The final Presidential debate between incumbent U.S. President Barack Obama and Republican challenger Mitt Romney is only a few short autumn days away and a great chance to somehow connect with and persuade undecided voters to punch their ticket on Election Day 2012.

Both men have so far scored high marks as fearless debaters eloquently pointing out the glaring weaknesses and flaws hiding inside the “other” party’s ideologue with precise, intellectual arguments measuring up to the price of their Harvard University degrees. It has also proved to be a stress test for each one to be seen as polite while on a national stage, yet, still aggressively arguing their own passions and at the same time remembering there is no more promise of campaigns tomorrow once the votes are tallied.

And both have proven themselves as equally impassioned candidates grinding through this endless campaign season leading up to November 6th. Two ambitious politicians consumed by their own determination to convince voters to let their families move upstairs at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue for the next four years by singing party lyrics to anyone carrying a microphone. These two foes are politically polar-opposites linked together by their joint willingness to invite the sharp, concentrated lights of the national news media into their personal space to snoop around much like the late night reality shows.

But one piece of the election puzzle remains open to discussion… my own interpretation of what I define as “it.”

My first exposure to Presidential campaign coverage started in 1980 when I was assigned by “Newsweek” magazine to photograph Republican candidate Ronald Reagan. I was witness first hand to a grand show as the “great communicator” skillfully managed his shot into eight years as the U.S. President.

Reagan easily calmed his crowds and he quickly connected with the party faithful in large part to what supporters said was a special and magical “it.” Many couldn’t put a finger on that but after watching his performance I knew “it” was his magnetic smile. Once “it” was flashed the room surrendered; he never lost that ability.

The four living U.S. Presidents also had discovered where that fountain was hidden and drank up. Coincidentally, they all shared the same laughing technique; eyes closed, head tilted slightly back while seemingly out of breath; a smile so big and so deep any tension from within the room evaporated before their smile finished.

It’s a simple case of watching four men comfortably relaxed inside their own skin.

Jimmy Carter’s oral brilliance looked like a long shiny bracelet of white candied gum squares stretched horizontally across a friendly mouth; he had teeth and he showed them off! However, that smile dimmed dark later while running for re-election after U.S. Embassy personnel were taken hostage in Tehran and held for 444 stressful days during the campaign. Carter lost to Reagan in 1980 and those hostages were released on the same day of Reagan’s inauguration.

George H.W. Bush was tall, thin, and appeared slight in stature yet his smile was genuine and almost knocked him over every time he roared back.

His son, George W, Bush, always seemed to have a mischievous secret hidden inside each one of his smiles.

No president laughed more in front of my camera than Bill Clinton. And no one seemed to enjoy being president more than him either. I’ve always joked Bill Clinton could play Bill Clinton in public better than anyone else in the world. His laugh enveloped every fiber of his body and it was a treat to watch his show.

President Barack Obama’s smile mirrors the one used by actor George Clooney…dead on. Perhaps Obama’s frequent West Coast trips and numerous “Hollywood” fundraisers have rubbed off on him. Clooney proves “it” exists and his smile might be a good example for Romney to look at while practicing his own smile in the mirror. Romney’s got great potential for more electricity in his smile but it seems to me to he’s holding back on the trigger. I spent one week traveling with his campaign and found very few opportunities to capture a trophy grin.

Perhaps the greatest smile ever seen from a politician was the premiere showing of what I called the surprised “wild-eyed bug” delivered by then-first lady Hillary Clinton at the White House. That instantly became the gold standard for all politicians hoping to use their smile as bait for votes. She set the bar so high that failure to duplicate it has always been expected. Her sole dominance of that particular smile ended earlier this summer after an unidentified supporter popped up in the crowd at an Obama campaign rally and executed a nearly flawless Hillary Clinton “wild-eyed bug” for President Obama.

Another favorite of mine is the roaring “Moon Howl” laugh executed perfectly in each attempt by former-Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi. She does that technique frequently on Capitol Hill and it is as much fun to watch as to listen to as she howls out loud.

Even former Vice President Al Gore adopted Pelosi’s smile-style late in the game at the end of his run for the Oval Office.

Disclaimer: This blog does not endorse nor support either U.S. Presidential candidate in 2012. It is intended to make you discover your own “it” and smile…

Special thanks to Reuters photographers Mike Segar and Stel Varias for use of one each of their photographs.

The weather forecast this week calls for cooler air to breeze across Washington DC, giving everyone relief from last week’s sweltering heat which successfully baked the nation’s capital with high temperatures while blanketing unfortunate tourists with endless drops of their own sweat.

It will be a needed break from the hot beginnings of July which have already impacted this year’s summer vacations by forcing hundreds of families to camp out downstairs on the cooler floors of the basement after a ruthless storm knocked out power lines across the region leaving thousands in the dark for days, and for nights, adding to the tension.

Escape from the sun came as small victories for those melting out in the warm air. The refreshing geysers of a park’s water fountain turned magnetic for excited children suddenly enjoying life again while neighborhood swimming pools quickly became an urban oasis.

Basic survival required drinking lots of water, but it curiously seemed to evaporate out of the body as fast as it was swallowed. And the cool shade found underneath a simple umbrella was paradise on earth.

And all this before the month is even half over, giving plenty of wise, old men the opportunity to talk about their favorite subject, the weather, while the younger generation had time to give thought to why they voluntarily live inside a town built over a thick swamp along the Potomac River.

