Close Encounters
I live a couple of miles south of the major Boeing plant, in Everett. Sometimes I drive by, and occasionally I look at what's supposed to be the biggest something in the world. I’m not sure what to call it. It’s the place where they build planes. It’s inside. It’s the biggest inside place, or something. Like a hanger. Maybe it’s the biggest hanger in the world. Anyway, it’s big.
I don’t know because I don’t work for Boeing, although about every second or third person I know does. This is a company town, even though I don’t actually live in a town. I live in unincorporated Snohomish County, which confused my kids to no end when they were little. They would sometimes say, when they were younger, “I live nowhere.” Sometimes people would give them money.
I can tell you that Boeing makes a lot of planes for airlines. Most of the other ones are made by Airbus, which is a European company and The Enemy. The exception to this is Southwest Airlines; I think they make their own planes in somebody’s backyard.
Next to the Boeing plant is the Boeing Freeway, a little stretch of highway that gets very interesting when a shift lets out. And across from that is Payne Field, which serves as home to the National Guard and private planes and the Boeing big boys when it’s time to test.
I’m about a mile from the runway, so I see a lot of these test flights up close and personal. The wheels are down at my house, in other words. It doesn’t happen enough to be annoying; it’s actually kind of fun to see a 747 a hundred feet above your head (I’m guessing) unless you start thinking a lot about the word “test.”
There is a bigger airport called Boeing Field, but that’s in south Seattle, a little north of SeaTac International Airport. I don’t know why Boeing Field is 40 miles south of the big Boeing plant. Maybe it was to confuse the Russians.
At any rate, about 10 years ago I appreciated the proximity to Payne Field. I turned on the TV one afternoon to a local station, and there, live and in color, was President Clinton at the Boeing plant, talking and shaking hands. I don’t remember why he was in town, but he flew into and out of Payne Field, probably for security reasons (Russians). He thanked the workers for building Air Force One. Like they had a choice. Then he walked up the steps of the plane and did his presidential goodbye thing. Maybe there’s a sign just inside the door of Air Force One that says, “Stop. Turn and wave. This means YOU.”
I’m watching this whole scene, and even years before “West Wing” I was pretty sure the plane was going to take off right away. So it started to taxi and I walked out my front door and waited. Sure enough, a minute later Air Force One flew directly over my house, close enough for me to imagine I saw faces in the windows. So I waved.
I did, too. I waved.
HelloPresidentClintonThisisChuckIvotedforyoubecauseBushdidn’tknowwhatagroceryscannerwasandIgo
tothegrocerystorealotandhaveanicetripbackandmylawnmowerisbrokenwhichiswhymygrasslooks...
And then it was over. My brush with greatness. Or something.
I mention this because Bill Clinton is back in town today. He was over in Issaquah this morning, signing copies of his book at Costco. They sell a lot of books at Costco, it turns out. And really big boxes of Honey Nut Cheerios. I mean, gigantic boxes.
And tonight, at 8pm, he’ll be at the Elliott Bay Bookstore in Seattle, signing more books. I know this for a fact, because it’s getting close to 2pm and my wife is about to head for the Elliott Bay Bookstore with a friend.
I should also mention that they’re making a pastoral visit at a hospital to see somebody first.
But she’s going to stand in line for 4-5 hours to spend three seconds in close proximity to Bill Clinton and watch him sign his name on her book. Not that I have a problem with that.
Really. I don’t. She told me a week or so ago. I think it’s fine. Seeing a U.S. President in the flesh is an exciting thing, regardless of politics. And she’s a Presbyterian pastor, and has been married to me for 21 years, and she’s way beyond being charmed by...charm. I’m not worried she’ll swoon or something.
But I came upstairs and noticed that she was ironing a skirt. No big deal, of course, unless you consider that I was unaware we even owned an iron. And there was a shower, and makeup, and a blow dryer.
As I say, I’m not threatened by any of this, just commenting. I was as appalled as anyone at Bill Clinton’s internship behavior, but I did vote for him and generally I think he’s OK, a smart guy who presided over a pleasant time in our history. I think having his signature on a book in our house will be fun. I’ll read it someday, I’m sure.
But she was ironing.
So I suggested to her that she not make any sudden moves around the former president, lest she be wrestled to the ground by the Secret Service. I suggested that she not get her hopes up, that in a crowd of 3000 Clinton wouldn’t have the time to even glance at her. I suggested that she wear comfortable clothes, even if they weren’t particularly attractive.
And I suggested that, instead of the book, she offer for his autograph a really big box of Honey Nut Cheerios, but it’s not like she listens to me anyway.
1:58:25 PM 
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