Coffee with the Queen

Atlanta, GA

September 9, 2022

I’ve had opportunities to encounter a lot of people. We lost one of them last week with the death of Mikhail Gorbachev. Another departed yesterday, when Queen Elizabeth II gave up the ghost. 

I crossed paths with Gorbachev in 1995, while I was working as a civil engineer for the Golden Gate Bridge. We (my co-workers and I, not Gorbachev and I) were retrofitting the structure by, among other things, reinforcing the anchorage at the south end of the span. 

Next to our worksite was Fort Point, made famous as the spot where Kim Novak jumped into the bay in Vertigo, and over which extends an elegant arch beneath the approach to the bridge. It was to this spot that Mikhail Gorbachev paid his visit.

After the welcome collapse of the Soviet Union, its last leader was looking for his next act. He found it by starting something known colloquially as “The Gorbachev Foundation.” 

One of its appendages was an ominous organization called “The State of the World Forum”,  which opened its main office at the nearby Presidio. On a trip to San Francisco for another event, the head of the “Forum” decided to see its headquarters.

Those of us on-site stood back as a posse of elites began to arrive. A car pulled up, and Gorbachev stepped out. With him were George HW Bush, Margaret Thatcher, Vaclav Havel, Japanese Prime Minister Nakasone, Desmond Tutu, Newt Gingrich, and (ahem) Bill Gates. They spent a decent amount of time touring the fort and admiring the bridge before strolling toward us. 

Gorbachev passed the American proletariat with a smile and a wave, got back in the car, and rode away. His group was returning to a globalist shindig at the Fairmont Hotel, where they’d discuss their plans for people like us. 

After they departed we continued our work, thanks to which the Golden Gate Bridge still stands. Were you to drive across it and continue sixteen hours north, you could catch a ferry to Victoria, Canada.

That lovely city was named for the monarch with the longest reign in British history…until Queen Elizabeth broke the record seven years ago. Twenty-eight years ago, Her Highness was there for the Commonwealth Games, and we were there for our Honeymoon.

A few days earlier, we’d arrived in Vancouver off a week-long cruise through southeast Alaska. After exploring the endless delights of that wonderful city, we hopped a ferry across Howe Sound, and landed in Victoria.

The Queen got in a few hours earlier, but we had no idea she was there. We grabbed some dinner, strolled the streets, and checked into the hotel to get some sleep.

The next morning was crisp and clear, a gorgeous day in a beautiful place. Others apparently agreed. As we approached the BC Parliament building, the crowd thickened.

We were surprised how large Victoria was, and didn’t expect so many people on the streets. As we wended our way thru the throng, we noticed most had been camped overnight on the adjacent grass and in nearby parks.

We started to realize something was up, but shrugged our shoulders, and kept moving ahead. All we wanted was to grab some breakfast and see the town. Holding Rita’s hand, I wove us behind, between, and in front of the masses who’d been waiting all night.

Then, we approached the front of the flock. Metal barricades blocked our path, and separated us from a similar sea of humanity on the other side of a carefully cleared path.

Expectation filled the air as people peered past each other, cameras at the ready, up the concrete walkway. We just wanted a cup of coffee, and were hoping one of the nearby mounties or royal guards might let us thru. None of them did. They were standing watch to let another person proceed past.

We soon saw who it was. To our right, not five feet away…walked the woman these hordes had camped all night to see. Rita and I exchanged surprised glances, and realized what was going on.

“That’s the Queen of England!”, I exclaimed in tones loud enough to ensure everyone around us knew I was an idiot. 

“Of course that’s the Queen of England”, they surely thought. “Why the hell do you American morons think we camped all night to save a spot?”

“Who’s the moron?”,  I imagined in response. “You waited all night to catch a brief glimpse of this one woman; we woke up in a comfortable bed, walked here at our leisure…and got a front row seat for a moment with your monarch…about whom we don’t particularly care.”

But when we made eye contact with Her Majesty, the mood changed. She broke from her retinue, and came to the rail. I couldn’t believe it. She was coming toward…us? 

I looked around, assuming someone important was standing nearby. But it was my wife and me the queen wanted to see. 

Why? Were we under arrest for breaking protocol by breaking in line? Was my camera prohibited in the presence of the queen? I began to get nervous. I needn’t have been.

This was before 9/11 and the security theater it ushered in. No one pushed us back or got in her way. And she was a nice as she could be.

Almost.

“Thank you so much for coming,” she smiled while looking at my wife and taking her hand. “Where are you from?”

“I live in San Francisco”, I interjected. “My wife lives in Philadelphia. But we were just married and are on our honeymoon, so now she’ll move to San Francisco with me.”

“I wasn’t speaking to you,” the Queen retorted with a steely glare. “I was talking to this beautiful woman who has apparently made an awful mistake.”

With a shake of her head and roll of her eyes, Her Majesty continued as the crowd leaned in and I eased back.

“So anyway, my dear, tell me about yourself. What is your name?”

“Rita,” my wife replied. “As my husband mentioned, we were married a couple weeks ago and are on our honeymoon. We’ll be here a couple days, then go to Seattle, and then back home.”

“Marriage is wonderful”, the queen advised. “But only”, she said with a wary eye toward my wife’s new husband, “if you marry the right man.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty”, my wife replied. “I’m sure I did.”

“I suppose so,” she said with a smirk and a shrug.

As the crowd grew impatient and her handlers tried to move her along, the queen continued talking.

“You’re very lovely. But it’s awfully loud here with all these people. Would you care to continue this conversation some place more quiet? Perhaps at the Empress Hotel. I need to open the Games shortly, but it’d be charming to chat till my obligations begin.”

“We’d be honored, Your Majesty.”

“How delightful,” Her Highness responded as she signaled her handlers to clear the crowd for our walk to the hotel.

When we arrived, we settled into the suite.

“Would you care for a cup of tea?”, the Queen offered. My wife graciously accepted.

Again feeling comfortable as I settled back in my chair, I dared open my mouth, to a look of disdain.

“I’d like some coffee, please. No sugar. Just cream.”

Stopping short in her steps, the Queen looked back toward me.

“Coffee?”, she sighed. “I am a tolerant sovereign, and permit my subjects to drink whatever they like. But in my presence, guests always drink tea.”

“Yes, ma’am. Tea will be fine.”

With a nod toward me, the Queen looked at Rita. “I don’t know about this lad, my dear. I’m sure he’s nice enough, and he obviously has marvelous taste in women. But he sometimes says the strangest things. If I didn’t know any better”, she leaned in with a whisper toward the ear of my wife, “I’d say he was Irish.”

At that point, I felt a nudge in my ribs and a pull on my arm.

“JD…”, came a voice.

“JD!”, it repeated impatiently.

“Yes…? What?” I replied.

“We need to go,” Rita said. “I guess she’s gone, so they’ve moved the barricade. Wasn’t that cool, getting this close to the Queen? All these people waited all night, and we didn’t even know she was here!”

“I know. Who could’ve imagined?”, I said with a smile.

“Well, where do you want to go for breakfast?”, Rita asked. “I need some coffee.”

I’m sure I did too. But today, I’ll have some tea.

JD