And then the world stopped for a minute. Luci looked down and screamed. Her sister Lynda Bird who had run in the room behind her Daddy raised a hand to her mouth and giggled, then her eyes got real big all of a sudden.
The damn beagle jumped up and clawed the President right at the hips.
“Son of a bitch!” The President screamed. “Git the damn dog off’n me!”
He grabbed the dog by its ears and tossed it part way across the room.
“Now lookit this here!” he yelled, pulling his shirt out of his pants. He pointed to a fresh, red scar along the right side of his belly. We all stared in disbelief.
“Ah get half my damn intestines cut out by some damn quack doctor who couldn’t find my appendix if I woke up and pointed it out to him myself. An’ now I got to put up with this here Army loootenent trying to club my very own daughter to death in the basement of my very own White House with that damn big oversize dick.”
“I don’t know anymore what’s wrong with America. Ah’m gonna damn well not run for another term. Ah’m gonna go back to Texas and just get drunk and smoke cigarettes for whateve few years Ah’ve got left on earth!”
An’ you, young lady, you better prepare yerself to marry that Patrick Nugent boy next summer.”
“Now all y’all, get outta here afore I call the Secret Service to throw your ass out.”
Wow. It was like a bomb had gone off in the basement of the White House. The First Lady, wearing an apron, took LBJ by the arm and led him back upstairs for a nap. Lynda Bird rounded up the beagle. I reeled in my penis and prepared to leave before there was anymore trouble.
Luci grabbed my arm and told me she’d like to have my address before I left. I said that I didn’t have a pen, she didn’t either, but said “We’ll improvise.”
I don’t know much about Luci, but I do know that she must have a poor memory. We had to improvise several times before she could remember my address. Can’t say as I blame her, though, Military addresses are hard to remember because they have a lot of letters and numbers, not street name like regular addresses. She was s good improviser; that she was. I learned where the expression “writing on the wall” comes from.
She showed me out the back door of the White House on August 23, 1965. And she started a problem that took decades to repair.
TO BE CONTINUED
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