Lion's Lair - 25. Overwhelming Emotion

After finding the missing page of the preliminary itinerary, Maria forwarded the new “improved” version to both Ryan and me. Making the travel changes required was easy enough, since I had a couple of weeks to do it.

With the new plan, we’ll arrive Wednesday, the 8^th, get checked in at the hotel, have a relaxing evening. The luncheon on Thursday will start at 11:00am at the White House, with the awards ceremony following immediately at 1pm. That ceremony will last about an hour, then following a short break, Ryan will start the interviews with the media. That will continue until 6pm when we’re on our own for the remainder of the evening. If need be, interviews restart the next morning at 9am and continue until done. After that, the rest of the weekend is ours until we return on Sunday night.

I must admit, although the first few days after the press release went out were nuts, it’s calmed down considerably since then. We still get a few looks and friendly comments when we’ve gone out, but quite frankly, we’ve not gone out that much, other than doing Karaoke at The Bar this week and the drag show on Saturday night. We’ve pretty much stayed in, saving our energies for the Washington’s events. Now, with our flight out tomorrow morning, this will be ending a chapter in our lives and starting a new one.

*   *   *   *   *

The morning of our departure, I pulled up and parked next to one of the hangers at the local airport. All of our group was there, Joe and Rex in one of their minivans (they look just alike, except one has a moonroof, one doesn’t; I don’t remember who has which one), and Barry and Dave with their luggage on the back seat of Dave’s pickup.

“We’re ready for this adventure … so where’s our ride?” Barry’s bouncing from one foot to another, eager to get this trip started.

The low rumble of a jet in the distance distracts for a moment; it’s on final approach to the airport. “Give it 5 minutes, Barry, and we’ll be heading out. It’s only 9:35am, we’re a little ahead of schedule.”

Barry looks at Dave and shrugs his shoulders. He’s pulling one of their bags out of the truck and about to say something when a gleaming white jet with red and black stripes pulls up behind the building.

“Gentlemen, I think our ride is here. If you’ll grab your luggage, ….”

I lead the way carrying a couple of our bags, Ryan beside me, an overnight duffle bag in his lap. Joe, Rex, Dave, and Barry are close behind. We round the corner of the building, and their jaws all drop as they see the sleek big jet, built-in stair descending to lightly touch the tarmac. A trim flight attendant bounds down the stairs, followed by two pilots. “Mr. Jameson, it’s good to see you again! I enjoyed our chat on the last trip, and I’m looking forward to another pleasant trip to Washington today.”

“Tom, it’s good to see you again, too. How’s school going?” Before the young man can respond I hear the conversation behind me.

“He owns a fuckin’ airline?” Joe’s whispered question to Rex behind me is filled with both surprise at the size of the plane as well as awe at it’s size and beauty.

“Shuzzz,” Rex admonishes, but smiling as he does so—you can hear that in his voice, too. He’s every bit as curious about this whole setup as anyone.

“Mr. Jameson, good to see you again. I’ll be your pilot on this trip, and we’ll be off as soon as we get your luggage loaded and make a minor change to our flight plan—there are some major storms near Atlanta, so we’re going to divert north for a better flight for you. We should be departing within 10 minutes or so.” The pilot turns to our group. “Gentlemen, if you’ll leave your luggage here, we’ll get it loaded onboard shortly. If you’d like to board the plane now, please feel free to do so.” Turning to look at Ryan, he says, “We’ll have your loading platform available momentarily, so please bear with us.” Ryan just nods agreement and smiles.

Our flight crew goes in three directions. The pilot heads toward an adjacent building, labeled “flight operations” over one door. The co-pilot heads into an open hanger adjacent to the building we’re beside, going into the back. Tom smiles, says, “I’ll be back in a minute,” and heads into the guts of the building immediately behind us.

“Guys, let’s get on board.” Dave is leading the way, everyone quickly scrambling up the jet stair. I’m waiting with Ryan. They disappear inside quickly, although Barry stops and notices the “Gulfstream 650ER” logo painted by the door.

