Eleanore Knox

Professor Bump

World Literature E603

26 September 2005

Ann Richards, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Dinner with a Famous Democrat

"Raise your right hand and repeat after me," said the portly man from the Voter

Registrar Office of Travis County.

I raised my right hand, along with the other University Democrats who had attended the meeting, and stated that I, Eleanore Knox, had understood all of the forms that had been explained that evening, and that I took on all of the responsibilities that being a volunteer deputy registrar entailed. Finally, I declared that I would uphold all of the laws that accompanied these responsibilities.

"Alright, ya'll are officially allowed to register voters in the state of Texas," the man proclaimed. “Congratulations.”

As I filed out of Garrison Hall with my peers, I became intoxicated by a newfound sense of power. The tranquility of the campus in the evenings was unique to this time of day, and I often found myself wandering contentedly at twilight, the silence fostering my imagination and my aspirations. As I walked thoughtfully through the campus, I couldn't help feeling that tonight was different in that I had pledged to contribute to and thus enrich something beyond my own life. And perhaps that enrichment would lead me closer to "know(ing) that which was greater than the ego"[i]. Soon I would be acting on my political passions, ensuring others were utilizing their voting rights with my new title of “deputy registrar.” It was true, I hadn't yet registered anyone to vote, but the promise I had made to myself, to consciously try to make a difference, was fulfilling enough for now.

As I turned the corner and faced the Main Mall, the dome of the Capitol Building stood magnificently in the distance, like a tribute to all of those who had made a vow to become a "guardian genius of democracy"[ii] during their days on the earth. [i]

"Leadership- the will to exceed with integrity and the spirit that nothing is impossible"[iii]: this blurb from the Core Purposes of the University came to mind, and I couldn't help but feel grateful to the Professor Bump for fostering this will and spirit within me. Staring at the Capitol I felt a sense of longing, to be a part of that collective body. Despite the fact that the building seemed so far in the distance, I felt as though it was sitting right in my path.

A week or so later, the phone in my room rang. Fate was calling. I answered.

"Eleanore Knox?" the voice on the other end questioned.

"Yep, this is her," I affirmed, quickly swallowing the goldfish crackers in my mouth.

"Hi, this is Alex, president of the University Democrats." (Crap. I struggled to clear my throat, as the goldfish attempted to swim right back up my esophagus. Why would he be calling a freshman who had just joined unless they had done something

outstanding? I realized quickly that I had done absolutely nothing of merit, and that the only other reason he would be calling is if I had done something terrible. That was it: I must have let them down already. I tried to think back into my past to remember any possible transgression. I had always been somewhat of a fan of Ronald Reagan, not because of any of his policies, but because the idea of a former actor being president of the United States delights me. Oh, or it could have been that I had just dropped out of my government class, and now there were only two even remotely liberal people left in the entire class of eighteen. But there was no way he could know this, right?) "I just wanted to congratulate you for having won the 'Dinner with a famous democrat' drawing!"

"Oh, uh, great," I said, not being able to recall having filled out any sort of entry form. Then I winced with the recollection of the dozens of clipboards that had been passed around, all of which I signed my name to without having thought twice.

“The famous Democrat of this week is,” he paused dramatically: “Ann Richards!”

His enthusiasm was lost on me. "Oh, wow!" Attempting to sound as though I actually knew enough about Ann Richards to be excited, I thought guilty about the other members who had been filled with hope when they deliberately signed up for a chance to meet her. I shook my head dejectedly as I remembered last week's incident in my world literature class week, when I had not been able to recall who fought at the Alamo. [ii]

As I jotted down the name and address of where we were to be eating, I couldn't help but feel slightly sorry for Ann Richards. I knew that she had been the governor of Texas, but nothing more than that. I thanked Alex for calling. Abandoning my homework in favor of researching the famous Democrat whom I would be dining with in a few days, I headed over to the Flawn Academic Center computer lab.

As I walked through the stifling Texas heat and the throngs of students, I recalled with longing the serenity and hope I felt after my last encounter with the Texas Democrats. Now the only thing I felt certain about was the fact that I was going to have to withdraw my membership, as they would not want Ann Richards to associate me in any way with their organization. In my desperation, I decided that before heading to the F.A.C. I would walk back to the main mall, in order to try and revive the strength that I had felt before. As I turned the same corner that I had turned only a week before and gazed upon the same Capitol Building, I froze for a minute, lost in thought. I blinked and looked around. I was no longer standing on the main mall, facing the Capitol. Instead I was in a huge corridor. The wooden walls that lead up to the high ceiling gave the room a sense of warm in a space that otherwise might have felt cold and vacant. I felt as though I was drowning in a tide of silence that was rolling through the hallway.

