The Long, Inspiring Farewell
We Sure Could Use Jimmy Carter Now
Finally, when he wasn’t around to soak it all in, Jimmy Carter had his moment. Long overdue. Much deserved. A “People’s President.” A man who “waged peace.” If America listens to the lessons of his long good-bye, our eyes will open to the Jimmy Carter way.
MAGA It Is Not…
Humility. Self-reflection with an eye toward self-improvement. A hand up to those less fortunate. Action to match one’s words and beliefs. Service over self. Commitment to democracy. Commitment to peace. Embracing our global citizenship and with it our responsibility as the wealthiest nation ever. An appreciation and value of the natural world. Recognizing science as essential and a gift. Staying open to new ideas and viewpoints. Diversity. Equity. Inclusion.
What we saw and heard this week celebrated a deeply flawed man who didn’t waste the many acts he was granted in life’s theater. Yes, he was president of the most powerful nation on earth. But that doesn’t define him. “The Jimmy Carter Story” keeps getting recast and rewritten and gets better with age. Habitat for Humanity. Eradication of the Guinea worm. Monitoring elections worldwide. Challenging Israel to bring peace and a homeland to the Palestinians. Needling U.S. presidents who misused our power and trampled human rights. Advocating for mental health. Advocating for gender equality. The list is long and impressive. At his political apex 50 years ago, he offered a path forward. America could have committed to Jimmy and Roslyn Carter for the long haul.
We did not. From 1977-1981, we gave Jimmy Carter’s vision a try. Then voters moved on, frustrated with a slumping economy and a president whose message was “get your big boy/girl pants on and let’s tackle this together.” America rejected his lecture on our moral shortcomings and fixation with materialism. While it hurt to hear him, Jimmy was right. We should have done better. It’s one reason we have a twice impeached, top-secret-document-stealing, convicted felon, rapist, pornographer, racist, traitor, and epic liar about to take office…for the second time.
We’ve been more than a little bit lost…
…since we said “no thanks” to Jimmy 50 years ago. Our biggest divide remains prejudices borne of fear of others unlike ourselves. Time and again, an evil brand of the Republican party exploits these fears and biases. Its current “leader” promises prosperity for all, when in fact, he intends to further concentrate power and money with the few and the White.
Over those 50 years, Democrats have been void of answers to these trends. Their fecklessness actually made them GOP enablers. From Bill Clinton’s public and private infidelities ushering in the Tea Party; to Barack Obama’s false “Hope” igniting hate toward elites; to Joe Biden miss on egg prices and immigration, giving MAGA new life; to the “we’re not Trump” mantra Hilary Clinton and Kamala Harris sold that not enough voters bought. All inadequate. So, here we are.
We’ve seen this movie before,
and Jimmy Carter took it on. I wish he could again.
He came to office as a rebuke of the corrupt, racist, Republican Party of Richard Nixon. Nixon’s Republicanism is the Daddy of the corrupt, racist, nihilist, fascist MAGA movement, though he was much more covert about it. I can’t imagine Tricky Dick mad Tweeting about “persecution” by the Watergate Committee. I can imagine him flashing his “V for Victory” salute as MAGA is about to inflict serious wounds on this country. I am certain, somewhere, he and Ronald Reagan are watching the Trump show with admiration.
Jimmy Carter came on the scene when the country was broken, angry, and hopeless (sound familiar). 1976 America felt exhausted by the explosive 1960’s. 1976 America felt betrayed by Watergate and President Gerald Ford’s pardon of Nixon. 1976 America, Nixon’s America, was one of deceit…
…of disrespect for democracy, of “the Southern Strategy,” of “peace with honor” in Vietnam, and of political murder (MLK and RFK). Nixon, like just about every Republican president since, won the White House largely on a promise to destroy civil rights, worker rights, feminism, and the peace movement. He tagged these movements and the Democrats as Communist, demonstrating the GOP’s incompatibility with people of color, labor, feminists, and the middle class.
