Jimmy Carter, who passed away on Sunday, is the first presidential candidate I distinctly recall having an opinion about. Interestingly, Carter turned out to be the first, and only, president who ever shared his opinion about me.
Throughout Carter’s presidency, he faced a fair share of criticism and ridicule. However, he was often celebrated for his public service and his wide-ranging intellect as the years went by. Personally, I’ll always remember him as a man with a sharp wit and a clever tongue. If you ever wondered why he was always grinning, it might just be because he had a great sense of humor.
Our paths first crossed in the spring of 1987. At the time, I was editor-in-chief of the Emory Spoke, a student-run humor magazine at Emory University in Georgia. We produced three issues a year, often splurging our budget on the fall semester’s issue, which was a full-color parody of a “real” magazine—such as “Playspoke” one year or “Spokelights for Children” another.
Just before my time, an issue called “Peeple Spokely” ended up with Time-Life’s corporate lawyers. They quickly sent a stern warning never to parody their titles again, suggesting dire consequences for any student audacious enough to defy them.
Faced with this, I made my decision. That fall, we’d parody Time magazine.
“But how do we avoid their wrath?” our managing editor queried.
The answer hit me. “Let’s feature Carter on the cover as ‘Man of the Year’! If they come after us, the publicity will be worth it.”
Given that Emory was the home of the Carter Center and his presidential library, I pulled every string to secure an interview with him. After months of effort, I received a call from the dean’s office—a place we had quite irreverently featured on a past cover. Fortune smiled upon our irreverence; we’d be granted a 30-minute interview with Carter, with no restrictions.
When the day of the interview finally came, and Carter entered the room, my nerves got the best of me—or maybe my hidden Republican streak. I tossed him a T-shirt emblazoned with the Spoke’s logo and asked him to wear it for the cover shot. He played along without a fuss.
The conversation was unforgettable. Carter shared anecdotes about ordering Domino’s to the White House, Willie Nelson performing on the South Lawn, and installing a hi-fi system in the Oval Office for listening to his friends, the Allman Brothers. His biggest regret as president? Not sending a second helicopter during the ill-fated Iran hostage rescue.
When we asked what he’d say about President Reagan behind his back, he didn’t hesitate: “That he is incapable of telling the truth.” And to Reagan’s face? “The same thing.” That line even made the front page of the Wall Street Journal.
Throughout our lobbying for the interview, we’d made it clear we ran a satirical magazine and had shared past issues. During our talk, we emphasized our comedic angle. “I haven’t heard anything funny yet,” Carter quipped. When we asked if there were moments he wanted to hit a reporter, referring to his patience with journalists, he replied, “Yes, and this is one of those times.”
After the edition was out, Carter sent me a letter, jesting, “I’m glad my humorous responses more than made up for the absence of humor in your questions.”
Looking back, I still amuse myself with the thought that I once traded witty remarks with a former president. But some days, the memory humbles me, knowing a future Nobel laureate had critiqued me on what I thought was my strength.
Over the years, I encountered Carter a few more times, and his humor always stood out. At one formal dinner, he challenged me to eat a floral garnish on the dessert. Before I could react, he popped it into his own mouth.
Perhaps he had that trick ready for anyone at the table, but I like to believe it was personal. Others who met Carter multiple times have shared similar feelings of awe, noting that the former leader of the free world remembered them by name.
Years later, while pursuing my MBA at Emory, Carter returned as a distinguished lecturer.
As he approached the lectern, scanning the suited audience, he turned to his assistant, quipping, “You didn’t mention Binney would be here.”
With a raised eyebrow, he politely nodded at me, “Try to keep up.”
My classmates were bewildered, some astonished, others curious. How had I managed to irk a president?
I hadn’t, in all honesty. It was just a prime example of a man with a wry sense of humor, sharp memory, and an audience. A man who formed lasting connections with everyone he met, whether on the global stage or a college campus.
Robert J. Binney is a screenwriter based in Seattle.
