The Pigeon Has Landed

It's been a clammy week of high humidity and fast-changing weather. The sun is shining one minute and there's a drenching downpour the next. In a momentary peep at blue skies yesterday, I spied the Red Baron flying over the Bronx. Seconds later the skies turned ominously gray and both the Red Baron and sunlight were gone. 

And now for something completely different in these soupy times: I recently came upon the name Nadia Comăneci, a five-time Olympic gold medallist in gymnastics, in a virtual news headline. The article referred to some accomplishment of the Romanian gymnast in the 1976 Summer Olympics in Montreal. What I most remember from that snapshot in time was being on vacation in the cozy hamlet of Mattituck, Long Island and not watching the Olympics—even for a moment. There was, however, a man named Jimmy on the scene, who had to be indoors—and glued to the telly—on those warm summer nights in July to watch Comăneci strut her stuff. And so I’ll never forget her.

That summer, by the way, was America’s bicentennial—her two hundredth birthday if you are counting. Looking back now, I see a more serene place to call home where the majority of Americans put their country above their party—above their petty, partisan politics—and could just chill out for one brief shining moment at least. Of course there was no social media in those days—no forums to vent 24/7 and spew bile under the cloak of anonymity or, worse still, in the bright light of day. There were no cable channels offering never-ending parades of blithering talking heads with uncanny knacks of riling up the faithful night after night after night.

1976 was a presidential election year, too, with incumbent Republican Gerald Ford—benign, prone to physical mishaps, and the epitome of dullness—fighting off a fierce primary challenge from a charismatic true believer named Ronald Reagan, who was deemed too old by pundits to ever seek the presidency again. Ford’s opponent in the general election was Jimmy Carter, a pious peanut farmer with a toothy smile. It was a bitterly fought campaign with Carter narrowly defeating Ford.

Magnanimously, Jimmy Carter began his inaugural address on January 20, 1977 with this: “For myself and for our Nation, I want to thank my predecessor for all he has done to heal our land.” The unelected Ford had assumed the office after Richard Nixon’s resignation amidst the Watergate scandal. And it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Ford even designated Carter to deliver his eulogy when the grim reaper determined that the 38th President had fallen down his last flight of stairs and would never ever again bang his head while exiting an earthly helicopter.

While on the subject of that bicentennial year, I vividly recall election eve when Jimmy Carter was declared the winner. Watching a network broadcast—the only alternative in those days—the ecstatic Carter relations in Plains, Georgia were called upon to comment on their good fortune. Stewed to the mickey, brother Billy Carter made the greatest impression on the viewing audience as he proclaimed that the Carter warehouse would be on holiday the following day. A paid one, he added with a bleary-eyed snicker. My father, a staunch Republican, expressed dismay at Billy’s behavior and thought it a sad day for America. He believed that the incoming First Family would be an embarrassment and stain on American dignity. Suffice it to say, the bar has been lowered—removed entirely, I think—on that front today.

When Nadia Comăneci was mesmerizing Jimmy and that other Jimmy’s family was making news, it was a different world entirely. I turned fourteen in 1976 and began high school without a cell phone, Facebook page, or a single app. Somehow I survived and America did, too. I’m just happy I’m not fourteen now. The pigeon has landed.

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)