For 70 years, the Democrats (FDR, Truman, JFK, LBJ) used The New Deal, The Great Society, and The New Frontier to leverage a diverse population to create a prosperous and equitable society, what they hoped would be the envy of the world. Those massive programs leveled the playing fields in a country reluctant to embrace diversity in any form, a nation that used racial and gender discrimination to keep its wealthy hierarchy of mostly White men intact. The leveling process has been nasty. Now half the country is pushing back. In the 2024 election it chose MAGA’s cruelty, a backlash to the Democrats’ effort to embrace the dreams and energy of Americans no matter skin color, no matter gender, no matter nation of origin, no matter their faith.
Political scientists and pollsters attribute much of MAGA’s growth to high anxiety in flyover country, in rural areas and small towns where White people feel left behind, left out, and extremely threatened by diversity. They oppose a world powered by science, technology, and modern cultural forces, originating from people who don’t look like the guys hanging around the town tavern.
At the bar, they sit in the dark with a bump and a beer, mainlining FOX “News,” (news it’s not). Then, drive home listening to some ingrate podcaster electrifying all their fears, spewing misinformation and twisted narratives (see “the invasion at our southern border”). It’s a doom loop of White rural grievance that avoids confronting their failure to accept what “liberty and justice for ALL” actually requires.
Their anger and outrage begs the question: If things are so bad, how do you afford a $70,000 pickup pulling a pontoon and flying all those Trump flags?
Rural MAGA is a long, long way from the Carter view of the world. Yet, Jimmy and Roslyn Carter lived a rural American life. They came from a small, religious, politically conservative farming town. They lived in a county where Blacks make up 70% of the population and where you couldn’t buy a mixed drink. The Carters made their money growing peanuts. Sunday, they went to Baptist Church. Monday through Friday, they put their kids in the same public schools they attended. Always, they navigated the legacy of slavery and Jim Crow particularly thick in that corner of Georgia. Plains is 150 miles south of Atlanta; 245 miles north of Jacksonville; 440 miles east of New Orleans. It’s in the sticks. The Carters didn’t use grievance. They had ideas and energy. And, they won the White House.
For about three months in 1976, I was fortunate to witness the stretch drive of the campaign firsthand. It was absolutely life changing… and very humbling.
My Epic Fail…
In July of 1976, a brand spanking new journalism degree in hand (I thought it made me a reporter), I landed my first full time newsroom job at a tiny AM/FM radio station in Americus, Georgia. Report and anchor radio newscasts, earn $130 a week (no healthcare benefits), plus a tank of gas. Seemed fair, and there weren’t any better options. I piled my life into my ‘71 Malibu and drove 800 miles south with absolutely no clue of what was ahead.
Americus was a self-described “mean town,” infamously proud for jailing Martin Luther King and other civil rights advocates in the 60’s. Now, its hotels were full of Yankee reporters from New York and Washington there to cover Jimmy Carter in Plains just a short drive away.
I checked into a cheap hotel, then went to the station to get to work. My new boss was Jay Arthur, General Manager, Program Director, and Midday DJ. He suggested I drive over to Carter country where the newly nominated candidate was coming home. It was Friday, July 16th.
I found a parking space behind main street in Plains. It was mid-afternoon, July-in-Georgia hot and muggy. The town was filling up with media, tourists, and local well-wishers excited to see the nominee, though no one knew what time he might arrive.
A railroad spur ran alongside the tiny business district to the train station, now the Carter for President campaign headquarters. More than a little intimidated, I walked in to see Carter’s mother, Miss Lillian, sitting in a rocking chair gabbing with reporters about “Jimmy” and just how proud everyone was of her son and his Southern roots. I and the rest of America got to know Miss Lillian from her cameos at the Democratic convention a few weeks earlier. At that moment, I could not believe I was standing a few feet from her impromptu press conference. Her Georgia accent made me very conscious of my own, a garbled mash-up of Appalachian dialects not conducive to clarity. A press aide noticed how lost I looked and suggested I register as “Press” and get credentialed.
