Talking It Over

Every time I'm asked at the end of a long day to "shake just a few more hands," I think of Barry Goldwater.

I first met the Senator during the 1964 Presidential Campaign. My best friend, Betsy, and I were "Goldwater Girls." We wore cowboy hats and red-white-and-blue sashes anchored by gold buttons reading AuH2O. Our job was to pass out brochures at an outdoor rally in suburban Chicago. Our clearest memory of the event is that we got to shake hands with the candidate himself. Even though it was the end of a long, tiring day, the Senator patiently greeted and thanked all of the workers there, including the teenagers like myself. This is the Barry Goldwater I think of so often.

I supported Barry Goldwater in 1964 partly because my father was a congenital Republican (that is, until he met Bill Clinton) and because my hometown, Park Ridge, Ill., voted overwhelmingly Republican in every election. We used to joke that the only reason Goldwater didn't get all the votes in Park Ridge was because a few people thought he wasn't conservative enough.

But what really won me over was the Senator's book, "The Conscience of a Conservative," which I read for a high school social studies class. In August of 1964, I signed up to volunteer at the little campaign headquarters in Park Ridge — my first foray into Presidential politics. Even though my responsibilities were limited to stuffing envelopes, making phone calls and donning cowboy hats, I was hooked on the importance — and fun — of citizen involvement in our nation's politics.

Later, as my political beliefs evolved, they did not always match the Senator's.

But they remained rooted in the same commitment to American leadership and individual responsibility, and I always respected his positions because I knew they were honestly derived and based on his patriotism and sense of fair play. Despite our political differences, my admiration for him never waned. Of course, I also appreciated his personal support for both Bill and me.

Although some might have found our friendship odd, I never did. We shared a deep love of country, and over time, we found ourselves once again agreeing on some things — including the hot peppers, salsa and chili he made sure I had plenty of in the White House.

The last time I saw him was during a visit to his home in Phoenix on Oct. 15, 1996. Sharing time with him and his wife, Susan, gave me a keener sense of the man. He was surrounded by the things he loved most — an expansive view of the Arizona skyline, his photographs that so vividly captured the rustic feel of the West, pictures of his family, and models of airplanes he had flown. We swapped stories (and opinions), and I found him as outspoken and plainspoken as ever. I renewed the President's invitation for him to ride on Air Force One, which he had helped design, and he promised he would when he felt well enough again. Regrettably, that day never came, but it was one of the few adventures he didn't have.

I, along with Americans everywhere, salute Barry Goldwater and thank him for a lifetime of dedication to our country, which he loved so much.

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