“Tom uses his earnings to pay for his schooling. He’d taken off after high school for a few years to help his ailing dad run their farm. After his dad died, he picked back up on his classes, deciding to pursue a mechanical engineering degree. We talked about it on one of the flights to a board meeting last January. He’s a good guy.” Ryan smiles as I fill him in, saying he figured there was a back story there. Ryan’s not jealous, just curious.

Tom arrives holding a large bright red package, just as we hear the sounds of a small diesel tractor engine coming from the adjacent building—and our co-pilot emerges driving what appears to be a forklift with a railing-surrounded platform in front.

“I got your coffee. I remembered it was your favorite, called the plant this morning, and had it delivered—so you’ll have fresh coffee on the flight up and back.” Tom holds the large red bag of Community Coffee, a local New Orleans brand, this package in their signature house blend flavor. It is breathtakingly good coffee; smooth, rich, and full of complex flavors. I’m truly impressed Tom remembered it from a casual conversation eight months ago.

Tom turns and leans down to talk with Ryan as the noise from the forklift gets louder as the co-pilot gets closer. “Hi, I’m Tom,” as he shakes Ryan’s hand, “and if you’ll follow me, we’ll get you onboard.” The co-pilot pulls up adjacent to the stair as Tom uses the stairs to board the plane. A moment later, Tom retracts the stair into the plane, and the co-pilot pulls the forklift platform beneath the open door, hits a switch, and a giant scissor-jack lifts the platform level with the door. Tom opens part of the railing, steps onboard, closes the railing, motions to the copilot, and is quickly lowered to the ground.

Tom quickly opens the front-edge railing, motions Ryan and me onto the platform with him, and the process is reversed. We’re now level with the plane’s door; Tom opens the side railing; Ryan rolls on board, with me following, and Tom going back to ground level.

Moments later, Tom comes through the cabin from the back of the plane, and whispers in my ear, “We’ve gotten the luggage onboard, and we’ll be departing in five minutes.” He heads to the front of the cabin, drops the plane’s stairs, and the co-pilot comes onboard and heads directly to the cockpit as Tom closes the door. It’s been a remarkably efficient process, and, again, I’m impressed with the professionalism of this crew.

“Everyone comfortable? We’ll be taking off in a couple of minutes, so please buckle up now. I’ve got the TV on CNN, but if there’s another channel you’d like to see, or perhaps a movie, the menu options are in the storage bin there. We’ll have our food and beverage service shortly, as soon as we reach a more level flight after takeoff. Gentlemen, I’m Tom, I’m here to help, so please relax and enjoy your trip.”

Joe, Rex, Dave, and Barry are seated in the four leather overstuffed club chairs surrounding a cherry worktable with an inlaid mother of pearl border. The big-screen TV inset in the cherry bulkhead separating galley from the passenger area displays CNN’s crawler headlines, but it stands out in a cabin furnished with ultra-high quality materials and finishes in a minimalistic style reminiscent of Japanese tea houses. Scratch that—more like the Japanese Imperial Palace.

Ryan and I are on the sofa running lengthwise against the cabin, opposite the table with everyone else. There’s an almost imperceptible bump as the plane stops, and the slight leaning sensation as it turns. A sudden pressure toward the back of the plane, a whispered “whoosh”—also from somewhere behind the plane--and the view of the landscape racing past the windows are the only indications the plane has just launched itself toward the next phase of the adventure.

“Ok, Clayton, spill it all. What’s the story with this plane? Is this your plane? How often do you fly? I’ve been on private planes, including private jets, but this is something else. A top-of-the-line Gulfstream? A whole ‘nother class of travel from even those other biz-jets I’ve been on. So ….“ Barry’s questions are all in a rush, and they’re all looking at me.

“Ok, guys, here’s the story. My grandparents had a business, we did very well with it. We sold it a few years ago, I maintained a substantial stock ownership, and now serve on the business’ board of directors. One of the perks of board membership is occasional use of corporate assets, and that includes use of one of the company’s planes. I’ve only used this one to fly to board meetings and corporate functions in the last few years, but this event is worth it, so I requested—and got—the use of the plane for us.”

“Where are your board meetings?” Rex is curious, but don’t have an idea where he’s going with the question.