1976 credentialing was incredibly simple compared with today’s intense background checks. I gave her my full name, the town where I was born, and my social security number. She typed it all into a ledger and handed me a simple cardboard badge reading “Carter-Mondale Press.”
“This will work for now, she explains. “You’ll get another badge once the Secret Service reviews signs off. You can pick it up here in a few days.”
22-year-old me, fresh out of college, was now an official member of the press covering the Carter for President campaign. And, I was about to learn how much I didn’t know about almost everything.
The nominee wasn’t expected until late afternoon, so I killed time checking out Plains and shooting a few photos. Then, as his arrival grew closer, crowds began forming outside the train station. I found a front row spot with other media, still in full sunlight, and sweated for another hour until the lead motorcycle escort guided a large sedan just in front of us. It stopped, and the grinning Jimmy Carter I’d seen on TV stepped out. He walked straight toward me.
And. I. Froze.
Mouth open. Throat so dry I couldn’t speak. Gob smacked by the man who wanted to be president. Seeing my press badge, Mr. Carter expected a question and was ready to answer. I had nothing. Boom. Epic failure.
I did snap this quick picture before he waved to the well-wishers and walked with VP nominee Walter Mondale into his headquarters.
This was my first brush with a powerful figure and I failed miserably. But, over the next 60 days or so, there would be more opportunities. The wire services and radio networks couldn’t staff Plains full time. So, when they were back in New York and D.C., I was in Georgia capturing audio, taking notes, shooting photos for the Associated Press, United Press International, BBC, Mutual News, National Black Network, and ABC Radio.
Just Say No To Camelot
Peanut farmer Jimmy Carter didn’t believe in an imperial presidency, nor did he want the Camelot glamour. The nation was in serious trouble. It required a hard-working, grounded, all business, chief executive with roots in reality. So, most of the summer was spent in Plains, population about 600, teaching America his reality.
“Hi, I’m Jimmy Carter from Plains,” was heard repeatedly. Voters saw him teaching Sunday school. Playing softball in the evenings (locals vs. a media team). Walking through his peanut fields. Living a rural, small town life while preparing for the most difficult job any of us can imagine. Preparation meant deep study and learning from the very best.
Almost weekly, the campaign hosted subject experts from around the nation and the world. They convened either in Jimmy and Roslyn’s small home off main street, or in a woodsy Carter family retreat named the Pond House. Then-Governor Carter would devour white papers and grill the experts for hours. Always the engineer, he demanded every piece of information to ensure he fully understood each issue.
Following each session, Carter and then-Senator Mondale came to the edge of the yard where reporters demanded to know everything the two heard. Mic, notebook, and camera in hand I stood with them. Every question coming from the gaggle taught me about economics, defense, big business, geo-political strategy, the FBI. Stuff I didn’t learn in journalism school.
Carter answered every question in news conferences that sometimes went a full hour. He projected intelligence and competence while his casual dress signaled approachability. The press ate up both the candor and the access. We eagerly accepted invites to several off-the-record evening catfish dinners at the Pond House. Imagine, standing around with Jimmy Carter, Walter Mondale, Jody Powell, Ham Jordan, and Stuart Eizenstat eating fried fish off paper plates with a side of coleslaw and a Coke. Slowly, the press and the nation bought into Plains’ countrified atmosphere and the candidate who seemed to never stop grinning.
That’s not to say it couldn’t get tense as network reporters like ABC’s Sam Donaldson, NBC’s Judy Woodruff, and CBS’s Ed Rable pushed for a lead soundbite. The entitled “Boys on the Bus” could get cranky in the Georgia heat too. But from the Carter camp there was no “enemy of the people” B.S. No “that’s a nasty and very unfair question.” No shaming or harassment. There was an etiquette to this process and both sides followed the manual. Mutual respect was the vibe.
Dateline Americus
Plains, where I spent half my reporting time, was just one of my learning labs. Just as formative, maybe more so, was the other: main street Americus. If you’ve experienced the pace of small town American South, you understand how much I, a know-it-all young man from a northeastern big city, DIDN’T fit.
