Making lesbians happy – one book at a time

Jimmy Carter

“White House, how may I direct your call?”

“Hi! Can I speak to Jimmy, please?” I said into the telephone.

The year was 1977 and I was fourteen-years-old.  Jimmy Carter had just been elected President of the United States.



I loved Jimmy. I loved his big teeth and big smile. I loved his accent. I loved peanuts. So, on Thanksgiving Day, I decided to call the White House and tell him how much I loved him.

me at 14


“I’m calling long distance,” I said. “Can I talk to Jimmy?”

“May I ask who is calling?” said a very professional woman on the other end.

“You can tell him Layce is calling,” I said.

“I am sorry, but President Carter is unavailable.”

“Oh. Well, can I speak to Roz then?”

“She is also unavailable.”

“Okay,” I said. “How about Amy?”

“The entire Carter family is at Lillian’s house for Thanksgiving,” the woman said. (A little snottily, I thought.)

“Maybe I should call her house. Do you have that number?”

“I do not.” (No doubt about it now. She was being snotty.)

“Can you give Jimmy a message for me?”

“What is the message?”

“Tell him I have a friend who has a dog and every time you say the name Jimmy Carter, the dog smiles. And, if you happen to see Billy, tell him I have a can of Billy Beer. It’s unopened, of course. I’m going to save it for posterity’s sake. And tell them all Happy Thanksgiving from me.”


There was a long pause.

“Did you get all that?” I asked.

“Yes. Please do not call back,” she said and hung up.

I didn’t call back. In fact now that I think about it, I’ve probably been on some kind of CIA watchlist since 1977.

I drank the Billy Beer sometime during the Reagan administration. But I still have the can.

Billy beer

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