Lady Bird Was Ours
I call Austin home. I grew up there and my parents still live there, so it will always be one of my homes. We thought Lady Bird was ours. She was ours. I grew up with her. My "where were you when Kennedy died" moment didn't happen in Austin, but it did happen when I was a little girl, and LBJ was the first president I was really aware of. I moved to Austin during his presidency. The Vietnam war escalated just as I began to understand the world around me, then lasted through almost my entire childhood.
I didn't realize it was a big deal to have a presidential library built in your city, so when the LBJ Library opened and there was LBJ himself and there I was visiting it (and seeing him) in a crush of people, well, I thought that was normal. (OK, it wasn't so normal that I had my first bout of claustrophobia ever in that butt to butt crowd, and don't remind my mom of that whole episode).
When LBJ died, I was a lazy slug of teenager, I chose not to go stand with my dad and younger brother along the highway as the hearse made its way to the ranch. It feels poignant that 34 years later, Lady Bird makes that same journey.
As for Lady Bird, she was an improver of our world. The hike and bike trail. It's hard to imagine Austin without it, but I do remember that Austin. I remember our highways before she worked to be sure there were wildflowers in more places along more highways. I remember the ugly billboards up and down our highways. We take much or our beautiful state for granted, and we have an opportunity to pause and say a prayer of appreciation for the woman who tenaciously fought for natural beauty.
I've been reading like crazy, articles on line about Lady Bird. I love the stuff about how she was an example of how to comport yourself. How she was grace and steel. How she was a talented businesswoman. How she cared about nature, books and ideas right to the end.
This gave me chills. A priest read the Litany of the Saints at her bedside as she died. I want to go that way.
"Abraham, our father in faith," began the prayer by Father Bob Scott, who was called by Johnson's daughter, Luci, as the former first lady lay in a coma at her home. He continued through the roster: "David, leader of God's people, Saint John the Baptist, Saint Stephen."She died on the very last word of the Litany.As each name was cited, the group of about a dozen family members and close friends responded, "Pray for Claudia," Lady Bird's given name.
2 comments:
This tribute is absolutely beautiful, just like the life and character of Lady Bird Johnson.
It was the summer of 1969, and I had just moved to Austin, Texas, where I would soon start my college days at the University of Texas. I’d never lived in Texas. In fact, I’d been in the U.S. only a short while because my father, a career Air Force officer, was stationed at various military bases in Europe for most of my teenage years. During President Johnson’s time in the White House, my family lived in Spain, France, Germany and England.
To earn a little money for upcoming college expenses, I’d landed a job as a lifeguard at a private country club in West Austin, close enough to the Holiday House on Exposition Blvd. to dash there for a hamburger during my short lunch break.
One day when I entered this hamburger haven to order my usual, I recognized the pleasant-looking woman about the same age as my mother placing her order at the grill. It was Lady Bird Johnson! I’m sure they were there somewhere, but I didn’t notice any Secret Service types.
I placed my order and turned around, looking straight at Mrs. Johnson. She patted the place next her on the wooden bench that served as the waiting area for To-Go Orders. I sat down next to this petite lady while we both waited for our burgers.
The Holiday House was unusually quiet. People were hushed and staring. Full of myself, and fully aware of my bench partner’s identity, I turned to her and said, “I bet you’re wondering who I am!” She just laughed and leaned toward me, smiling, “Why, yes, who ARE you?”
And that’s how I first got to meet the former First Lady who treated a cheeky teenager with such grace and charm that I’ve adored her ever since.
Cheeky teenagers, Texans of all ages, and ALL Americans are the poorer that Mrs. Johnson is no longer with us. But we all have beautiful vistas of wildflowers, and at least one of us has a fond memory of a wild notion sweetly answered, to remember her by.
by Pamela Mayo Clark
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