Funny how when I started this whole thing, I hadn’t left my house in months and didn’t know how The Office was going to end. Now here we are, the night before I leave for my junior year of college. I move into my apartment tomorrow, bright and early, in the hopes of staying there for the semester. In all honesty, though, I just need to make it to November 4th.
November 3rd is a big day, and I’ve been waiting for it since the day I started in journalism at BU. The election is like the Super Bowl— months and months of work all culminating in one televised event for the nation to watch. Most of the time, you’re rooting for your team, and, even if you aren’t a fan of either side, you still can’t help but pay attention just to see what happens.
And for those of us involved in covering it, it’s one big sleep-deprived, caffeine-induced, adrenaline-fueled blur.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
There were seven months between the time when I turned eighteen and when I could cast my first vote. My very first vote happened to be in the 2018 Midterms, and after having no idea how to request the absentee ballot I would need, I made sure to figure it out after watching the last four and a half minutes of Season 5 Episode 4 of Madam Secretary. I won’t tell you what happens in those four and a half minutes, but I will say the show in its entirety is now on Netflix should you be so curious. I hope you are.
I spent six years worth of Sunday nights glued to my TV for Elizabeth McCord. When the show first aired, I was 14. I’m sure the last thing most fourteen-year-olds want to do on a Sunday night is sit down and watch a political drama on CBS, but I was mesmerized nonetheless. I still am.
“I’ve never met a situation where I don't have a choice in the matter.”
There have only ever been three female secretaries of state. There have been 70 in total since Thomas Jefferson first held the position in 1790. Not great odds, but still better than a few other offices I can think of. The first female Secretary of State was Madeleine Albright under President Clinton. Then it was Condoleezza Rice (she attended the Josef Korbel School of International Studies, named after Albright’s father— stay tuned for more knowledge from Alex’s house of useless facts) under President George W. Bush, and then, of course, perhaps the most well-known of the three under President Obama: Hillary Clinton.
The current Secretary of State is Mike Pompeo, who, no matter how many times I stare at his face, never turns into Elizabeth McCord.
McCord is every bit as bright, quick-witted and confident as you would hope she is. She gives speeches unlike anything you’ve ever heard (I’ve always thought that if I ever were to hold elected or appointed office, I would round up the writers from this show for my team), and in addition to balancing being a mom and a wife (part of what makes the show so endearing) she also manages to save the world every time. I mean, really, what more could you ask for?
Her fatal flaw is that she’s fictional.
Sometimes, you’re lucky enough to find fictional characters based on real people. This was the case with C.J. Cregg on The West Wing— she’s the press secretary for President Bartlet who is based on the very real former press secretary under President Clinton, Dee Dee Myers.
Myers was the first woman to hold the position, yet when I think of the office of the White House Press Secretary, I instinctively think of a woman. Before Myers, I doubt that was the case for a lot of people; the same way that before Madeleine Albright, I doubt many people envisioned a female secretary of state.
It always seems impossible until it is done.
This year is the first time I am eligible to vote in a presidential election. Exactly 100 years ago, Tennessee became the final state needed to ratify the 19th Amendment, giving women the right to vote. There was still infinite work to be done on behalf of women of color (shout out the Voting Rights Act of 1965), but what a sweet twist of fate it is to have the first African-American and Asian-American woman on one of the two tickets this year.
Kamala Harris is the third woman to be the vice-presidential nominee of a major party. Before Harris came Sarah Palin in 2008 and Geraldine Ferraro who made history as the very first twenty-four years before Palin.
All this means that, in the 244 years and 45 presidents under which the United States has existed, there has only been a woman on the ticket of a major party four times. Politics aside, you can’t forget Clinton’s historic run in 2016. She may have been the first female presidential nominee on a major party ticket, but I can assure you she won’t be the last.
And, speaking of lasts, it’s been nine months since Madam Secretary aired its final episode. I still go back and watch my favorite ones on Netflix when I need a little inspiration.
