A childhood memory of a letter to the president made my notifications cup runneth over with snark. Who are these broken people who would compulsively sling mockery and negativity on a post about the last birthday of a good American, who lived a pious life of consequence and substance?
By Dennis Robaugh
When I was nine years old, our elementary school class wrote letters to public figures. I chose our president, Jimmy Carter.
Off the letter went, thanks to my teacher, into the mail and out of my mind. My fourth-grade brain mostly was occupied with bike rides, my dog Happy, Matchbox cars, comic books, CYO football, climbing the big, sappy evergreen tree next to the garage, Rock ’Em Sock ’Em Robots, tormenting my little sister, and wishing I could build a clubhouse in the back yard.
I was aware of the Iranian hostage crisis, though, and the special forces mission to rescue them that failed in the desert. I remember news reports about the Olympic boycott, stagflation, and the gas crisis. We watched the TV news every night, and I read the newspaper every day.
One day, my mom opened the back door and summoned me from the yard.
“What is this,” she yelled, waving an envelope. “What did you do?”
She handed me the letter, and I saw the White House imprint on the envelope.
“Oh yeah,” I replied. “I wrote a letter to Jimmy Carter.”
“WHAT did you say?” she demanded.
I don’t remember much, but I recall telling the president I hoped he’d win the election, and I felt bad the other guy, Ronald Reagan, was saying such bad things about him on the TV.
I suspect Mom was a little worried about what I wrote. Clearly, she was surprised to open the mail chute and find a letter from the White House addressed to her child. I’m certain my parents were voting for Reagan, too.
I opened the envelope and read a three-paragraph note of appreciation on White House letterhead, signed by Daniel Chew. I took the letter to school, teacher shared it with the class, and life went on.
Childhood Nostalgia Unlocked
Mom eventually tucked the letter in a box of assorted keepsakes, and the episode faded from memory until the grown-up version of me found the box one day. Thanks to Google, I learned Daniel Chew was the White House’s director of presidential correspondence. More than 40 years later, I still have that White House letter in a box buried somewhere in the crawl space or a closet.
That memory came to mind on Jimmy Carter’s 100th birthday as I scrolled through TikTok and watched an exclusive CBS News video of his birthday party. Our 39th president, in hospice for the past 19 months, was wheeled into his Plains, Georgia, back yard to spend time in the fresh air with family and friends. Four military jets conducted a fly over in tribute. His grandson has said he believes Carter is hanging on so he may cast his ballot — the final vote of his lifetime — for Kamala Harris in this year’s presidential election.
Feeling nostalgic, I shared my innocuous childhood memory in the comments: “I wrote a letter to Jimmy Carter in the White House when I was nine years old. My mom was so shocked when they wrote back! I still have that reply.”
Unexpected Surge Of Reactions
Stunningly, 45,000 people thus far have clicked TikTok’s little heart button on my brief reminiscence. I did not expect my notifications cup to runneth over! Hundreds of people also replied to my comment to share their memories of similar presidential letters (Carter, as well as Reagan, Clinton, and Obama), meeting him, shaking his hand, or receiving a photo. Some simply expressed an attaboy for me or appreciation for the man himself.
Heartfelt comments like this one: “Omg how sweet!!! I was mesmerized by him when I was a little girl! I was five and would cry every time he spoke because I loved him so much. Hate to see him in a Geri-chair, but thankful.”
And this one: “I was about that age when I wrote to him, too! I also remember writing to Amy at that time. Such a lovely memory!”
In any social media comment thread, however, trolls and dummies lurk. Such is the digital life.
Befuddlingly, many of them rushed to the comments just to take a dump. My letter didn’t really come from the president; it was just a form letter, nothing special, they wrote. Smug variations of, “hate to break it to you, but that’s just a facsimile everybody gets.”
As if these killjoys with reading comprehension challenges were telling me something I didn’t already know. As if these masters of the obvious were bursting some decades-long bubble of delusion.
They left weirdly mean and snarky comments, too, like:
“You’re too old for TikTok.”
“You’ve got to be 90 now, gramps.”
“People will just lie about anything.”
“That’s a lifetime achievement right there. Congratulations, man!! You really made it in life.”
“I bet your mom wrote that reply.”
One gent wondered whether my nine-year-old self asked Carter about the poor state of the 1970s economy. (I wasn’t that big of a nerd, friend, though I did read the encyclopedia from A to Z before bedtime.)
We know attention-seeking and snark are social media currency, and comment threads are notoriously full of nasty mental sewage. Whatever their wounds, dysfunction, or unhappiness, I am intrigued nevertheless by the broken people who would compulsively sling misguided mockery and negativity on a post about the last birthday of a good American who lived a pious life of consequence and substance.
As a newsman, I’ve met or covered the events of a few presidents — George H.W. Bush, Barack Obama, and Donald Trump. But it was Carter who first inspired me to put words on paper.
A Life of Purpose
Whatever your view on his politics, the Georgia peanut farmer-turned-president lived a life of purpose and service to his country and fellow man — from his days at sea as a U.S. Navy nuclear submarine officer, his human rights work, and his historic peace deal between Israel and Egypt, to his post-presidential life building Habitat for Humanity homes, nurturing nascent democracies, and working to eradicate deadly disease in foreign lands.
So, there may be a reason the good Lord kept Jimmy Carter among us for 100 years.
My TikTok trolls might want to take a beat and reflect on what a life well lived really means — and get one themselves.
As a male over 50, Dennis is statistically in TikTok’s smallest demographic and also is aware this essay may have a “get off my lawn” vibe.