A letter to the president

Accept it. You’re not the same. It happens to the best of us.

By Dave Nimmer

July 8, 2024 at 10:30PM
President Joe Biden boards Air Force One to depart at Dane County Regional Airport in Madison, Wis., following a campaign visit July 5. (Manuel Balce Ceneta/The Associated Press)

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President Joe Biden

The White House

1600 Pennsylvania Ave. NW.

Washington, D.C. 20500

Dear Joe,

I feel comfortable addressing you as Joe. You always seemed to me a guy who eschewed the niceties and wanted to hear the realities. So here goes, from one old guy to another:

In my 84 years, I have learned some lessons the hard way — down on one knee sucking for air. One of them is about surrender, giving in to reality, but not giving up to challenges. I can no longer step from the dock onto the middle seat of my boat without risking a fall. But I still get in the boat on my hands and knees. I am not a candidate for “Jeopardy,” since my recall is more like five minutes than five seconds. But I can read and understand the commentary page of the New York Times.

I’m no longer competent to be an editor at the Star Tribune (I was once the managing editor), but I can write a clear and coherent letter to the editor. I wasn’t a good secretary for my townhouse board because I couldn’t hear well enough or write fast enough. But I could find an arborist to tell us what trees to cut and which to plant.

Life’s not over, Joe, but it “ain’t” the same – and neither are you. You’ve held very few news conferences and you seem to be halting and hesitant rather than compelling and confident. You say at the debate you “had a bad night.” I can’t remember many good nights; even the State of the Union address was more loud than proud. Your aides said you had a cold, but it wasn’t the tone of your voice; it was the state of your mind. Most of us old-timers can admit that we aren’t as good as we once were. But Joe, once, you aren’t as good as you always were.

Your legacy is one of enlightened public service. I believe you care about the truth and usually tell it. I think you were a good senator and came up with useful public policy. I think you served a president with fealty, honesty and tenacity. I’m not asking you to give it all up, but to change it up.

You make the decision to withdraw. You help pick your replacement, maybe behind closed doors in an open convention. Bring cigars; pass ‘em around to both men and women. Get loud. Get angry. Hash it out. Get it on. Do it soon. And you’ve got some good prospects: Govs. Andy Beshear of Kentucky, Gretchen Witmer of Michigan and Gavin Newsom of California. And Sens. Cory Booker of New Jersey, Sherrod Brown of Ohio, Robert Casey of Pennsylvania, Amy Klobuchar and, just for argument’s sake, Joe Manchin of West Virginia.

Finally, Joe, you won’t endure the indignity some of us have. Years after I retired, I was in the checkout lane at Lunds & Byerlys, a Twin Cities’ grocery. The woman in front of me heard my voice, looked at my face and said sweetly, “Didn’t you used to be somebody?” I replied that I used to be TV anchorman Don Shelby. She wouldn’t let me have that, saying he was taller. Joe, you won’t be forgotten. They’ll always know your face, your name, your title and what you did.

Now let the new, young, prospective voters remember your last act of grit and grace: Bow out.

Yours in retirement,

Dave Nimmer

Former reporter, editor and teacher

Currently member of AARP

about the writer

about the writer

Dave Nimmer