John Rassler
Former Belle Plaine Educator
It was the summer of 1973. I had just graduated from college. (Please note the correct use of the word "from", proving that I not only attended classes in English, but also learned at least a small bit from them.) I had attained a degree in Political Science, which has to rank high on the list of useless degree areas. This had some to the attention of the powers that were in my Congressional District, and they felt that a summer internship with our Congressman was in order. Thus began an interesting summer.
Before leaving for Washington, it was decided (by Mom) that my wardrobe needed considerable upgrading. I was soon the owner of two suits, one powder blue and the other tan, a cream-colored sports jacket with accompanying brown pants, shirts, ties, socks, shoes, and new unmentionables. (All of the outer garments would be considered exceptionally hideous today. They found refuge in the high school prop department.)
My flight took me from Des Moines to Chicago to D.C. Apparently my stark terror while awaiting take-off was quite obvious, especially to my seatmate. Fortunately, she was an American Airlines stewardess catching a flight on United who had experience with first-time cases. She calmly kept me from exiting through the side of the plane before we took off.
Arrival in the capital brought about my first taxi ride, which was almost as daunting as the flight.
After checking in with the Congressman's office, I was told to show up on Monday morning, this being Friday, for my first day at work.
Another taxi ride took me to Hartnett Hall, a rooming house of sorts mostly catering to Georgetown University students, where I settled into my home for the next eight weeks.
My residence was quite near DuPont Circle, which I soon learned was rather evenly split down the middle. One side was given over to such endeavors as chess matches, and the other side was devoted to such things as the shooting of craps. Wandering around the area further acquainted me with my surroundings. I was once stopped by three gentlemen who kindly offered to include me in a business proposition. It seemed that they lacked sufficient capital to acquire a bottle of Thunderbird wine. If I were to invest the needed fifty cents to make the deal a reality, I would be afforded a full share in the bottle. Impressed by their sincerity, I declined to participate, but became a silent partner by contributing a whole dollar.
I had determined that either a 42 or a 43 bus would take me to the Library of Congress, which would leave me with a short walk to the Cannon House Office Building where I was to be employed. This would also set me up to tour the whole capital complex as well as the multiple buildings of the Smithsonian. Confident that I knew what I was doing, I boarded a 43 bus to go an see the sights. As we drove on, it became rather apparent that the 43 bus was not the proper choice. We eventually reached RFK stadium and a prison. Seeing as how I was the only one on the bus at this point, the driver turned and said, "Lost?" When this was confirmed, he explained that this was the end of the route, and he was to dead-head the bus back to the lot, not being allowed to carry any passengers. Reading the complete panic that was on my face, he told me to hunker down in the seat so that no one could see me, we would pass back near the capital, he would stop at a light, the back door would open, and I could jump out. Angels come in the strangest forms sometimes.
That is probably enough for now. I will come back and tell more of this riveting tale at some point in the future.
Former Belle Plaine Educator
It was the summer of 1973. I had just graduated from college. (Please note the correct use of the word "from", proving that I not only attended classes in English, but also learned at least a small bit from them.) I had attained a degree in Political Science, which has to rank high on the list of useless degree areas. This had some to the attention of the powers that were in my Congressional District, and they felt that a summer internship with our Congressman was in order. Thus began an interesting summer.
Before leaving for Washington, it was decided (by Mom) that my wardrobe needed considerable upgrading. I was soon the owner of two suits, one powder blue and the other tan, a cream-colored sports jacket with accompanying brown pants, shirts, ties, socks, shoes, and new unmentionables. (All of the outer garments would be considered exceptionally hideous today. They found refuge in the high school prop department.)
My flight took me from Des Moines to Chicago to D.C. Apparently my stark terror while awaiting take-off was quite obvious, especially to my seatmate. Fortunately, she was an American Airlines stewardess catching a flight on United who had experience with first-time cases. She calmly kept me from exiting through the side of the plane before we took off.
Arrival in the capital brought about my first taxi ride, which was almost as daunting as the flight.
After checking in with the Congressman's office, I was told to show up on Monday morning, this being Friday, for my first day at work.
Another taxi ride took me to Hartnett Hall, a rooming house of sorts mostly catering to Georgetown University students, where I settled into my home for the next eight weeks.
My residence was quite near DuPont Circle, which I soon learned was rather evenly split down the middle. One side was given over to such endeavors as chess matches, and the other side was devoted to such things as the shooting of craps. Wandering around the area further acquainted me with my surroundings. I was once stopped by three gentlemen who kindly offered to include me in a business proposition. It seemed that they lacked sufficient capital to acquire a bottle of Thunderbird wine. If I were to invest the needed fifty cents to make the deal a reality, I would be afforded a full share in the bottle. Impressed by their sincerity, I declined to participate, but became a silent partner by contributing a whole dollar.
I had determined that either a 42 or a 43 bus would take me to the Library of Congress, which would leave me with a short walk to the Cannon House Office Building where I was to be employed. This would also set me up to tour the whole capital complex as well as the multiple buildings of the Smithsonian. Confident that I knew what I was doing, I boarded a 43 bus to go an see the sights. As we drove on, it became rather apparent that the 43 bus was not the proper choice. We eventually reached RFK stadium and a prison. Seeing as how I was the only one on the bus at this point, the driver turned and said, "Lost?" When this was confirmed, he explained that this was the end of the route, and he was to dead-head the bus back to the lot, not being allowed to carry any passengers. Reading the complete panic that was on my face, he told me to hunker down in the seat so that no one could see me, we would pass back near the capital, he would stop at a light, the back door would open, and I could jump out. Angels come in the strangest forms sometimes.
That is probably enough for now. I will come back and tell more of this riveting tale at some point in the future.