“Oh my God. Where is everyone? Where am I?” I asked aloud, stunned. As a few seconds passed a sense of panic arose. I repeated frantically, “Where am I?”

"Calm down, will ya?" A soft voice with a southern drawl spoke from behind me. I stumbled around to find a small framed woman. The lines on her face suggested that she may have been in her fifties or sixties, but the vitality contained within her bright eyes made her seem childlike. The kind smile on her face was that of someone about to tell a secret.

"You're her. Ann Richards." I blurted. "How did I know that?"

“Often the living are able to perceive the secrets of the ghosts," she answered cryptically. “For instance the other evening when you felt so inspired by the Capitol Building, you were just feeling the presence of those ghosts.”

“The Capitol Building? Wait, is that where we are?” She nodded. I glanced around. On one side of the wall a formal looking door opened to what looked like an office. A plush green leather armchair rested behind an expensive looking, ornate desk. “This was your office. Wasn’t it?” She nodded. “How did I know- oh, secrets of the ghosts. Wait, let me get this right. You’re a,” I paused, comprehending the absurdity of what I was about to ask. “You’re a ghost? But you aren’t even dead! I’m supposed to be eating dinner with you soon. Oh my God, wait, you didn’t just die?”

“No, I didn’t just due,” she chuckled. “You don’t have to be dead to leave an impression somewhere. I left my impression in this building long after Bush won my spot as governor in '94. [iv] That man was 'born with a silver foot in his mouth'[v]." She then mumbled a few other words that I couldn't make out.

I laughed, and felt relieved her frank manner was one that put me at ease immediately. And despite her age, this woman obviously hadn't lost any of the stamina that had gotten her elected as governor.

"No kidding," she said, as though she had read my mind. "I even still ride my chopper."

"Your chopper?"

"A specially designed Harley-Davidson motor cycle made for me when I was sixty[vi]. I still get a kick out of it." [iii]

"That's awesome," I replied.

"Now, what are you so worried about?" she asked.

I realized that in my excitement, I had forgotten how scared I was of dinner with the other version of Ann Richards.

"Oh, well," I replied, "When I found out that I had won the chance to meet you, I freaked out. I guess that when I get nervous, I tend to come across, well, you know- as a moron." [iv]

She laughed. "I know what you mean."

Yeah, right, I thought skeptically. Judging from how confident she was, it was difficult for me to believe that this woman would have ever had any problem with expressing herself articulately.

"Actually, I have." Again she seemed to know what I was thinking. "And unlike you, instead of dealing with it, I drank. 'Alcohol for me was the thing you did; after you got off work, you go to the club. And alcohol was part of the political system. I drank a lot. But the people around me drank a lot so I didn't see any different'[vii]."

"So you kind of used alcohol as a way to hold your ground?" I asked delicately.

"Yes, and especially with men. You see, what made me so different is how far I wanted to go in politics. Originally 'it had never occurred to (me) to be anything other than a wife and a mother'[viii]." She laughed. "Even as a mother, I was a hell-raiser, demanding the best education for my kids, often times to the dismay of teachers and administrators [ix]. But after a while '(I) was just tired of being treated condescendingly, patted on the head, told thank you, and sent home where, according to the men, (I) belonged' [x]."

"Wow," I uttered. "My perspective is totally different. I guess I've grown up in a society that, at least outwardly, values women as much as men. I mean, my parents have always told me that I could do anything that I put my mind to. It must have been pretty different back then."

“You have no idea,” she said, shaking her head, “how tough it was to enter ‘the knock-down, drag-out backroom political arena of the good-old-boy road-and-bridge crew’[xi].”

“That’s a hell of a way to put it,” I acknowledged admirably.

“So not only did drinking make the men see me as an equal, it also lightened the load at the end of the day.” Her eyes seemed to be looking right through me, and she sounded as though she was speaking to herself, rather than to me. “Drinking was fun; it made everyone funnier, wiser and wittier'[xii]. During my term as county commissioner here in Austin, a group of friends gathered stories of things I had done to hurt them when I was drunk. It was 'overwhelming. Unbelievable. A trauma beyond any that you can imagine, and with a dozen people speaking for three or four minutes each, it went on for a while' [xiii]. My recovery almost killed me. But I took something away with me," she said, and her eyes seemed to have refocused on me. "A knowledge of 'a spirit and a power greater than myself'[xiv]."