Having watched all six seasons of Madam Secretary, I have a pretty good idea of what I imagine Elizabeth McCord is up to these days.
Check out some helpful resources here:
Because I think she’d want you to vote.
I wonder a lot where I’m going to be in five years. It’s like I’m constantly putting myself through a job interview. Quite an odd pastime, sure, but it’s one I can’t help but partake in.
Five years from now, I’ll be twenty-five. That means I’ll be out of college, fully in the real world, and finally able to rent a car. Don’t ask me why renting a car feels like the epitome of adulthood. I don’t know.
Five years from now, hopefully I’m right back where I was five years ago today, except older, and with better fashion sense, and ten years' worth of one-steps closer to becoming Savannah Guthrie.
Fifteen-year-old Alex was so eager to finally visit New York City after years of groveling that she made a themed playlist for the train ride. It consisted of songs like “Welcome to New York” by Taylor Swift and “Empire State of Mind” by Jay Z and Alicia Keys. I was also in the midsummer throes of assigned reading, so the coming-of-age novel A Separate Peace by John Knowles accompanied me and my companion summer reading notebook aboard the Amtrak on the hot morning of July 29.
The ride was going to be some four hours. Between the reading, the playlist, and the overwhelming daydreaming I did, the trip flew by. I fell asleep the night before thinking about how I had grown up watching the Today Show, and how, for the past year, I had watched it every night before bed (back then, I was a freshman in high school and had to be in first period by 7:50 each morning. Since that clearly wasn’t conducive to watching the morning program, I would record it and watch it later each night). Call me crazy, and I probably was, and I probably still am, but that system worked for me. So, to think that I was on a train taking me to that very place? I couldn’t wrap my head around what was happening. Turns out, that became a common theme over the next 72 hours.
My mom and my aunt— her sister— were the ones taking me to my own version of this promised land. My aunt traveled often for work, and as a result she was far more familiar with the city than my mother or I. She booked us a room at the Renaissance in Times Square. I felt like the most important person in the world as we got out of our taxi, and I looked up at the glossy black exterior of the hotel in the middle of the very hustle and bustle I had so longed for. But I’m getting ahead of myself here. I’m supposed to still be a girl on the train.
After so many hours of dreaming about what it would look like, I’ll never forget when the Amtrak first curved left, and there to my right was the skyline of New York City. It was late afternoon, and the sky was beginning to tinge pink. The contrast of the blue-grey buildings made the most beautiful backdrop. I felt a lump in my throat. This was it.
I think often of an anonymous quote I came across in those days. I thought of it often even back then. “New Yorkers are born all over the country, and then they come to New York and it hits them: Oh, that’s who I am.” I thought of this especially as I saw the skyline of my dreams for the very first time.
The remaining hours of that day proceeded much like a dream should. The train arrived at Penn Station, and up the long stairs my mom, my aunt and I climbed to hail a taxi. And there I was, suddenly standing in New York City somewhere in the middle of Seventh and Eighth Avenues, somewhere between 31st and 33rd Streets. If one has ever truly had stars in their eyes, I did in that very moment.
I sat with my palms and the tip of my nose pressed against the glass of the taxi cab window for the entire ride from Midtown Manhattan to Times Square. (I say “entire ride” as if it was long. I know now that it’s some five minutes, but in that taxi cab, time stood still.) My mother told me not to get so close to the glass. “Gross,” she said. And she was entirely correct, but I couldn’t have cared less. I was too busy seeing the world.
We checked in to the Renaissance, and then out on the town we went for the rest of the night. My aunt brought us to a wonderful pizza place. It used to be an old church, and we sat up a winding staircase across from an accent wall featuring a drawing of what I imagined was the landscape of the old church when it was still just that— a church. I have only one picture of the inside of this restaurant (see below). I don’t even know what it’s called, or if I could ever even find it again if I wanted to. But as I ate gnocchi (my favorite) and pepper and onion pizza inside an old church with my two favorite people that first night in New York, how could I look around and not thank God?
