Cherished Humor: My Priceless Encounter with Jimmy Carter’s Wit

Jimmy Carter, who passed away on Sunday, is the earliest presidential candidate I recall openly sharing a perspective. As it eventually turned out, Carter would also be the first (and sole) president to openly convey an opinion about me.

Throughout Carter’s presidency, he faced criticism and ridicule; however, in his lifetime, he was more frequently celebrated for his public contributions and expansive, renaissance intellect. Personally, I will forever regard him as a person with a subtle sense of humor and a keen wit. If you have ever pondered why Carter was nearly always smiling, it could be because he had a rather amusing personality.

My inaugural encounter with the former president occurred in the spring of 1987. I was the editor-in-chief of the Emory Spoke, the humor magazine operated by students at Emory University in Georgia. We issued three editions each year, typically exhausting our budget on the one released during the fall semester, a full-color satire of a “real” magazine — “Playspoke” one year, “Spokelights for Children” another.

Not long before my time, a copy of a past editorial team’s “Peeple Spokely” found its way to Time-Life’s corporate legal team. They swiftly prohibited us from ever again infringing on one of their titles. It seemed as if torment, damnation, and personal legal disaster would descend upon any student reckless enough to defy their commands.

My decision was unmistakable. That fall’s edition would spoof Time magazine.

“How will we evade torment and damnation?” our managing editor inquired.

An idea struck me suddenly. “We’ll feature Carter on the cover. ‘Man of the Year’! If they seek us out, the publicity will be our shield.”

Since Emory housed the Carter Center and his presidential library, I leaned heavily on every connection I could muster to secure an interview. Months after our requests commenced, I was summoned to the office of the dean, who had previously graced the cover of “Rolling Spoke” wearing a traffic cone on his head. The reverence in our irreverence had yielded results — we would receive 30 minutes with Carter, and nothing was off-limits.

I attribute it to boldness rather than any inherent Republican inclinations, but about a month later, on interview day, as Carter entered the room, I tossed him a T-shirt emblazoned with the Spoke’s logo and requested that he don it for the cover shot. He willingly obliged.

The conversation was extraordinary — Carter shared tales of Domino’s deliveries to the White House, Willie Nelson performing on the South Lawn, and his installation of a hi-fi in the Oval Office to enjoy tunes from his friends, the Allman Brothers. He confided his most significant presidential remorse — not deploying a second helicopter during the ill-fated hostage rescue in Iran.

We probed about what he wanted to convey about President Reagan behind his back: “That he is incapable of telling the truth.” When we inquired what he’d relay to Reagan directly, he responded, “The same thing.” That was highlighted on the front page of the Wall Street Journal.

While negotiating for the interview, we had been explicit about our satirical nature and shared previous issues of Spoke. During the conversation, we reiterated our identity as a humor magazine. “I haven’t heard anything funny yet,” Carter quipped dryly. We questioned his patience with reporters, if he ever felt like striking a journalist. “Yes,” he acknowledged, “and this is one of those moments.”

After the edition was published, Carter sent me a letter that included the phrase, “I’m grateful my humorous replies compensated for the absence of that quality in your inquiries.”

At times, I still astonish myself, recalling that I once exchanged witty remarks with a former president. On other occasions, I’m flooded with the realization that a future Nobel Prize laureate called me out on the one thing I believed I excelled at.

Our paths intersected a few more times, and each instance, it was Carter’s humor that shone through. At a formal gathering, he challenged me to consume the decorative flower on the dessert. Before I could react, he popped it into his mouth.

He could have devised that jest for anyone present at the table. However, I like to think it was personal, and others who encountered Carter more than once have shared that they too felt a bewildered humility that the former leader of the free world remembered them by name.

A few years later, while pursuing my MBA again at Emory, Carter visited as a guest lecturer.

He approached the lectern and surveyed our power-suited audience. Then he turned to his assistant and remarked, “You didn’t inform me Binney would be here.”

He gazed at me, eyebrows lifted, and said politely, “Try to keep up.”

My peers were astonished. Some were stunned, others in admiration. How had I irked a president?

I hadn’t, of course. It was simply a perfect opportunity for a man with a clever sense of humor, an excellent memory, and a microphone. A man who forged meaningful interactions with those he encountered, whether on the global stage or a college campus.

Robert J. Binney is a screenwriter residing in Seattle.