Sandra Day O’Connor, another Supreme Court Justice (I think it was Breyer), and myself were to each receive a ride in a fighter jet. The justices’ jets were to be piloted by non-descript pilots; mine was to be piloted by George W. Bush. The six of us were standing in a loose group on a tarmac. The three gray fighter jets were arranged in a semi-circle. The nose of each jet pointed toward our group, the cockpit glass raised. The pilots were wearing olive drab g-suits and holding their helmets under their arms. The justices were wearing judicial robes. I was wearing civilian clothing. The president was gregarious, larger than life. After much laughter, we boarded the planes. We then drove (not flew) to a restaurant. At the restaurant, I awkwardly attempted to tell Justice O’Connor how much I admired her. I overzealously explained to her that I was in law school and that I thought her opinions were always the best. She was very gracious. I awoke before we ever took off.
Dream of Michael T. Crabb, 14 June 2007
12 July 2007 at 03:45 |
maybe you never made it on the plane