The first ladies of many states (and a few ''first dudes'') help each other more than most of us know

By CHRISTIE VILSACK
May 20, 2003
DES MOINES, IOWA

Seven of the first ladies from other states around the U.S. came to Iowa last week as my guests for a three-day National Governors Association (NGA) retreat. We kicked off our heels, pitched the pantyhose and did some bonding.

We talked about promoting our historic homes, staying healthy, and protecting our spouses and children from the public eye. We ate, shopped and experienced Iowa’s capital city and one of its small towns.

We meet three times a year – once in Washington, D.C., with the governors, once in the summer with families, once alone without staff and without security. Tough economic times, tough weather and a date sandwiched between Mother’s Day and graduations—meant we had a small crowd this year. But we had fun and maybe we helped Iowans understand a little better just what first ladies do anyway.

When people ask, or when I have to speak about my job, I say, “First Ladies do whatever they want.”

After all, we’re not elected and we’re not paid.

Some of us are lawyers, teachers, doctors or business executives. Some of us are self-employed. We have three judges – two women and one man. Some are stay-at-home moms or dads, while others are grandmothers and grandfathers. We are Puerto Rican, Asian-American, Hispanic, Mormon and Baptist. We are Republicans and Democrats. Some of us are elected officials ourselves and some of us have run for office.

“Anyone in this room might end up being the first lady of Iowa,” I tell grade school audiences. Little boys shake their heads vehemently. I say, “Ken Mulhern is very proud that his wife Jennifer Grandholm is the governor of Michigan. The new first lady of Kansas is a man named Gary, and he’s calling himself the ‘first dude’.” That always gets a laugh.

Then I get serious.

Usually when we hear the term “first lady,” it refers to the president’s wife, I tell them, but most people don’t know how that got started. When President James Madison’s wife Dolly died, she was referred to as “the first lady of the land.” That’s how the title began. Eventually governors’ wives assumed the title as well.

Now that the guys are part of our organization, we call ourselves governors’ spouses.

I’ve spent a lot of time with elementary school-aged kids the past few years, and for the most part they don’t care about titles. They’re just happy to have someone read them a story or give them a book.

I usually ask, though, “What do you think a ‘first lady’ is? The first time I asked, a second grader in Centerville raised her hand quickly and said, “The first woman ever born?”

Last year I was in Grinnell at an all-school assembly, kicking off my program to give a book to every kindergarten student in the state. I was decked out in my new red suit and a red hat. I thought I looked pretty good. The kindergartners were sitting at my feet and the others were filing in when 5-year-old Meg looked up at me and said, “You are not at all dressed the way I imagined you’d be dressed.”

“And how did you imagine I’d be dressed?” I asked.

“Well, I thought it would be a lot fancier than this,” she said indignantly.

Her voiced quivered and the tears welled up in her eyes.

“I thought you’d be dressed like a queen,” she whimpered.

“But I’m not a queen. I’m a teacher,” I replied.

“A teacher!”

Now she was really disappointed. After all, she spent every day with teachers. I’m sure she wondered why they were having an all-school assembly to listen to one more teacher.

As the children got settled, I told some parents about my encounter with Meg. One of the moms rolled her eyes and said, “She’s mine. We go to Renaissance festivals on the weekends, and when she heard the ‘first lady’ was coming, she expected the long gown, the peaked hat with scarves or a tiara.”

I won’t soon forget Meg, but it’s not just kids who have a hard time with the title.

Principals who must introduce me are never quite sure how to do it. Recently, Brad Armstrong in Missouri Valley was certain his kindergartners were prepared for my visit. Their teachers had obviously prepped them. He reminded them that they had a special guest, “and she is the first lady of Iowa, our governor’s wife and her name is…?”

“Mrs. Bush!” shouted a little boy, triumphantly.

Mr. Armstrong tried explaining again, but to no avail. Later, as I sat amid a crowd of kindergartners reading Susan Knapp’s new book, “Bells Goes to the Fair,” a little girl tugged at my sleeve. “Mrs. Bush, Mrs. Bush, will you help me?”

So, you see, there’s this expectation that’s hard to meet. If Iowans expect glamour, they won’t find it among us first ladies. We look and act like the people we serve. We each do our best to care for our families, represent our states and still maintain a sense of self.

