Every newspaper reporter lucks into some cool assignments, and I lucked into a cool one exactly 30 years ago this week, when I helped deliver a Thanksgiving turkey to the White House.

Well, I was supposed to help deliver it. I got to meet the First Lady, anyway.

Every November since 1947, the National Turkey Federation (the lobby organization for the $8-billion-a-year U.S. turkey industry) has given the President a live turkey, and one or two dressed turkeys, for Thanksgiving.

It’s a publicity stunt, of course, but historic, too. The presentation in November 1963, for instance, was one of the last White House events ever attended by President Kennedy before he was slain in Dallas. The first President Bush conducted the 1990 turkey ceremony just before leaving to enjoy Thanksgiving dinner with the troops during Desert Storm.

The delivery of the so-called National Thanksgiving Turkey always makes for good photos and film footage. The President "pardons" the turkey, which probably makes the White House chef breathe a big sigh of relief.

The live turkey used to be given to a historic farm park in Northern Virginia, where it lived out its days as an honored guest. Now it is flown to Disneyland in Anaheim, Calif., where it is the grand marshall of a Thanksgiving Day parade before its retirement.

Back in 1978, I happened to be a newspaper reporter covering Purdue University in West Lafayette, Ind. The president of the National Turkey Federation happened to be a Hoosier that year, so the presidential turkey had to come from Indiana. Purdue has a big poultry farm, and one of the

massive white toms was chosen, and named "Purdue Pete."

I wrote all about it, of course, then someone suggested that I try to accompany the bird and its Purdue entourage to Washington. I got the go-ahead, and the next day I met Pete at the airport. A TV crew was there, doing a mock interview with the turkey, which was in a crate and ready to board his flight.

I was 24, but I had never been to Washington before. We stayed at the Hotel Washington, and I remember being awestruck when I looked out the window and saw the Washington Monument, rising up above the Mall and looking magnificent. This was just after the Jonestown Massacre, in which a congressman was killed, and I remember the flags flying at half-staff.

The next day, I had several hours to kill before the

presentation, so I visited Ford’s Theater and the house where Lincoln died. I also stopped by the National Archives, and saw the Declaration of Independence. Security was lighter then, and they still let you shoot photos of it.

I got to the White House gate a few minutes before the turkey presentation, but the guards couldn’t find my press pass. All the other presenters were allowed in, but there I was, a poor little small-town newspaper reporter, far from home, missing his Big Story.

As I stood with my camera and notebook on the other side of the iron gate, I could see First Lady Rosalyn Carter and her daughter, Amy, standing under the north portico. I also could see the National Turkey Federation people and two or three people from Purdue presenting Purdue Pete to them. Photos were taken, hands were shaken. Within five minutes, it was over and everybody filed inside.

Mortification set in. What was I going to tell my editor? What was I going to write for the next day’s paper? What would the other reporters say? What could I do?

I went back to the guard house and asked if I could speak with the First Lady’s press secretary. I explained the whole situation. Sensing my desperation, she told the guard to let me in.

I walked to the portico, and, believe it or not, Mrs. Carter and Amy came out and staged a new "photo opportunity" just for me to take some pictures. Mrs. Carter smiled and appeared fascinated by Purdue Pete, Amy picked up a loose feather, and I almost fell over myself thanking them for their kindness. I shook Mrs. Carter’s hand with sincere appreciation.

With my mission accomplished, I then joined the turkey entourage for a private tour of the White House. We had assumed that President Carter was out of town and unable to attend the turkey presentation, but we could see him and a Secret Service agent jogging around and around the South Lawn.

As it turned out, my story was better for having missed the ceremony. It showed that Mrs. Carter had a soft spot for someone as hapless as me.

It was a cool assignment, but 30 years later, I still wonder where my press pass went.

Danville native Kevin Cullen is a former Commercial-News reporter. Reach him at irishhiker@aol.com.