TEDDY, THE BULL MOOSE

Jamie skipped along, zigging and zagging across the wide pavement from one curb to the other. Bright orange cones and Washington D.C. policemen stood at either end of the street, diverting traffic away from the White House. Jamie didn’t notice. St. Stephen’s had let out for the day, and he was just happy to be out of his maroon suit and into a more comfortable sweatshirt and a pair of jeans.

Roosevelt still wore his early 1900s apparel, of course, and he wore it with pride. His face, however, showed nothing but dismay. The Colonel’s expression mixed anger, sorrow, and confusion together, resulting in an arched brow, squinted eyes, and a half-moon frown.

Turning around in a full circle, Roosevelt looked downright perturbed. His breath half gone, he waved his hand and motioned for Jamie to join him.

"James, why is Pennsylvania Avenue closed?"

"What?" Jamie yelled, as he skipped up the street, a few meters ahead of the Colonel.

"James, come hither!" Roosevelt was steamed.

Jamie knew something was the matter just by the tone of the Colonel’s voice. He stopped where he was and went back to him, pumping his fists as he ran.

"What did you say?"

Roosevelt stared down at the boy and collected himself. He swept one arm out and motioned to the tourists lining the White House security wall.

"James," he said, "What is the meaning of all this?"

"I don’t know," Jamie said. "Dad says it’s all for security, so the President won’t get shot or anything."

Jamie watched as Roosevelt’s lips curled into a full frown and he filled his substantial chest with a deep angry breath.

"This is unmanly!" Roosevelt slammed his fist into his palm with more force than Jamie had ever seen.

"Why? Weren’t you afraid of getting shot when you were President?"

Roosevelt stopped and snorted a short blast of air through his nose. Placing his hands behind his back, the Colonel bent at the waist and leaned over to face the boy.

"Let me tell you something, James. Back in 1912 when I ran for a third term as President, some crazy man – some anarchist from the lunatic fringe – shot me in the chest, only minutes before I was to give a campaign speech."

Jamie’s jaw dropped. He took a full step back and looked up at Roosevelt with wide eyes and an open mouth.

"You got shot, Colonel? What did you do?"

Roosevelt stiffened his back and stood up straight. He seemed insulted by the question.

"What do you think I did, James? I pulled myself up from the ground, and I gave the speech!"

"But weren’t you hurt?"

"By Godfrey, of course I was hurt! I had a bullet lodged inside my chest!" Roosevelt stomped his foot on the ground and again slammed his fist into his palm.

"Wow," Jamie said, exhaling the word with admiration.

Roosevelt turned back toward the White House and narrowed his eyes.

"I had to give the speech, James, because I had to prove to all the radicals out there that, no matter what they did, they weren’t going to get the best of Theodore Roosevelt. You see, the threat of getting shot is part of every President’s job description."

Roosevelt allowed the words to sink in, as he stared past the tourists, the iron gates, and the green manicured lawn. Focusing his eyes on the White House, Roosevelt clenched his domino teeth together and breathed with great resolve. Without a word, he turned on his heels and began marching down the street.

"Colonel, where are you going?" Jamie hustled to keep in step.

Roosevelt walked at a rapid pace, ignoring the tourists as he trekked along Pennsylvania Avenue and headed straight for a Secret Service guard post at the right end of the iron gates.

"Hasten forward quickly there, James! I want to talk to the President."

Jamie scurried along. His coordination looked a little better than it had in gym class, but he still struggled to keep up.

"What do you want to talk to the President about?"

Without stopping or watching where he was going, Roosevelt turned his head and spoke over his shoulder to the boy.

"The White House is the home of the people, James, and they have every right to drive past it in their cars along Pennsylvania Avenue," he said. "All these security measures, as you call them, are downright unmanly!"

"But, Colonel," Jamie said, throwing his arms into the air, "You can’t just go inside the White House!"

Roosevelt stopped and wheeled around to face his young charge.

"Can’t go inside?" He pounded his palm with his fist. "James, need I remind you that I lived there for eight years? By Godfrey, I’ll come and go as I please!"

Roosevelt stomped his foot down onto the Pennsylvania Avenue concrete to help make his point. Turning again, he increased his pace and headed for the Secret Service gate with his chest puffed out and his chin jutting forward.

Jamie took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Life was one adventure after another with the Colonel. Slamming his own small fist into his palm, Jamie steeled himself and ran to catch up.