“Tokyo. This plane is perfect for long haul trips like that, since it can fly from here to there non-stop. With great food, the chairs and sofa fold into bed, a shower in the bathroom in back, well, it’s the perfect tool for that trip. Plus with wi-fi, internet connection, phone, and fax it’s a great working environment.”

“And how often do you travel there?”

“There’s at least one annual meeting, and generally a called meeting at some point during the year to deal with odds and ends. And I’ve done a couple or three special trips elsewhere to consult when the company is doing production expansion, or mergers, and there’s questions about engineering-related things. Like a trip to Sidney a couple of years ago, or a trip to one of the suburbs of Calcutta; and yeah, there was a trip to Moscow last year ….. Thankfully, this plane can make most of those trips non-stop.”

“So you’re really a globe-traveling secret agent, leading a secret life.” Rex is laughing as he says it, his gentle kidding causing all the group to chuckle. “So why reveal all of this now? We’re still your friends, regardless of what kind of secret agent you are.”

“Well, I kept it secret …. I guess because years ago I ended up surrounded by people who weren’t my friends, but who were interested in using my connections or my money or whatever for their own benefit; who I was didn’t matter. It’s only been recently that someone showed me I could exercise a little courage and trust my judgment about who my friends really are—and the bottom line here is that I’ve realized I can trust you bastards to like me for me, and not the other stuff.” As I say the last line, Ryan reaches across the sofa, grabs my hand, and squeezes it. He knows what a big deal this is for me, being this open.

There’s silence for a moment, then laughter breaks out among the group in a happy acknowledgement that we do have that level of trust among us. Tom appears to take drink orders; a mix of Bloody Mary’s, Mimosas, and fresh coffee are ordered as Tom lets us know brunch will be served momentarily. When Tom returns with the drinks, Dave leads a toast to the group with the lines, “Someone once said we all live three lives: the public life, the private life, and the secret life that we think no one knows. Here’s to the private and secret lives of good friends.”

Tom serves brunch, and apparently my selection of eggs Benedict, stir-fried asparagus with a butter/dill sauce, cubed baked potatoes with a crunchy three-cheese topping, and fresh fruit for salad (or dessert) was met with approval by all. The conversation got very quiet as the china was cleaned by our hungry group down to the company’s logo in the center of the plates. The china and heavy flatware are soon cleared away and drinks are refreshed.

Our landing at Reagan was a non-event; smooth, quiet. Because of the ground crew there, Ryan and I exited first, using the same type scissor-jack platform we used to board. After we’re down, the platform moves to the back of the plane to unload the luggage, while Tom lowers the jet stair, and our group disembarks to waiting Cadillac Escalades. They’re quickly loaded with luggage; Ryan and I in one, with his bulky wheelchair in back. We’re whisked to the hotel in minutes.

Once Ryan is comfortably seated in his wheelchair, I go in, check-in for our group, grab the rooms’ keycards, and the bellmen take us up to our rooms and get luggage placed. The hotel is every bit as impressively comfortable with its thick carpets and fresh-cut flowers as I remember, and the staff isn’t just professional and efficient, they’re taking care of us as though we’re long-lost friends.

“Ryan, c’mere.” I’m calling him into the bedroom from the living room of our suite. “You’ll be there tomorrow.” I point out the window.

The White House is beautifully framed by the drapes and window frame, with the mall and the Washington Monument behind it in the distance. It’s a breathtaking view.

Ryan reaches up and grabs my hand, pulls it to his shoulder. “It’s gorgeous.” A few seconds later, in a quiet voice, “I’m scared, Clayton. I’m no big hero—hell, I don’t even clearly remember doing any of this shit. I’ve no business being here with all these bigwigs. What if I screw up in public? What if I make an ass out of myself? What if I do something that dishonors the history of the Medal and its previous honorees? What if I ….”

I drop to my knees beside his chair, and take his other hand in mine, so I’m holding both his hands as I look into his eyes. “Ryan, you’re going to do fine. You’re a good man, and they’re honoring the basic character you have. Whether or not you clearly remember what you did doesn’t matter—what matters is that you acted on both instinct and training and you saved the lives of your team. Hear me on this: your basic character is what they honor here—and it’s character that’s recognized as being above and beyond the norm. You’ll do fine. Just know that I’m proud of you, and I love you more than I can say. And that’s not based on a medal. So relax, ok?”

