I had an interesting conversation
with Dwight Eisenhower the other day. Yeah, that
Dwight Eisenhower. Ike. Thirty-fourth president of the U.S. of A. Retired.
He was sitting by himself at one of
the cafeteria tables in a forest campground friends and I had rented for a
get-together. It was a large room, and he sat ramrod straight, down the way past
large windows, some distance from the rest of our group. His back to the table,
he sat on its bench with his arms crossed, staring into the woods.
I went down and, brazenly perhaps,
sat on a bench facing him.
“Mr. President, what an honor! I
hope I’m not disturbing you.”
“Not at all, not at all.”
The familiar Kansas