As soon as I opened my mouth, I heard, “You’re not from here, are you?” The question could be asked with amusement, or curiosity, or suspicion. I’m quite sure Americus Mayor Johnny Sheffield, always professional and respectful though rarely helpful, considered the answer with dread. He knew this Yankee was looking for scoops while Johnny Sheffield was looking to make Americus great again.
The town was going through a lot. Their mobile home factory had closed pushing unemployment to nearly 9%. There was tension between all White Southland Academy, founded to avoid desegregation, and the chronically underfunded Americus Public Schools. The place was crawling with reporters covering Jimmy Carter and asking uncomfortable questions about race relations and the Carter family. Sheffield, whose main job was running his family’s hardware store, had his hands full.
If I could find him at city hall or at the store, I’d hit the mayor with questions for as much an hour. Johnny Sheffield was better at the see-nothing-say-nothing-just-act-stupid tactics then Mark Casey was at prying a story out of him. Frustrated and hungry, I’d adjourn to the Americus Baking Company where Councilman Theo Baldwin, a rotund man always in his white baker’s apron, drawled “Mawwwwk… how about a glazed doughnut an’ a cocacola? That’ll fix you right up. Yes sir!” Theo always said “Coca Cola” as a single word. Fortified with pure sugar and corn syrup, I’d file my stories then head for the basketball courts in a housing project near the station where the hoop dreams kids would kick my White ass. Next day, do it again.
This went on until Labor Day, when the Carter-Mondale campaign went on the road chasing votes. He won on November 2 ,1976. By November 6, I said good-bye to Americus and Plains, and drove to Iowa for my next radio news job. That short period, roughly July 12-November 6, provided lessons for a lifetime. Especially important was the immersion in two worlds - Plains and Americus - totally unlike my hometown. The challenge of interacting with high-level campaign players plus the mayor who owned the town hardware store kept me humble and committed. Watching and listening to top national reporters do their work set a standard to emulate.
A Priceless Experience
Incredibly valuable, actually it was priceless, was the experience of observing Black and White people interact in the heart of the former Confederacy. I saw the wounds inflicted by Jim Crow playing out in the mid 1970’s. I saw open White resistance to the Civil Rights Act. I saw White flight from schools forced to integrate. I saw the determination of Black citizens working to gain full equality. I watched a cross burning at a KKK “rally” hearing slurs that made me ill. On our FM station at night, I heard gospel hymns and preachers from the local Black churches offering hope and salvation.
It was a master’s class in the absolute necessity for leveling the field. Race is the never-ending American story, and there were chapters in Plains and Americus my 22-year-old self didn’t know existed. To this day, I am forever grateful to have stumbled into that opportunity.
Of course, all of this played out 50 years ago, when journalists were respected, even sought after. Heroes of Watergate and all that. The three major network newscasts provided a consistent set of facts from which voters could make informed decisions. You could read the latest in a morning and evening newspaper, some leaning Democrat, some leaning Republican. In your car or home, radio stations with well-staffed news departments delivered newscasts four times an hour. There was zero digital media, social media, smart phones, all the crap that’s invaded and decimated our credible info systems.
In 1976, our lives still had enough space to focus, to sort out serious factual information from rumors, lies, and misinformation. In 2025, rumors, lies, and misinformation pass as “news” with click-chasing alerts flowing nonstop. Nuisance it is. “News” It ain’t.
And We Kicked Him Out
Still, even when journalism played by those rules and limits, voters kicked Jimmy Carter out in 1980. Instead, they chose a B-movie actor and TV pitchman. Ronald Reagan drove the first stakes into the heart of the New Deal/Great Society/New Frontier world. I’m afraid the Mad King may finish it off.
Of course, the former president and his family planned his long good-bye not for him, but for America and for a world he worked tirelessly to make peaceful, healthy and happy.
The long good-bye provided a much-needed reminder of the importance of duty, character, and perseverance. We’ll definitely need his inspiration beginning January 20th.
Thanks Jimmy and Roslyn Carter. Farewell.