Remembering my meeting with Letitia Baldridge

As I get to be a zillion years old, almost any name, place, object or activity conjures up a name, place or activity that has impinged on my life.Take the October 2012 obituary of Letitia “Tish” Baldridge, lady-maid-in-waiting or more commonly, social secretary, to Jacqueline Kennedy during that storied lady’s sojourn in the White House. Later Tish became the modern dictator of etiquette for Americans of female persuasion, including writing the latest definitive work of that haloed subject.So the question arises: Did Tish teach me how to behave — at home, but mostly in public? Being a journalist and a state director of tourism for nearly two decades, I was oft times in the public eye and had to behave as behooves a public official.But, no. No advice from Tish to me. I met her way back in the early ’50s when my young wife and I were on a fantastic eight-month trip around the world. In those days, we were welcomed in countries where if we appeared today, they more than likely would chop off our heads. Think I exaggerate? Consider: Baghdad, Teheran and Pakistan were places where we were guests in the palace of a maharajah and visited the Khyber Pass, where armed tribesmen welcomed us in their shops where they were making, by hand, replicas of Smith & Wesson, Colt, Remington and Winchester guns. Rapid-fire weapons that kill children hadn’t been invented yet, as far as I know. While in the Khyber Pass, we entered the district of Swat in the Hindu-Kush mountains where we were the Sultan’s guests at lunch.At the entrance to Swat, a brass inscription attached to a rock told the story that it was here the young subaltern Winston Churchill first came under fire and survived. Today, neither Winnie nor Barney (nor his wife) would likely last a day in Swat. It’s now the headquarters of the fighting Taliban!But I digress. What has all this to do with Tish Baldridge? Not much except that we met Tish before we ventured into what would now be no-man’s land.One of our first stops on our hegira was Rome, where I sought to interview a Connecticut lady, Clare Booth Luce, who was the American ambassador to Italy. Mrs. Booth, we were told, had been ill and was just recovering. But we could speak to her assistant, a young woman named — you guessed it — Letitia Baldridge!Miss Baldridge welcomed us and took us into the ambassador’s bedroom. Mrs. Booth was resting on the sun porch. We learned of the problem tout de suite. Our diplomat’s residence in Rome at the time was an old, highly decorated mansion of a formerly rich but now decayed aristocratic family.“Look at the ceiling,” we were instructed. “Looks like it’s beginning to peel,” quoth I.“That’s it. You got it. The ceiling paint contained a large amount of lead, and it was flaking down onto the ambassador’s bed,” said Tish.Medical experts had been called in but couldn’t detect what was ailing Mrs.Booth. A young maintenance man pointed to the ceiling and said, “I think it’s the ceiling. Look how it’s peeling and drifting down onto the bed.”And so the mystery was solved, and Mrs. Booth, fortunately, was regaining her health and would soon be back in her office — and attending cotillions and fancy parties for the equally fancy people of Rome.And me? I immediately penned the story of the dangerous ceiling on my college Royal portable typewriter and sent it, along with a picture taken with my new Rolleiflex, back to the Hartford Times.And lo, my story about Mrs. Booth’s ailment was a scoop!And now, back to Tish. Rest in peace, Tish. You were a good woman. I remember you well.Freelance writer Barnett D. Laschever, a longtime resident of Goshen, now lives and works in a retirement village in Simsbury.