Jesus stickers, Piggly Wiggly hats and the Prez

I have lived in Georgia 94% of my life, so it would be difficult for  someone with that kind of tenured residency not to have crossed paths with Jimmy Carter.

He was Georgia grown, a common man who lived among us. He did not reside in an ivory peanut tower or fancy mansion. He was the kind of guy you might see at a fish fry. Or walking the dog. You could go to an Atlanta Braves game and there he was, wearing a baseball cap and eating a hot dog.

I’m grateful our paths crossed and our lives intersected a couple of times over the years. I had to smile about that as I reflected on the passing of the longest living president in U.S. history.

Our chance encounters were not what you might expect. I did not hop on a bus and attend one of the Sunday School classes he taught down in Plains. I never stood next to him wielding a hammer at a Habitat house.

It was much lighter fare. He probably never knew it. I have never forgotten it.

I met him for the first time when I was in high school. The youth group at my church took a tour of the governor’s mansion on West Paces Ferry Road in Atlanta. We were received at the door by Gov. Carter and his lovely wife, Rosalynn.

I was a teenager with a class-clown mentality, always trying to impress the young ladies with my wit and wisdom. The girls loved it when I made them laugh, and I had the silly idea to slap a sticker on the guv that day.

It was one of those “Jesus Christ: He’s the Real Thing” stickers that were popular at the time. It was red, with the same logo as the label on a bottle of Coca-Cola. 

I don’t know why I thought it would be funny to place it in my right palm and press it against his flesh when I shook his hand.

How was I to know that, in another two years, this man would be the leader of the free world?

He was gracious about it. He did not call me out. I guess he remembered 16-year-old boys have tiny brains.

Looking back on that experience, my lack of maturity bothered me. I always regretted it. It felt like a failed opportunity. I had missed the moment.

I guess I made up for it when I was old enough to vote. I cast my first Presidential ballot for him, much to the chagrin of my father, a staunch Midwest Republican who spent the next 30 years of his life never letting me forget how Carter “gave away the Panama Canal.’’

In college, I was a volunteer for the Carter/Mondale campaign on campus. Yes, I was part of the Peanut Brigade. I bought his brother’s book and a six-pack of Billy Beer, although my lips never touched the stuff. It was a collector’s item.

He had an interesting family, to say the least. His sister, Ruth, was a faith healer. And there were some fun times when I was a newspaper intern with The Columbus Enquirer. 

His mother, Miss Lillian, would ride up from Plains to the Municipal Auditorium in Columbus to watch the professional wrestling matches. (She was a huge fan of Mr. Wrestling No. 2).

In 2006, I released an audiobook “Gris & That.’’ It was a narration of newspaper columns I recorded in Joey Stuckey’s studio on Third Street. The Stuckey family has been lifelong friends with the Carters. 

Much to my surprise and delight, my audiobook was nominated for a Grammy in the “Spoken Word” category the following year. 

There were almost 2,000 other entries in that category, which included a wide range of genres –  everything from audio books to radio commentary, drama, comedy and speeches. 

When the crowded list was pared down to the final 103, I was still standing … just two names below Garrison Keillor on the second-round ballot. I was in the company of folks like Bob Newhart, Bill Maher, Tim Russert, Anderson Cooper, Amy Tan, Frank McCourt, Al Franken … and Jimmy Carter.

Carter won, of course, for his audiobook “Our Endangered Values: America’s Moral Crisis,” based on his New York Times best-seller. It was his first of three Grammy Awards (he also won in 2016 and 2019). He was nominated 10 times.

Looking back, it was an honor to be in the same company, to have my name on the same page as the 39th President. Later, when I would recall that story at speaking engagements, I would joke that I was still mad about it. President Carter had won the Nobel Peace Prize. 

Why did he need a Grammy? He probably just took it back to Plains and tucked it away in the closet. I, on the other hand, had reserved a special place on my mantel.

My all-time favorite Jimmy Carter story came in 2009 when I serendipitously stood face-to-face with him. I froze … even though it was a warm summer morning.

We were visiting my sister, who owned a house on Sea Island at the time. My wife loves to look for sea shells and, on our last morning there, she checked the tide charts and suggested we hit the sand about 6:30 a.m.

We didn’t pay much attention to our appearances. We dressed in the dark, throwing on whatever we could find from the piles of clothes.

 Everything I had on clashed. I emerged wearing a pair of wrinkled seer-sucker shorts and ugly black Crocs. I donned a “Life is Good” T-shirt, displaying a stick man with a stick dog and the words “Dog Days.’’  

The shirt was a hideous shade of apricot. I looked like I belonged in the produce section at the grocery store. So it was only fitting that I topped it off with an orange souvenir hat from the Piggly Wiggly in Apalachicola, Florida. (Made in China, of course.)

After about an hour on the beach, I left my wife on her own to look for her shells and started walking back to my sister’s house. I had not had my coffee, so I was getting grumpy.

As I approached the main road, an older couple rounded the corner, returning from their morning walk. Their clothes were clean and crisp. The man was dressed in a button-down shirt. The woman had on a nice blouse and sun hat.

They were flanked by two men, who were wearing headsets, dark glasses and were large enough to block out the sun. 

They looked like NFL defensive ends. They turned out to be Secret Service agents, protecting this pristeen couple from at-large terrorists and Sea Island Republicans. 

As they approached me, the man and his wife smiled and said, “Good morning!” It was then I recognized them as the former President and First Lady. 

“Good morning,’’ I stammered. I was somewhat embarrassed at my disheveled appearance. I’m sure those Secret Service agents were already running a background check on this fashion-challenged
beachcomber. 

I wanted to go hide under a sand dollar.

I greeted them, but in no way did I want to introduce myself. I did not request to take a selfie with the Prez. Or ask him why he gave away the Panama Canal. (For you, Dad.)

I tucked my tail, kept moving and made a hasty retreat to the house.

Maybe one day I will have a meet-and-greet with him at the Pearly Gates. He will break into that signature smile and remember me.

“Oh yeah, you’re the guy with the Piggly Wiggly hat,’’ he will say. “By the way, I still have that Jesus sticker.’”