PARTY POLITICS

George Bush 41 Taught Me How to Be a Real Party Animal

But COVID Times canceled a lot of that social energy

When I was a lowly Capitol Hill staffer, I didn’t get paid much. But I never went hungry.

D.C., after all, really knows how to party. And youngins like me gathered year-round by the gross — and then some — to snack at 5-foot shrimp towers, cash in our chips in gallon bowls of guacamole and sip favorite beverages at open bars featured at receptions throughout the Capital City.

All sorts of lobbyists, politicos, trade associations, social climbers, embassies, society matrons, law firms, the press and even the president and vice president of the United States made a point to entertain D.C. In fact, if you knew the right folks, you could hop, skip and jump between soirées all blessed night long.

The ubiquitous “holiday season” was the marquee moment for penultimate political partying. And not just December, my friends. Celebrations at venues around town often began in October, and carried on through April.

COVID Times have muted all of this munificence. But the traditional D.C. Holiday Party Circuit attempted a modest comeback this season. We won’t know how successful it was, however, til the spring crowd counts are in.

The White House, of course, is always dressed to kill in December. This year, I’m told, Uncle Joe and Dr. Jill held modest gatherings so folks could view the holiday finery, but nothing like the carrying on that took place in the ’80s and ’90s and even well into the 2000s, when the Leader of the Free World hosted up to five cocktail parties a day in December.

Presidents of every persuasion used to open the doors at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW to what seemed like the entire Capital City and beyond.

Not to brag, but I’ve been the guest of the Reagans twice; the Bush 41s more than I can count, at both the Vice President’s Residence and the White House; the Clintons — even during the pall of Bill’s impeachment in 1998 — and Moker and I once traipsed through the Executive Mansion at the behest of Bush 43 and his lovely bride, Laura.

And I can’t even tell you how many other formal gigs I gathered for during past D.C. Party Seasons. Beyond Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanza festivities on Embassy Row, in lobbyists’ lairs lining K Street and at the Washington Hilton and Sheraton — highly favored venues we visited multiple times each year — there were the storied state society parties.

Yes, each of our 50 states has a D.C. office to monitor legislation of interest back home. My favorite stomping grounds every four years, coinciding with the inauguration of the president, were the Texas State Society shindigs, which featured Tex-Mex and barbecue flown in special from favorite Lone Star State watering holes, an open bar, and Grammy-winning entertainment — I once met the former Dixie Chicks, now known as The Chicks, and had a decently lengthy convo about state politics with notorious lib and lead singer Natalie Maines.

The party, labeled “Black Tie & Boots”, was just that — an over-the top celebration of Everything Texas. And yes, we wore our Tony Lamas’ finest with our little black dresses and tuxedos.

I reckon I could make your proverbial hair curl with some of my tales of politicos who drank a little too much and spilled more than the tea at these fiestas, hosted by the likes of the Congressional Black Caucus, the American Petroleum Institute, the National Turkey Federation and the White House Correspondents’ Association, but I wouldn’t want to compromise my sources, such as they are.

I do have a couple of cute personal tales, though, which hale from past D.C. galas, if you’ll indulge me for a quick sec.

• The time I — all of 8 months preggers and looking like I was due any sec — waddled into the Vice President’s Residence, shook Bush 41’s hand, and was immediately directed by the Second in Command of the Free World to the Second Lady. Mrs. Bush — “Bar” as the Veep called her — set me up with a server in a splendid military dress uniform who made it his personal business to find me a comfy chair where I could put my feet up. He also kept the “mocktails” coming all night. And yes, the Bushes have always been my favorite First Family because of that small kindness.
• The frigid January when Moker, as a congressional reporter, had been trying to interview one Capitol Hill scoundrel or another. We’d just had a mammoth snowstorm, and were hanging out with friends who were also part of D.C.’s Chattering Class. We heard the classic sound of tires failing to gain traction in the frozen-solid street. Moker and Richard went outside to help push. Turns out it was a limo, come to fetch one of our neighbors for a mid-winter gala. The women were bejeweled and fur-clad; the men, tuxedoed, despite the precipitation and plummeting temps. And — you’ve probably already guessed — one of the men trying to push the slip-sliding luxury vehicle out of its frozen rut was the politico Moker wanted to speak with. He helped push, the party-goers were liberated, and my hubby got his interview the following week.
• One more quick story. I’m pretty sure it was the same winter Vice President Bush and Bar swept me off my feet. Moker had his tux hanging on the back of the bedroom door for most of January because of all the functions he was scheduled to attend. And I made sure that the snow shovel was out on our stoop every night when he got home around 10. We lived in the city and parked on the street, and the snow plow blocked us in whenever it went by. Let’s just say our little girl was born between snowstorms that winter, and I have a sweet snap of Moker in his party duds and stocking cap, shoveling us out so we could get to the hospital when Mother Nature called.

I think a lot this time of year about how overwhelmed we were our first few years in D.C., but also how much fun we had. And about the time a famous D.C. running back was so plotzed, as my Nana would say, that he put his arm around Supreme Court Justice Sandra Day O’Connor.

She looked at him and tried to pretend he wasn’t there.

“Loosen up, Sandy Baby. You’re too tight”, he said. Classic, right?

And that’s about all you need to know about D.C. and its finest, I guess.