I lean in and kiss Ryan. After we break the kiss, Ryan draws a few deep breaths and looks at me with a shy smile. “This is really gonna be ok, isn’t it?”

“Yes. So just enjoy yourself here, ok?” A quick smile, another kiss, and Ryan is back to his comfortable self.

We’d all decided on relaxing on our own time that afternoon; Ryan and I napped. I found out later the other guys did exactly the same thing. We all headed out for happy hour drinks at one of the gay bars on DuPont Circle, but made an early evening of it by doing dinner at the hotel. Tomorrow is going to be a busy, intense day

We met Maria Schmitt face to face the next morning prior to the luncheon. A short bundle of energy with a winning smile and casual yet professional attitude, she was absolutely charming as she filled Ryan in on the day’s schedule, including the slam of interviews immediately after the awards ceremony. She asked for—and got—a picture with first Ryan, then Ryan and me, and won an embarrassed look from him when she asked Ryan for an autograph, since her 8-year-old son had decided Ryan was his hero.

The President’s luncheon was every bit as intense, interesting, and awe-inspiring as you might expect. Ryan was seated next to the President on the dais, with me on Ryan’s left, the President on his right, with the First Lady on the President’s right. The head of the Joint Chiefs of Staff was to the First Lady’s right; the Secretary of the Navy was immediately to my left. The remainder of the dais’ 3 tables had the movers and shakers required at such political events.

Joe, Rex, Dave, and Barry were seated at the table on the floor immediately in front of our table and close to the podium the president would be using. With them were the Secretary of Commerce, the Chairman of the Federal Reserve, and the Director of the FBI, along with (whom I’d meet later) the Assistant Director of the FBI.

The President was his winning self during the meal, relaxing and joking with Ryan, and helping him relax. The Joint Chief and Navy Secretary were cordial, while the First Lady was absolutely delightful, making cracks about the President that had us all laughing, and keeping the conversation both moving forward and light-hearted.

Finally, the President spoke. This event was the more casual of the two events today, and the President was relaxed, sharing personal information about Ryan, joking about his career (“I may have found the car salesman to use when my kids get old enough for a car”), and being the politician able to “work the crowd”.

He became more serious when he commented on the events that led to Ryan’s Medal of Honor nomination. “I’m honored to present the Medal of Honor later today to this young man. As commander-in-chief, it’s my pleasure to serve with men and women who serve our country and make us proud to be Americans. Ryan moves that bar even higher, and when we think about ‘American Exceptionalism’, his exemplary behavior reflects that and motivates us all. Ryan,” he says as he raises his glass and the crowd stands to the toast, “you make us proud of you, proud to be Americans, and motivate us all to become more and better. We salute you.” The crowd raises their glasses, and then an extended round of applause breaks out.

Ryan looks down at the table for a moment, clearly both embarrassed and overwhelmed by the attention, then rolls to the podium, salutes, then after the President’s acknowledging salute, shakes the President’s hand, looking like a Marine poster boy in his dress uniform. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and the Secretary of the Navy follow him to the podium to shake Ryan’s hand as well, and there’s a couple of moments of photo ops for the press.

I am totally overwhelmed with emotions—pride, recognition of the agony Ryan’s been through, understanding the fierce quiet determination he’s used to make his life whole again, and a clear insight into the direct unassuming love and intense feelings he has for me. I dare not look at Ryan—I’ll lose it completely.

I look at the table where our crew is seated. Dave is sitting upright, tears streaming down his face in brotherly pride. Barry is leaned into Dave’s chest, face not visible, one of Dave’s arms encircling his back providing comfort. Joe is wiping his eyes, while Rex sits frozen, holding Joe’s hand underneath the table, an enigmatic smile and a look of both astonishment—as though it’s finally sunk in what Ryan did to get here—and pride in his friendship with such an extraordinary man. They all stand and applaud with the rest of the crowd after a few minutes, as do I. I’ll find out what they’re thinking later.

If it’s like this now, how will we make it through the Medal of Honor Award Ceremony?