I work in an office in an airline headquarters with two other software engineers. We walk through the hangar every day to get from the street to our office. Tuesday night, I was here with one of them late, and some suits came in and were checking things out. We had no idea who they were.

It turned out, they were from the Secret Service, and they were scouting the place out, because President George W. Bush would be flying into Portsmouth (the runway and terminal are nextdoor) that Friday. The purpose of his trip would be to campaign for Congressman John Sununu, who is running this year for the U.S. Senate against our governor.

The next day, it turned out that not only was President Bush flying in on Friday, but he was going to be in the building. And not only was he going to be in the building, but he was going to be delivering his campaign speech right there in the hangar. It was the weirdest thing. All but the back quarter of the hangar was empty. Usually there are planes, plane parts, utility vehicles, drums of chemicals, and tools all about. But that place was pretty well cleared out, and nobody was working on planes. Instead, most of the planes were parked outside, and a small throng of people with visitor badges were pounding two by eights together into steps and aisles and platforms. Meanwhile, the Secret Service were still scouting around, looking all rulingly official and stuff. But contrary to the stereotypically no-nonsense image, they were all quite friendly. On one occasion, two of them came in to make sure that the door to our office would be either unlocked or unlockable on Friday morning, they looked around a bit, and one spotted our arsenal of oversized fluorescent orange Toys-R-Us guns, and my co-worker said, "Those weapons going to be a problem for you?" The comment was met with good humor.

Thursday, metal bleachers were going up, and wood was being painted, and the platforms were being raised, and giant cloths were going up to conceal the more grungy parts of the hangar. Sound systems and lighting systems were being installed, and there were even more official looking people with visitor badges. I was simply fascinated. The President of the United States flies in for one hour, and I cannot even conceive of how much money was spent to prepare for his arrival. I was at work late that day, and before I left, I was serenaded by Patsy Cline singing "Crazy." They were testing the sound system.

Employees of the airline were given admission tickets Thursday afternoon -- this was before the decision was made that company badges would be sufficient to get in. On them, it said that they would start admitting people at 10am and one should arrive prior to 10:30. But Air Force One wasn't supposed to touch down until noon, and it would take off again around 1:20.

I figured I'd get to work early, because the parking lot would probably fill up fast. I pulled in at 7:30, when I'm usually still in bed, and found one of only a couple spaces left. Then I waited for an hour, because the main administrative portion of the building had been swept and cleared for access, but the other areas, those that require one to go through the hangar to get to, were not.

Finally the three of us got in, and I got searched by official looking Secret Service people. The snaps on my coat kept setting the scanner thing off. "What do you have in the coat, sir?" the guy asked, and so I checked the outside left upper breast pocket, and then I checked the outside left upper breast side pocket just behind it, and then I checked the inside left upper breast pocket, and I said, "I don't know." Because all I could find was a partial roll of wintergreen Lifesavers from what I honestly believe to be two years ago. Hey, I only wear my winter coat one season a year, and it has a LOT of pockets.

The Secret Service people did not even look twice at my co-worker, who has a foot-long beard, pony tail, and was wearing a green wool wizard's overcoat that he picked up at a Renaissance Faire. Unfortunately, he thought to put the shell casing he carries around with him (a memento from his grandfather) in his car before trying to get through security. It would have been fun to see the Secret Service pin him to the ground, or at least take him away for questioning. "Just don't make fun of the Department of Homeland Security," I said, a witty reference to Faux Pas' comic strip, which I had introduced to my office some time ago.

So we made our way through the transformed hangar and filed into our office. Around 10:15, I figured I'd wander down and see what was going on. There were two-story-high American flags drapped everywhere, a humongous viewing screen on the wall, bleachers for the press, and two roped off areas, one close to the stage, and one further back. I asked one of the people wearing the "Event Staff" shirts what was where, and she said that red tickets get you to the closer area, and blue tickets get you to the further one. I had blue tickets in my office upstairs, but I had heard that employee badges were sufficient, so I asked her where I could go with that. She leaned close and said behind the back of her hand, "Anywhere you want." So I slipped into the red zone.