“The truth,” I murmured.

“What?”

“Oh, you know, ‘Ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free'[xv]. I've just been thinking about that quote and whether truth is absolute or relative." [v]

Ann Richards looked at me questioningly.

“Well for you, the truth is based in spirituality. In the belief in God. But someone else may not hold the same thing to be true. So I've been wondering if truth value is relative depending on who believes it. Like, if everyone thought that the sky is green, then would it have a higher truth value for me, even though I don't think that’s true. Or is truth diminished when it isn’t unique for each individual who holds it to be true, because it isn’t something they’ve found to be true for themselves. Like the more people who think the sky is green, the less true it is. Since all their beliefs reinforce one another's, maybe that disables their ability to see the truth for themselves."

She gazed at me thoughtfully. "That may also be true in politics. But I think that as long as you really believe what you campaign for 'there is an energy that is a fusion of people who are focused and working together ... we worked with our hearts and not just with our heads' [xvi]."

I nodded. “Sometimes I feel so disconnected from everything and everyone. It’s as though I have all of these beliefs and passions, but the UT campus is so big and intimidating. I can’t help but question the importance of my ideas, when there are so many other people on campus who are so much more outgoing and outspoken than I am. At times I wish I had gone to a smaller campus, because I would feel so much more,” I thought, and then continued sheepishly, “important. But on the other hand, collective action here at UT is remarkable, just because of how diverse and alive the student body is. I guess that’s why I felt so immediately connected to the University Democrats, because they gave me that sort of ideological support system, and at the same time provide me with all these different outlets to make some sort of contribution, like the deputy registrar thing. Its such a relief from the angst of feeling alone.”

“I think that the University Democrats will benefit you tremendously. It may be true that we have to think for ourselves, but it is also true that we must work with each other. 'Do you understand that? That the dynamics put together by a group of people working intensely and cohesively together- there is nothing more omnipotent or powerful than that'[xvii]."

I nodded again. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Do you think when I meet the real you- well, the you of the present, that you’ll remember me?”

“It’s hard to say. What do you think?”

“I don’t know. It's weird to think that the perception of your past could be altered without your knowing it. But it seems like there would be some kind of connection between the past and the present."

“You keep referring to me as a ghost of the past. What makes you think that I'm not a ghost of the present?"

“Well, I guess its because your a different entity than the Ann Richards I'm supposed to meet for dinner." I stopped. "But now that you mention it, it seems as though ghosts can be just as alive as people, depending on how much they influence the places that they've been. I mean literally, you winning the position as governor must have broken through the glass ceiling of politics. So you would have to be a ghost of the present in that sense, because you are still such an inspiration and guide to women who want to run for anything or who even just want to break out of domesticated roles. And so in that way, you are very much alive here still.”

She replied modestly, “You know, ‘When my grandmother was a girl, the only people who could not vote in Texas were idiots, imbeciles, the insane and women. And less than one lifetime later, I was the governor of the state of Texas… Not in my lifetime, or my daughters', but maybe while my granddaughters are still around, people are going to look back and laugh at how absolutely absurd and implausible and how foolish it seems that race or gender were ever a cause for discrimination. In the interim I want you to think about all those sepia framed photographs of suffragettes and women struggling for acceptance in a man's world, handing out literature, marching with their banners and standing there looking out at us from a book, looking out over time. And then realize that we are going to be the next page in those history books.’[xviii] Do you think you’re up for the challenge?”

I nodded solemnly.

She smiled. “Good. It seems as though UT is just as good of a school as it was when I came to school here.”

“It must be those core values of the University,” I said with a grin.

“Explain.”

“You know, learning, responsibility, leadership[xix], that bit."

She looked at me seriously. "Those aren't just qualities that the University should provide you with. Those are qualities you need to develop yourself, that you can take with you, after you leave UT.”

