Sunday
Off from the Watergate to Liberty
University in Lynchburg, Virginia, to do some speaking.
Bob Noah at the wheel, Alex and I in the back seat as usual. I
was asleep before we got out of the driveway. I awakened as we
approached the Super Target in Bristow, Virginia. We eagerly went
over to the door and walked into the emporium and then,
disappointment: the deli counter there that had stocked the most
delicious fried chicken made on the premises was totally
rearranged. All they had was packaged chicken made somewhere else.
It was dry and tasteless. Big, big disappointment .
Then we tried The Red Robin, from whose grille I had enjoyed a
perfect cheeseburger in Studio City a few days ago. The food was
decent but the other guests were great. There were about a dozen
adorable girls from Autumn’s Gate Riding Academy. They giggled and
posed for pictures. Just adorable in their jodhpurs and boots.
Polite, Pleasant. Just adorable. One named Jenna or Janet was
particularly charmante.
Then, back into the car and to sleep until Lynchburg. We checked
into our surprisingly pleasant Hilton Garden Inn and watched the
first half hour of Casino Royale, the stupendously great
James Bond film of a few years ago. It features a chase scene in
some African country on a job site that is probably the best movie
scene of all time. Heart stopping. A work of incredible genius. As
good as any movie gets. If you have not seen it, you are way, way
behind the curve.
Then, a futile attempt to sleep. I slept too much in the car, I
guess. Plus, I am keyed up as heck because the election is in a day
and a half and I still think Romney threw it away by wimping out in
Debate 3 when he had Obama in his sights. Makes me crazy that he
screwed that up. Still, maybe he can win and I hope he does. But I
am worried.
Then I looked out my window and saw a huge sign for Liberty and
felt great. Just great. So, off to sleep I went. I feel safe at and
around Liberty University.
Monday
Up very early, way too early to
speak to Convo at Liberty. Ten thousand students in a beautiful
basketball arena. I met up with Jerry and Becki Falwell in the
green room. Jerry looked his usual handsome self only more so
because he’s been on a diet. Becki always looks like a beautiful
teenager.
I gave one of my best speeches ever, about abortion mostly. Red
meat, as we say. “The war against women?” I asked. “How about
200,000 sex selection murders a year by abortion against little
girls? How about the endless degradation of women in pornography?
How about knocking up women and leaving them alone, making them
raise kids on their own, robbing them of their youth and spirit?
How many women are killed by abortion, pornography, abandonment?
And you dare call trying to protect little baby girls from being
killed ‘the war on women’?”
The crowd was extremely enthusiastic.
I signed autographs and posed for pictures for a long time, then
went over to Lynchburg airport for a rally for Governor Romney. It
was packed but poorly organized, as Bob Noah pointed out. No bands.
No balloons. We waited for a good half an hour while Mr. Romney
waited in his plane. Then he came out, gave a speech, greeted
hundreds of people, then came over to greet Jerry and Becki and me.
The Falwells know him well because Jerry heads Liberty and Liberty
has had Mr. Romney speak there just recently. They probably know
him for other reasons, too.
When Governor Romney saw me he said, “Ben Stein. Great White
House speech writer. Great writer. Great shoes. Ready to run.”
These were, word for word, what he said to me when we met at the
Family Values confab four years ago.
“Good luck, Governor,” I said. “God bless you.”
With a look of great sincerity on his handsome face, he grasped
my hand tightly and said, “Thank you.” I was touched by his gaze
and his warmth.
“Why does anyone want this horrible life of politics?” was the
thought that crossed my mind. Why, when he has a family he loves
and his faith? What does he need this agony for? This man has a
certain sweetness about him. Why allow himself to be trashed, a
billion dollars worth, by the other side? Why? Why not just stay at
home in bed with his dog?
After Mr. Romney got back in his plane, I shook hands with about
500 people, took pictures, and signed people’s arms. That was fun
but I would rather be with Julie Good Girl in bed.
On the way home, we visited Jerry and Becki’s perfect farmhouse
high in the Blue Ridge. Becki showed us around. She is really a
peach of a beautiful woman. The views over a lake and meadows were
spectacular at the Falwell home, but I will take my far smaller
home with my JGG.
On the way home, we stopped at a Sheetz truck stop on Route 81,
a hellish highway. A bunch of truck drivers wanted autographs. I
asked them what they were up to tonight. “Beating up Yankees,” said
one of them cheerily.
In Gainesville, we stopped for dinner at Chick-Fil-A. A
staggeringly pretty young girl named Kimberly was taking out the
trash. She was an angel with trash in plastic bags and pale blue
eyes and long blond hair and a tiny, almost invisible cut on her
lips that made her even more bewitching. She told me she wanted to
be a civil engineer.
That politics stuff. That’s nonsense. Kimberly. She’s real. My
wife, she’s God’s angel in my life, at 65, more beautiful than when
I met her two weeks after her 19th birthday. Crushes. As Wlady
said, that’s the only reality.
As I made tea back at the Watergate, I thought, “It really
doesn’t matter who wins. I’m still getting old very fast. Neither
candidate can stop that.”
But I am haunted by the look in Mitt Romney’s eyes. Pained,
perceptive yet full of hope, and even, I will dare say it, filled
with a love of a highly flawed humanity. I like him. He is a credit
to his race: the human race.