The night’s affairs concluded with a visit to Toys R Us and a ride in the famous ferris wheel (our car was adorned with the characters E.T. and the store’s mascot Geoffrey the Giraffe) as well as a stop in Sephora and pictures with the more real-life characters, if you will, who wander around Times Square (see above). I fell asleep listening to loud sirens and the chatter of teeming people. It was perfect.
The alarms that next morning went off at 3:30 a.m. I leapt out of bed at the first chime. I was headed to the Today Show. It felt like Christmas morning. I put my contacts in immediately— not that we were going to be late, but that I wanted to be as early as possible so as to secure a good spot in line— and my eyes stung. It was too soon after first opening them (I’m weary of this uncomfortable phenomenon to this day). I had packed a bright red blouse and a wildly patterned skirt with reds and oranges and teals in it to wear. I slipped into my outfit, fixed my contacts and added some mascara and some concealer to cover my teenage blemishes, and then braided my hair in what I considered my signature style— a low bun with one chunky braid down the right side of my head that met the bun at the nape of my neck. I was ready and raring to go.
We walked from the hotel to 30 Rock and hit a Dunkin Donuts stop along the way. I didn’t get anything to drink. There was no way I was going to have to pee in the middle of the best day of my life and risk losing whatever spot on the plaza we would manage to stake out.
I’m not sure if I was simply manifesting that I was going to have the best day of my life, or if somewhere deep inside me, I somehow knew. Either way, when we rolled up to 30 Rock at 6:23 a.m. (ah, the glory of a time-stamped iPhone photo) on the morning of July 30, I had all the forces of fate, free will, and good fortune focused on me.
As is customary, I had made a sign to bring with me to the plaza. Most normal people bring signs that shout out friends or family, or advertise a birthday or anniversary they’re celebrating.
My poster read in giant orange and blue letters: NATALIE, CAN I DO THE NEWS WITH YOU?
I don’t know what I was expecting to happen with this piece of poster paper I had drawn on, but I can tell you I wasn’t expecting the morning to begin with the massive group of people in front of my mom, my aunt, and I to leave and subsequently create a prime spot in the very front row of the perimeter around the plaza.
I also wasn’t expecting to meet the Plaza Producer, whose name, of all the possible names he could’ve had, was Alex.
He liked my sign, and then he found out about my name, and he liked my sign even more. We were now "Alex Squared," and within minutes of meeting him, he was tweeting me and my sign out to the world— namely, to Natalie— and he was going to see what he could do for me. I could’ve passed out.
Back in 2015, Natalie Morales was one of the four hosts of the third hour of the Today Show, alongside Al Roker, Tamron Hall, and Willie Geist. I absolutely adored Natalie and Savannah, but I especially liked that Natalie had a role on the third hour of the show in addition to the first two. In actuality, Today Show programming runs from 7-11 a.m. every morning. I think there’s some joke about it being never ending (Good Morning America only runs from 7-9 a.m.) but never ending is fine with me.
Alex Ficquette (the producer) flew in and out of the studio and back and forth between the plaza all morning. By 9 a.m., my grandparents had texted to say they’d seen me on TV, and I had secured a selfie with Natalie when she came out on the plaza with Savannah and Al Roker. I am notoriously bad at taking selfies, and this one was no exception. I look about 50 pounds heavier than I actually am thanks to the wonderful angle I fumbled the phone at, but there I was smiling next to Natalie Morales.
Unbeknownst to me at the time, my mom also miraculously snapped a photo at the exact moment I shook Savannah Guthrie’s hand as she, too, trotted by in a blue and white dress. I didn’t know there was picture documentation to help me forever relish the moment, and I remember having one of those moments where you contemplate never washing your hand again.
Ah, the days of handshakes.
The best part of all, though, was that when the main portion of the show was over at 9, rain clouds were rolling in, and my mom and my aunt had to essentially drag me away from the plaza. We compromised, and ended up in the gift shop just across the street.
