class. I also absorbed the impression that, if required, she would steeplechase the pews and eject rulebreakers by the seat of their britches.
Among Miss Jan's firm rules:
--No applause when President Carter arrives and leaves. "He doesn't like that. He wants your focus to be on the Lord and the message."
--Photographs are allowed while President Carter greets the congregation and asks from where everyone hails. "But once he starts the class with a prayer, every camera is to be down and in your lap. Do not raise it to take pictures during his lesson. If you do, I'll have the Secret Service confiscate it."
--No talking during class.
--No unnecessary moving around the sanctuary.
--No autograph requests at any time while at church.
--At the end of services, President and Mrs. Carter will pose for pictures with visitors. The line will form outside and in an orderly fashion. When you meet President Carter, do no try to shake his hand or touch him in any way. "He's turning ninety in two days," she warned. "We don't want President Carter to get sick from your germs. Hand-to-hand contact is how germs get passed along. We'll use your camera to take a picture of you with the Carters. Then you will collect your camera and move out of line. Do not delay the line with chatter or try to hand anything to the Carters."
--If the line is long, stay in line if you want a picture. If you leave the line prematurely, you'll not be permitted to rejoin it.
By the time Miss Jan ended her presentation, she had frightened me, too.
Wearing a business suit, an open-neck shirt, and a bolo tie with a turquoise clasp, Carter entered the sanctuary as Miss Jan finished leading us in prayer. I noticed a few people raised their hands to clap instinctively, but Miss Jan's stony gaze suppressed that impulse. Carter greeted everyone, asked the tourists to tell from where they came, and he invited a visiting pastor to lead the class in prayer.
Then came an unexpected development.
"Is Jim Rogan here this morning?" he asked. Caught by surprise, I looked up from my church bulletin as several people pointed to where I sat. I tossed him a salute and nodded. Carter smiled at me, and then he continued with this introduction:
"Well, Jim Rogan is a very distinguished person. He's a former congressman from California. He's a judge now, but when he was in Congress he was involved in the impeachment of Bill Clinton, and he wrote a book about it. He told us last night at our dinner that he attended my Sunday school class here twenty-six years ago, and that I had asked him a question during class that he couldn't answer." The audience laughed while watching my fidgety reaction. I wasn't sure where this was going, but I suspected that Jimmy was about to even the score for my roasting him last night. My instincts proved correct:
"Because Jim couldn't answer my question back then," he continued, "he's spent the last twenty-six years studying the Bible, and he became a very distinguished Bible scholar—he says!" Once again, the sanctuary filled with laughter. He waited for it to subside before he pulled the snapper. Saying that he had planned to teach this morning about Hezekiah, he added, "Since Jim's learned so much about the Bible, I want to ask him this morning to come up here and give us the historical context in which Hezekiah lived, and then we'll have him teach us all about Hezekiah's life."
For a moment, fellow guests in the sanctuary thought this a serious invitation. They smiled and nodded approvingly at me—until I pulled out my white handkerchief, raised it over my head, and waved it to indicate my surrender. With the audience now in on his joke, and suppressing his own laugh, Jimmy continued, "Well, as you can see, Jim's a very modest person. He doesn't want to show off his expert knowledge. So, I'll take over that job, Jim, with your permission. But you be sure and correct me if I'm wrong in my presentation."
Jimmy Carter had fun turning the tables on his roaster. I assure the reader that nobody appreciated it more, nor felt more honored by the joke, than its victim.
• • •
For the next fifty minutes, Carter taught from the book of Hezekiah. Amazingly, and with only hours separating him from his ninetieth birthday, he did so without notes. His message was profound and his delivery flawless. He amazed everyone with both biblical knowledge, depth, and ability.
"The lesson that I'd like us to take away," he said in conclusion, "is to live our lives in a way that's more pleasing to God. This reassures us that when difficulties come, we can face them with courage and equanimity. We have a partner available to us who knows everything. We can form an alliance with God to have a full-time partnership."
When the class concluded, and after a brief break, Jimmy joined Rosalynn in her pew for the regular church service. When it finished, the Carters left the sanctuary and positioned themselves outside on the lawn for the photo line while Miss Jan stood guard nearby. Under her supervision, nobody dared violate any rules, especially the no-handshake directive.
When my turn came, Jimmy beamed. "Okay, Mr. President," I said as I approached. "You got me!" He stuck out his hand to me. I started reaching reflexively, and then I pulled back sharply. "Are you kidding?" I said to him. "Do you want Miss Jan to slap me?"
"This is our one exception," Miss Jan called from the sideline.
As Jimmy and I shook hands, I told him how much I enjoyed his class and my return visit to Plains. "But I have a question for you," I added:
"Are we even now?"
Beaming that infectious and famous smile, the former president replied, "Well, just about!"
• • •
Two days later, on Jimmy's official ninetieth birthday, I wrote and told him how much I enjoyed having the honor of sharing with him and Rosalynn his celebration weekend in Plains. Per his request during our dinner, I sent him copies of my three books that had been published at the time: Rough Edges, Catching Our Flag, and And Then I Met.
A week later, he replied in his trademark fashion: a brief handwritten note in the upper margin of my letter to him. That was how he had replied to my very first letter to him over forty years earlier when he was Georgia's former governor, and I was a high school student. On my latest letter he wrote, "Jim, Thanks for your memorable visit and for the books. Come back and see us soon. Jimmy Carter."
Despite this invitation to return, Jimmy Carter's ninetieth birthday party celebration in 2014 marked my last visit to Plains. It was just as well. I never could have improved upon the very fond memories of America's thirty-ninth president that I brought home from that trip.
And so, a decade after our last visit in Plains, I join all of President Carter's friends and admirers in wishing our 39th president a very happy 100th birthday, and may God continue to bless him and his family.
[1] President Clinton, a former Arkansas governor, expressed his simmering ire over two homegrown representatives, Arkansas Republican Congressmen Asa Hutchinson and Jay Dickey, each of whom voted for impeachment. As governor, Clinton had once appointed Dickey as a special justice of the Arkansas Supreme Court. Hutchinson, himself a future Arkansas governor, also served with me as one of the lead prosecutors in Clinton's Senate trial.
[2] U.S. Senator Henry M. "Scoop" Jackson of Washington (1912–1983) ran unsuccessfully for the 1972 Democratic presidential nomination. Four years later, he ran again and lost the nomination race to Carter.
[3] Anwar el-Sadat (1918–1981) served as Egypt's third president. In 1978, Carter hosted Sadat and Israeli Prime Minister Menachem Begin at a Camp David meeting that resulted in a peace treaty between Egypt and Israel, and for which Sadat and Begin later shared the Nobel Peace Prize. In 1981, Islamic fundamentalists assassinated Sadat for making peace with the Jewish state.
• • •