I agreed. “I think you are definitely right about developing those qualities for yourself. I actually wrote a journal about that in my world lit class a while ago, and I was reading that sheet with all the very grandiose values. I think a lot of those things are developed unconsciously, though, regardless of the commitment of the administration to them. Like, of course, if you live in a dorm, you will form a community where you learn from the people on your floor and you grow because of that system. Or take ‘discovery.’ College isn’t just about exploring the city or the parties, but its also about exploring yourself and maybe finding some part of yourself that you never knew existed. Like I can’t even tell you how many times I find myself saying something in a conversation or expressing an opinion, and I hear myself and I can’t help but think, ‘Whoa- I said that?’ Then freedom, that’s another one. Not only do we have the obvious freedom of being able to do things without first getting the approval of our parents, but we also have the freedom of youth- of living on our own, and because it’s the first time, we don’t take any of it for granted. We can explore the city of Austin with nothing more than a student ID and a bus schedule. And then if we find that truth, we have the freedom to share and to live by it. But I guess the one that really scares me most is the responsibility one. You took that step, to become governor, you know, “to serve as a catalyst for positive change for Texas and beyond’ [xx]. So I really feel as though its my responsibility to carry that, and continue the fight that you contributed so much to.”

She spoke, looking more intently at me than she had before. “Eleanore, I know it may feel like an almost impossible struggle, but 'know that what we begin here will not end with me, or my life, or the governorship, because your (life) will go on, and you will do great things, and you will nurture other young people along to do great things'[xxi]."

And with a wink, she was gone. I stood aghast with my mouth gaping, as I suddenly was no longer outside of her office. The coolness within the corridor of the Capitol Building was gone, and the sudden warmth of the afternoon was stunning and stifling. The crowd that had surrounded me earlier reappeared and I again felt the intense beams of the sun and the heat rising from the concrete.

“Eleanore? Eleanore Knox?” I heard someone call from behind me. I turned quickly, surely it couldn’t be her again-

“Hey, it’s me. Alex. From the University Democrats.” Sure enough, it was the guy who had introduced himself as president at the meeting a week ago. “I’ve been trying to find you. Hey, are you ok?”

“Hey, whoa, I just- I guess I just spaced out. It’s really hot out here. Wow.” Apparently my tendency to come across as a moron when put on the spot had not been altered whatsoever by my encounter with Ann Richards.

“Yeah, you look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” My eyes widened and I attempted a smile. “Anyway, he continued, "I could tell you were kind of freaked out on the phone about having won, so I got something for you."

He handed me a book. The woman I had just met smiled at me from the cover, and under her read the title "Straight from the Heart: My Life in Politics and Other Places.”

“ I could tell you didn't know much about her, so I checked out her autobiography from the PCL for you."

“Thanks. Was it that obvious?”

He smiled. "Relax. I hear she's really cool in real life."

“Oh, she is. I mean, yeah, that's what I hear. Yeah, I bet she's pretty cool." He looked at me uncertainly. "I won't let you down," I promised. And the minute I said it, I knew it was true.

WORD COUNT: 3189

[i] Composition and Reading in World Literature Course Packet. (Austin: Jenn's Copy & Binding, 2005) 25.

[ii] Ibid. 305.

[iii] Ibid. 298.

[iv] "Richards, Ann Willis." Columbia Encyclopedia. 2005. <http://www.encyclopedia.com/html/R/RichardsA1.asp>

[v] "Ann Richards." 4 Sept. 2005. Wikipedia. 25 Sept. 2005. <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ann_Richards>

[vi] Frank Schaefer and Mike Shropshire. The Thorny Rose of Texas. (New York: Carol Publishing Groups, 1994) vii.

[vii] Ibid. 140.

[viii] Ibid. 96.

[ix] Ibid. 93.

[x] Ibid. 99.

[xi] Ibid. 108.

[xii] Ibid. 137.

[xiii] Ibid. 141.

[xiv] Ibid. 143.

[xv] Composition and Reading in World Literature Course Packet. (Austin: Jenn's Copy & Binding, 2005) 303.

[xvi] Celia Morris. Storming the Statehouse. (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1992) 1.

[xvii] Ibid. 3.

[xviii] Brandi Dean. “Breaking through the Glass Ceiling.” The Lariat Online. 16 April 2003. Baylor University. <http://www.baylor.edu/Lariat/news.php?action=story&story=18426>

[xix]Composition and Reading in World Literature Course Packet. (Austin: Jenn's Copy & Binding, 2005) 298.

[xx] Ibid. 298.

[xxi] Celia Morris. Storming the Statehouse. (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1992)