Arms laden with Today Show sweatshirts, blankets, mugs, and more, I dropped it all in the middle of the store when my phone buzzed with a Twitter DM from Alex Ficquette— it contained his phone number, and it said “call me.” So, I put my phone up to my ear, and then I went running out the door.
“Go after her!” I heard my mom yell to my aunt from the other end of the store. With my aunt sprinting down the street after me (I wish I was exaggerating) I saw Alex coming toward me from the plaza. The merchandise and explanations could wait— I was going to be on the Today Show.
I had never had a pinch-me moment. I always thought that was a sort of exaggeration. Of course you knew you weren’t in a dream. Of course you were able to tell what was real and what was a figment of your imagination. But as I stood in what they affectionately called the Orange Room in Studio 1A with a swarm of producers and directors and camera operators around me, I reached down and pinched the back of my thigh. It hurt. I couldn’t believe it. I felt the weight of the mic pack behind me, tugging at the band of my bra. This was happening.
Mel B walked over and smiled at me. She was a guest on the show that day, likely promoting her program America’s Got Talent as they approached the live shows. “Hi!” she said as she was ushered by me and out the door I had just entered. My mom and my aunt had been escorted to the green room according to Alex, so I had nobody to make eye contact with to confirm the sheer absurdity of what was happening to me.
And then there was Natalie. She had on a red dress, one not much different in color from the shirt I was wearing. She’s a petite person at 5 foot 3— I should know, I’m the same height— and she had on the cutest pair of tan strappy heels that put me, in my flats, at about her shoulder.
She was standing to the right of me, and as I looked over to the left, there was Savannah, talking to Al and Tamron and Willie. I’m about 90% sure Savannah and I exchanged words. But, unlike the handshake, I had no documentation to prove it— not to other people after the fact, but to myself— and I was so hopped up on my own adrenaline that I was lucky to even remember my name when Natalie asked a few minutes later.
If history holds that Savannah and I did have a brief conversation in the midst of my living-the-dream-meeting-my-idol-fueled blackout, I sure do hope it was a good one. And I apologize for anything awkward fifteen-year-old me might have said.
My clip on the third hour of the Today Show was less than three minutes. The iPhone recording of the TV recording that I took of myself when I got home is even less than that, but it’s enough to prove that July 30, five years ago, wasn’t just some crazy fever dream I had.
I went on to see the Today Show control room and the little coat rack where the anchors hang their hats and other belongings. I also yelled across the bottom of 30 Rock, where there’s a Starbucks and a bagel shop and bathrooms, among other things, to Erica Hill in order to tell her that I liked her floral pants. Erica is a BU graduate from the same College of Communication I’m in right now, who, at the time, also worked for the Today Show. And her pants were from Zara, my favorite store. Don’t you just love the way life works out sometimes?
We returned to the plaza the next morning, too, to watch Jason Aldean perform as part of the Today Summer Concert Series. Naturally, I felt like I was practically Savannah Guthrie 2.0 after the 24 hours I’d just had. The very first time I saw my name on a teleprompter was standing in Studio 1A on the Today Show, live on national television. I’m aware that a lot of people never care if they ever see their name on a teleprompter at all, but for those who do, an experience like this was momentous.
I knew from then on that I would spend the rest of my life trying to get back to that very spot. New York City, 30 Rock, Studio 1A, the Today Show. These people made careers out of storytelling. It was, quite literally, something out of my wildest dreams.
The older I get, the less real it all seems. But then again, the older I get, the more work I’ve put in to get back to that spot.
So, today, happy half-a-decade to my hand that shook Savannah’s, and to my x taped on the floor next to Natalie on-camera, and to Alex Squared, who made all my dreams come true.
Do y’all need interns next summer?
I'm Alex, and welcome to my blog. I'm a junior at Boston University where I'm studying broadcast journalism and dabbling in political science. Usually, us journalists write articles and not blogs, but seeing as summer 2020 already hasn't gone according to plan, I missed writing with a purpose. Here you'll find all my thoughts and the words I felt needed to be put to paper (or, immortalized on the internet).