My memory was jogged today by a reminder of an historic event that had long since been pushed to the back of my mind.

On December 20, 1989, the United States invaded Panama in an attempt to overthrow the dictatorship of Manuel Noriega, who was under indictment in the U.S. on drug trafficking and other charges.

In 1970, Noriega was a friend of the United States, having been recruited by the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) to aid in the fight against communism in Central America. He was dropped by the CIA in 1977 when he became involved in the drug trade; brought back into U.S. favor to help oppose the Marxist Sandinista government in 1979; and himself became the military dictator of Panama in 1983. [“This Day In History,” History.com, December 20, 2025.]

In the midst of all of this back-and-forth — around 1981 or ‘82, as I recall — my daughter, still a student at the time, was spending a day with me at my office in downtown Washington. Around noontime, I decided to treat her to lunch at the elegant Madison Hotel across the street from my office building; and as we were contemplating the menu, we heard a bit of commotion surrounding the arrival of a group of patrons.

Looking toward the restaurant entrance, my daughter said, “Mom, that man looks awfully familiar. Isn’t he someone famous?” And as I followed her gaze, I immediately recognized none other than the . . . well, not so much famous as infamous . . . Manuel Noriega. He was not yet the ruler of his country, but was nevertheless surrounded by his cadre of bodyguards, all in full military dress.

And that sighting is one of the things I miss most about Washington: the accidental encounters with the famous, and sometimes the notorious.

Like the day in December of 1960, when I was seated on a bus on my way to work, stopped at a red light at Wisconsin Avenue and M Street in the historic Georgetown neighborhood. As I sat gazing out the window, a car stopped alongside the bus — most unusually for December, a convertible with its top down. And in the front passenger seat sat John Fitzgerald Kennedy, the newly-elected (but not yet inaugurated) 35th President of the United States, whose home was just a few blocks away on N Street. The driver and two men in the rear seat were no doubt his new Secret Service contingent.

Coincidentally, I once also observed his brother Ted Kennedy leaving his home on another Georgetown street.

And during the years I worked in the Washington Harbour complex — also in Georgetown — Nancy Pelosi was our neighbor, occupying a penthouse apartment in the building adjoining our offices.

I could also claim to have had lunch with George Will, though we were seated at different tables and never spoke. And dinner with Barbara Bush, then First Lady, at a Chinese restaurant in suburban Virginia — again, at separate tables.

There were others over the years, including sightings in the audience at the Kennedy Center and other D.C. venues during my decades of theater-going and restaurant-hopping. But those were different times — the 1960s through the ‘90s — before the JFK assassination, and before 9-11 happened. Security wasn’t as tight, people were more relaxed, and celebrities, including politicians, were to be seen everywhere in the nation’s capital.

As the song says, “those were the days, my friend” . . . and I miss them terribly. But I consider myself fortunate to have lived through the most interesting of times in the most interesting of places. And to still have my memories.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
12/20/25