Editor’s Note: We step out of the entertainment world briefly to both mourn and celebrate President Jimmy Carter, who recently passed from this mortal realm at age 100. His was a life well-lived.
Bart Greenberg spent four of his most satisfying professional years running special events at the Lincoln Triangle Barnes & Noble. Preceding that he had spent several years at Tower Records where he first learned how to be in charge of signings and 
performances. Throughout this time, he met a very wide range of celebrities (writers, actors, singers, broadcasters, etc.). In the coming months he will share memories of the amazing – and notorious – people he encountered.
By Bart Greenberg***This column is usually devoted to my encounters with the famous and infamous in the worlds of theater, movies and cabaret. And I generally stay clear of any political figures (though at some point I may share the story of George McGovern getting lost in the bookstore on his way to his event). But this time I’m sharing my encounter with possibly the most famous person I ever met, but from a very different orbit. I speak of President Jimmy Carter. For one afternoon, I was allowed to bask in his generosity and quiet humor. There was also hot romance, mild violence and a moment when I sassed the former President of the United States.
It began when we were informed that we might be hosting Carter for his latest book signing. Previous Barnes & Noble events for him had been held at our 5th Avenue location. However, there was some sort of conflict and a new space was needed. The problem was our event space had a wall of windows, which set off alarm bells for the Secret Service for obvious security reasons. So an agent was dispatched 
to check out the physical space and determine how safe it was for the president. Happily, it was decided placing Mr. Carter at the other end of the room from the windows, with blinds lowered, would be a safe arrangement.
However, complicating matters was that the agent looked like he had been chosen by the same folks who were casting “CSI” at the time—and my colleague Shannon, a gorgeous redhead who was our in-store contact for this program, took one look at him, and he at her, and enough fireworks exploded to rival the Macy’s Fourth of July display. Much giggling and whispering continued for the next several weeks of prepping for the president’s visit. What else ensued I was too much of a gentleman to inquire.
Whatever the temper of the romance, the big day of the event arrived. The plan and the rules were simple: Mr. Carter would only sign the book brought to him, which had been on sale outside the room in which he sat awaiting the buyers. The usual chairs would be removed from the room. A few people and their purchased books would be let in to come to the president’s table. The B&N employee at the table would take the book and open it to be signed (no personalizations); the person to the buyer’s left (me) would take the book and close it and slide
it down the table, leading the buyer to follow the book and move on to keep things moving. The buyer would then circle around behind some velvet ropes where he or she could briefly pause to take a picture of the president (no posed pictures) and exit the room. There were no chairs, but there were several v-carts (named for their shape and used to move books around) in the room (and they came into play later). The plan was simple and efficient—so, of course, things went wrong.
I quickly discovered that Mr. Carter, like Mrs. Van Schuyler in Death on the Nile, had no qualms about breaking his own rules—especially when youngsters were involved. When children approached him, he greeted them with that trademark beaming smile as he focused exclusively on them, asking about what they liked in school and their favorite activities. I’m not sure that some of them had no real idea who this older man was, but they quickly fell under his spell, as did I, because he was so genuine and open. And, of course, the doting parents were welcome to photograph the interaction. The line came to a halt at these times, but no one seemed interested in complaining.
And then Mr. X arrived. Known to us, I’m not sure I ever knew his name, nor wanted to. He was probably in his 70s, tall and with a permanent sour expression on his face. None of us working on events were ever happy to see him show up. At one Q&A with a highly accomplished author, he was called upon before we could stop the writer, and he demanded that the scribe stop talking because he 
needed to get his book signed so he could head home. Awkward! So here he was, stalking into the room, carrying at least ten books, including a copy of the Constitution. Told that he couldn’t get them all signed, he threw a fit but finally compromised on three. Carter signed them without a word and Mr. X stalked away from the table and plunged into one of the few folding chairs beyond the ropes announcing he was a tired old man and needed to sit.
The Secret Service agents decided that letting things go for a moment was the best course of action. They underestimated him.
A few more people got their books signed and then… Mr. X was suddenly on his feet and charging toward the table. The Secret Service men tried to block him and in avoiding them he tripped and fell (one of the heroes might have actually stuck out his foot to bring him down, but the security videos didn’t show that and we were ready to deny it if necessary). He fell flat on his face, his books flying in all directions, and he managed to kick over one of the V carts. When approached to be helped out, he started screaming that his back was broken and he was going to sue the store and the government. After a moment, he struggled to his feet with no particular issues, was handed back his books and escorted out of the room—and out of the store, still 
screaming about suing everyone in sight. (Eventually we learned that he had been informed that he was banned from the store and all other B&N’s—forever. He was also informed that in exchange for not suing he would not be charged with assaulting a Federal Officer.)
In the quiet calm that followed, as we all took deep breaths before more people were admitted to get their autographs, Carter turned to me and with a smile said, “Nice group of people you get here.” Definitely without thinking, words came smoothly from my mouth: “But Mr. President, they’re your fans.” As it registered in my brain that I had just sassed Jimmy Carter and I’d be the next one escorted from the store, he smiled at me. Actually, he grinned. There may even have been a chuckle. And I kind of fell in love.
God bless you, President Jimmy Carter. Rest in the peace you so richly deserve.
