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No one likes a name-dropper, or so we are told. But when our life has brought unforeseen variety and opportunities, sometimes we end up crossing paths with surprising people.  

Actually, what I have found is that true friends want to hear about each other’s adventures. A real friend leans in and says, “Oh, really? Tell me more.” So, I want to tell you more about the 39th U. S. president and Nobel Peace Prize winner, with whom I had the good fortune to spend a little time on several occasions. 

The recent death of former President Jimmy Carter made me sad. I can think of at least five occasions when I had the chance to meet or become reacquainted with him during our Georgia years. On one of those times, he actually called my name and beckoned me to visit with him, leading to fifteen or twenty minutes for a private conversation I’ll never forget.  

James Earl Carter, Jr., lived almost exactly one-hundred years and two months. Of that time, as one grandchild pointed out, ninety-four of those years were spent in tiny Plains, Georgia. The hometown he shared with wife Rosalynn for a lifetime. He possessed one of the highest I.Q.s ever to occupy the White House, including a brief stint in the Navy working with nuclear submarines. 

His last year or so under Hospice care caught my attention and caused me to reflect on his significance over that period. Historians are already beginning to reevaluate his term in national office. What has looked for decades like ineptitude is now starting to look more like a man ahead of his time. Only you can decide that for yourself. 

We think of him most readily as a one-term governor from Georgia who ran for president at just the right time. Defeating Gerald R. Ford in the election, this “Washington outsider” ushered in a White House culture that was refreshing to some and off-putting or laughable to others. 

None of that ever mattered much to me, as I was roughly sixteen when he left office and returned to Plains. My time with him happened exclusively during his fascinating post-presidency, where he built a powerful legacy. The first time I was around him, Mr. Carter spoke at my seminary graduation in 1992. His was the first hand I shook after receiving my diploma.  

Our next brush with him was when my wife and I were about to move from Milledgeville, Georgia in 1995 to serve our second church after seminary. We had one week between there and living in Greensboro, NC. We had heard about the enjoyable experience of attending president and Mrs. Carter’s Sunday School class at the Maranatha Baptist Church in Plains. We went, and joined that morning with about three-hundred others. 

We were mostly all tourists in the purest sense that day. Afterward, we posed with the Carters for a rushed private photo in the church’s front yard. We left feeling as though we had experienced something unique. 

Years later, though, we would begin to actually become acquainted a bit. In 2004 when former Georgia governor George Busbee died, I was in charge of all the funeral arrangements on behalf of the Atlanta church I was serving. 

That included serving as a liaison with the former president’s Secret Service detail. This would be the first of three times I had that privilege. In fact, after Carter’s death one national news outlet recently interviewed his agent in charge, Alex, with whom I worked closely back then. 

Years later, on the last of those occasions, we hosted the Carters over parts of three or four days for an extended regional gathering of Baptists at our church. Once again, I worked with the Secret Service detail and was also in charge of the Green Room, where dignitaries and speakers gathered before their parts of the program. 

I had lunch with the Carters one of those days. Elizabeth and I interacted with them in the Green Room. Then one day, as I simply checked in with Alex, I heard a voice call my name. By then, the aging Carter was in his mid-eighties. He had requested a place to rest for a time. “Charles … is that you? Come and sit. Let’s talk!” 

I would never claim to have known him well. It would be absurd for me to pretend we had become close friends. But I will never forget that invitation to simply sit and visit. 

What a surprise it was to have even a short private spell with a person of such significance. I recall very little of what we talked about specifically. My own inner-dialogue was shouting too loudly, “Just don’t say something dumb. Don’t ask a stupid question,” and the like. 

Our last interaction was during his battle with brain cancer. I wrote him a note one day, encouraging him and letting him know he was in my prayers. In return, he wrote a brief but gracious reply on stationary with the seal of the former president. It is among my most cherished possessions. 

No, we were never close friends. But to the extent I knew him, I found him to be a stellar example of integrity and Christian conviction. All of that, and a dogged determination to not waste a lifetime when there was so much good to be done. These values drove him.

The persona you saw publicly was the same Jimmy Carter I experienced when no cameras were around. His example has been formative for me. I count it a privilege to have had time with him. I miss him already.

DR. CHARLES QUALLS is senior pastor at Franklin Baptist Church. Contact him at 757-562-5135.