Some of us are not at all interested in being public figures and stay well below the radar screen in our states. Some of us don’t use the same name as the governors we married. Some of us don’t have an office or assistants to organize our schedules or troopers to protect us, but most of us do. Most of us use the title as an opportunity to make our states better places to live or to call attention to issues important to us.

Janet Huckabee of Arkansas headed “The First Ladies’ Build,” an effort to build Habitat for Humanity houses in each capital. Many of us traveled to other states to help build houses. Jean Carnahan came to Des Moines. I went to New Mexico to help Dee Johnson build an adobe house.

The first lady of Kentucky, Judi Patton, has a special interest in preventing domestic violence, and she is often seen in the Frankfort capitol lobbying legislators for laws that protect women and children. Judy O’Bannon of Indiana travels in a colorful van to promote community-building activities in her state. The first lady of Idaho helps decide how to distribute the TANF monies (Temporary Assistance to Needy Families). Bill Shaheen, who is married to the former governor of New Hampshire, was involved with veterans’ affairs and the Special Olympics. The first lady of Ohio is particularly interested in curbing teenaged drinking.

Getting away from home, family and state obligations is not always that easy.

Last year I had to leave the retreat early to fly from Alaska to a political fundraiser in New York City. The first lady of Utah, Jackie Leavitt, has five children, and one of them is preparing for a two-year mission trip. The first lady of Oklahoma just had a tornado drop in, and President Bush dropped in on the first lady of Nebraska. Several first ladies are planning family weddings this month.

Weaving our private lives into our public lives is part of the job, but it helps to be able to turn to others for advice, especially when you’re a rookie.

When we have questions or concerns, we often turn to each other. We pay little attention to partisanship in our organization.

If a family member is in trouble and ends up in the national news, we respond. Who else knows how that feels or how to handle it? If we’re not sure how to ask a CEO for $20,000, we’re apt to call a more experienced spouse. If we’re hiring staff for a governor’s residence for the first time or dealing with a political columnist who doesn’t like our hairstyle or our spouse’s politics, we’re more apt to call another governor’s spouse than our best friends at home.

Last week when we got together here, we bonded on the go.

The children from Capitol View School greeted the first ladies at Terrace Hill with a Meredith Willson song that begins, “Iowa, it’s a beautiful name, when you say it like we say it back home…”

Our focus was historic preservation. Speakers from the elegant old homes Brucemore in Cedar Rapids, the Dodge House in Council Bluffs, and both Salisbury House and Terrace Hill in Des Moines, explained how we promote historic sites in Iowa.

We learned about historic preservation in the Valley Junction district of West Des Moines and the newly-renovated Temple for the Performing Arts in Des Moines. We saw Tom Milligan’s one-man show about Grant Wood. We had breakfast at The Art House, a Des Moines restaurant that celebrates contemporary Iowa artists. We toured the folk art company, Sticks, and did some sampling at Chocolaterie Stam, both in Des Moines.

We also toured Meredith Corporation’s test gardens and kitchens, and heard Elvin McDonald, the editor of Better Homes And Gardens magazine, talk about gardening at governors’ residences.

At tea at Terrace Hill, we introduced our “virtual tour” CD-Rom, which we just delivered to every library and fifth grade classroom in the state.

Then we did a mini-RAGBRAI from Waterworks Park to Cumming, where we were greeted by Iowa 4-Hers. We rode a colorful RAGBRAI bus – compliments of the Des Moines Register – through legendary Madison County. The pork producers fired up their grills in Winterset. The Chamber of Commerce folks planned a small town potluck in the park shelter house near a covered bridge. The Benge family fiddlers entertained us and local craft artists demonstrated quilting and basketry.

By inviting the spouses to “Come Be Our Guest” in Iowa, I was hoping to promote Iowa as a great place to live, get an education, start a business, raise a family and have a good time.

By the way, this was the first time Iowa has hosted an NGA event. We’re competing with other states to host the summer NGA meetings in 2005 when we can show off the results of our Vision Iowa investments. We hope the first ladies had such a good time here last week that they will return in two years with the governors and their families for another taste of Iowa.