There were a fair amount of people assembling, or so I thought at the time. I later discovered that they had only just started letting people in. I very casually, very unhurriedly strolled up to the platform and picked a spot right on the front rail. Thirty seconds later, I turn around, and the place in mobbed, and people are crammed together like sardines. I couldn't even turn around in place.

So I stood for an hour and a half.

During most of that time, a local high school band was playing, and cheerleaders were practicing on stage. The Secret Service men were still about, looking all 733t and official, each with one of those barely visible ear phone things. This one guy stood up on the stage, off to one side, for the entire time, his legs a foot or so apart, and his hands clasped behind him. He did not shift or fidget. He simply kept his eyes on the crowd. When he got uncomfortable and wanted to shift positions, he would clasp his hands in *front* of him. He was just like the Men In Black, but without the shades. He didn't need the shades.

Then there was a guy up in the steel girders in the roof. If anything tempts me to join the Secret Service, it is that I would get paid to climb around in steel girders in roofs of airplane hangars. Next week, when this place reverts from federal security to company security, I'm going to see if I can go up there.

Little American flags were passed out through the crowd, followed shortly by New Hampshire State flags. I took one of each. The guy next to me was apparently a big political junkie. He knew a convenient way to hold both flags in one hand and have them splayed apart in exactly the most aesthetically optimal way.

Around 11:40 or so, former governor Steve Merrill greeted the crowd, which by that time had grown beyond anything I had ever imagined could fit inside the hangar, not that the hangar is small. He spoke, introducing venerable military figures to lead the Pledge of Allegiance, and Miss New Hampshire 2000 to sing the National Anthem. Then he introduced various Republican Party heads and candidates running for office. Then Merrill said he received word that Air Force One was making its final approach, and so he and the other politicians headed out to greet him. Campaign ads played on the screen (which was well behind me, and to the side), and then the cheerleaders did their thing.

Then we waited some more.

Some Secret Service guys brought out the Presidential Seal and hung it on the front of the podium.

Then we waited some more.

At long last, the politicians returned, bringing John Sununu with them this time. And on his heels was the President of the United States, George W. Bush. Shouts of "Dubya" resounded.

I actually enjoyed his speech. It was a campaign speech, to be sure, but it was a lot less like a pep rally speech than those of the other guys, and Bush does, in fact, speak so much better when he doesn't have a teleprompter in front of him. He spoke about several issues facing the state of New Hampshire and the nation as a whole and ended with words about the defense of the nation and our freedoms.

All the while, I was something like 15 feet away. I couldn't believe that I had secured a spot right up front when I was being so leisurely about getting down there.

Afterward, he stepped down off the stage to greet people from the crowd. That's when it was prime watching time for the Secret Service people, because they were all eyes and all business. There were two to three on each side of him, standing right up against the rail with him, scouring the crowd for absolutely everything there was to see. I watched the eyes of one, and they were always moving, always flicking from one thing to another. One asked that an article of clothing that someone had draped over the rail be removed, and someone else was asked to keep from waving his flags and pompom too far over it.

So George W. Bush moved past me, and I shook his hand.

Yeah, Dubya and I go way back -- way back, oh, probably an hour and a half now.

I wondered about what goes through other people's minds when they get the chance to shake the hand of the President of the United States. I saw at least one person there that I could only describe as a political groupie. Politicians are their celebrities. I actually understand that a little better than those who go absolutely nuts over actors or singers (excepting the occasional one or two that truly inspire on a personal level), because the things government officials do have a profound effect on the quality of our lives, the direction of our state or nation, and our role in the world at large -- so if the things they do are appreciated, one would be appreciative indeed.

I am. I'm not a political groupie, but I voted for President Bush, and I continue to support him. I respect him, I respect his strong stand in the war on terrorism, and I respect that he does not try to water it down to win approval from divergent quarters. So it meant much to me to shake his hand. It was a small but personal way to say thank you.

Also, the Secret Service did not shoot me.