Complimenting my son on his two-handed handshake to a friend reminded me of the day I shook hands with Richard Nixon.
It was the Friday or Saturday before the 1960 Presidential Election.
As part of an Oberlin College Young Republican delegation, I had taken part in a torch light parade in Downtown Cleveland.
Not many of those were held after that date, I’d guess, although the Teenage Republicans in McHenry County held one in McHenry in 1968.
The Nixon motorcade came down the street behind a hotel where Nixon was appearing.
I happened to be on his side of his convertible.
He was shaking hands with people, so I stuck out my hand.
He shook it.
What I remember most is that his hand was callased, more callased than the hand of anyone else I had ever felt.