Dinner With Madame President

Mary Therese Winifred Robinson (1990-1997) was the first female president of Ireland––remarkable for a nation that only decriminalized things like divorce and homosexuality in the 90s. She served for seven years and transformed Ireland into a progressive republic. She is a human rights advocate and resigned from the presidency after her first term to work as the High Commissioner for Human Rights of the United Nations and visited Tibet and South Africa, among other places. And then there was the time where she and I broke bread.

My brush with greatness isn’t as random as it sounds. I took an Irish history and society seminar as a university student and my professor said that President Mary Robinson might come and speak. How he managed that is a mystery. He may have not believed it himself––the former president of Ireland? In central Ohio? Give me a break!

Luckily, the anthropology department had the money to bring her to one of our classes for a Q & A and dinner at our village’s only four-star hotel. I can’t remember if she came for another speaking engagement too because it seemed like a lot of trouble for a world leader to end up in your little village.

The night before I thought of some questions to ask, but didn’t know where to start. I was still in shock that my professor asked me and other fellows in the sociology department to attend the dinner.

Our classroom was in the newest building on campus. The new car smell would hit you as soon as the sliding doors opened. Everyone from the class filed into our room and around the graphite conference table. After sweating for five minutes, she appeared.

Madame President was much taller than I had imagined, or maybe it was just because she had a few inches on my professor. He introduced her to our class and she proceeded to tell us about how life in Ireland has drastically been transformed in the past 15 years. There weren’t many questions. Everyone looked like they had something to say but were too afraid to say anything for fear of sounding like an idiot in front of a world leader. The class ended as quickly as it began and I heard sighs of relief as I went back to my building for a nap before the big dinner.

As night came I agonized over what to wear and ultimately settled on the smartest outfit I could muster in my scant wardrobe: khakis, a starched white shirt, black loafers and a dark green corduroy blazer that was given to me the Christmas before. I met a fellow classmate outside of my building for a ride to the hotel. We didn’t have anything to say to each other because of the mounting anxiety over how to act once we arrived. As she parked her Buick, our professor greeted us with his wife and we walked inside of the inn to meet the President. The university paid for her lodgings in the hotel and was already present as we were seated. I had no idea that she would sit next to me though!

My professor went around the table introducing the student fellows and other professors attending. There were around 10 of us in a side room, sequestered from the public. I looked up at my friend from class who was across the table. As Madame President began to talk, we sat perfectly still like we had rigor mortis. I left the corduroy sport coat on but the sweat began to bead. My eyes kept darting around the table and everyone else appeared to be more reserved than normal, but Madame President kept entertaining us with stories of tea with the Queen of England and her close friendship with Nelson Mandela. There were a lot of wide eyes and nods between sips of ice water. Then it was time to order.

The food was alright, though I expected more from a four-star hotel. Most of us ordered some variety of chicken including Madame President. There was more talk of distant travels and some of the professors chimed in with their own experiences doing field work in the Irish-speaking Gaeltachts or on the streets of Tehran. We students still sat paralyzed, nodding and laughing nervously like people do on a first date. No one had the audacity to order anything alcoholic, though the professors and Madame President had a nice looking Cabernet. She was enjoying herself a bit too much and grabbed my arm and swayed while I chatted with my anthropology professor. I just smiled and went with it.

Before the night drew to a close I was able to ask Madame President a bit about the Irish language and if it is on the rebound like Welsh. She said that she hoped for the best, looking lost in thought. Then we shook hands and I left because I wanted to walk back to my apartment. It drizzled, but I didn’t mind one bit.