To watch a “challenge coin” being passed from one person to another is to witness the equivalent of “the secret handshake.” Starting and ending as quickly as a bullet, the ritual is performed out in plain sight and almost always in the presence of others.

Most “civilians” remain clueless as to what they witnessed even though it happened right in front of them – seeing nothing more than a stone-faced soldier or Marine at attention quietly facing a commanding officer, politician, or at best a nation’s President, before reaching out firmly to shake hands.

And just like that the longstanding military tradition of giving away a “challenge coin” is over in the blink of an eye. A small, shiny medallion riding inside the palm of one hand and seamlessly ending up in the other; similar to the practice of slipping the folded $20 dollar bill to the maitre d’ on date night.

News photographers find it nearly impossible to catch a coin in mid-flight and not many can claim those bragging rights. However, Reuters senior photographer Jason Reed beat the long odds and froze two with his camera last June while on assignment in the dangerous dust of a hot patch of Afghanistan. Reed was accompanying then-Secretary of Defense Robert Gates touring hostile combat zones around the country as the Secretary said his weary goodbyes to troops before returning home and retiring as the nation’s “SecDef.”

Soldiers were honored by Gates with “the secret handshake” – leaving each with one of the most coveted souvenirs in the U.S. military, the Secretary of Defense’s personal coin. A coin forever worthy on the mantle above the home fires alongside military medals, other unit coins and glowing citations reminding future generations of the personal victories of a distant relative during adventurous times. “Challenge coins” remain hard proof of membership into a unique club requiring nothing more than sole possession of one to remain a lifetime member. Military tradition suggests all those currently serving to carry one at all times, helping to build morale and promote camaraderie.

No one can accurately identify when or where the practice of carrying them was born but with certainty almost anyone wearing a military uniform today would be able to produce one immediately when challenged while drinking inside an NCO, or Officer’s club on any post, base, or camp around the world. Once a coin is loudly slapped down onto the bar, folklore demands everyone else must quickly answer that call by slapping down their own coin or pay the price and buy drinks – and lots of them.

Collecting is eagerly pursued by most anyone today, especially in official Washington DC, where coins seem to have replaced the business card. Anyone working in the nation’s capital “who is anybody” has designed their own to pass out. Each one is unique and representative of a specific group or enthusiastic ego. And like snowflakes, no two are alike.

All coins with White House ties are treated by collectors as top drawer. The U.S. Secret Service easily monopolizes the “cool” factor because of its many different job specialties with a separate coin for each special division protecting the president.

The two Secret Service coins toughest to score are the “CAT” coin (Counter Assault Team) with the menacing paw on the front side and the “Counter Sniper Team” coin featuring a rifle’s scope cross hairs built inside a clear plastic window – prized trophies for varsity collectors. But you can’t go wrong with any of their coins.

Also at the top of a serious wish list are coins from military units, supporting either of the aircraft the president flies aboard; Air Force One and Marine One.

But not all coins are created equal and only one wears the king’s crown and that’s the rarest coin to get – the Presidential coin! That keepsake originates from only one place on earth – the right palm of the man occupying the Oval Office at the White House.

Former President George W. Bush reserved his coin for wounded military servicemen. He always kept a small stack, much like poker chips, on top of his desk for a quick draw. The chances are excellent anyone carrying his coin is combat wounded and probably deserving of it.

The Barack Obama coin is also a tough catch. Watching him pass one off is a treat to see. He enjoys giving it more than the other does receiving it and he always ends the handshake with an electric smile. His private stash is carried inside the front, left pocket of his pants and he retrieves one quickly with his left hand before transferring it to his right hand in a slick motion before beginning the “the secret handshake.” His delivery is developed much more now, after a rough start when he dropped one while awkwardly trying to give it to a Marine at the bottom of Marine One’s steps, at Joint Base Andrews.

My personal collection briefly displayed one of the Obama coins. I realized owning that coin made me an imposter compared to those returning home from combat so I found a home more deserving. I sent it to the mother of a severely wounded U.S. soldier, Shane Parsons, for him to receive on Christmas morning. Shane not only lost both his legs while serving in Iraq but suffers from traumatic brain injury. I had met him at the 6th annual National Disabled Festival in Laurel, Maryland in 2010, before a sled hockey game between military wounded veterans and he told me then how important “challenge coins” were to him.

His mother wrote to me after the holiday: “He cried for 45 minutes after seeing the coin, thank you.”

It’s a simple question understood by anyone alive on September 11, 2001; an unwanted reminder for those who witnessed the confusion of America’s day of crisis as uncertainty stretched beyond its borders and illustrated to the world man’s capability of reaching out and doing harm to others.

That September day started quietly as early Fall leaves gently landed on top of the morning shadows of New York, Washington D.C. and Shanksville, Pennsylvania, but turned horrible after passenger jets and skyscrapers fell out of the sky holding thousands of souls trapped inside evil fires.

(REUTERS/Sean Adair)

(Rescue workers carry mortally injured New York City Fire Department chaplain, the Rev. Mychal Judge, from the wreckage of the World Trade Center in New York City September 11, 2001. REUTERS/Shannon Stapleton)

Four commercial jetliners loaded with travelers and fuel were hijacked in flight and then used in a choreographed death wish by determined men who took control of the nation’s course and momentarily dictated its history. All of it captured in high definition on television and on the internet.

Another anniversary date remembered forever with pained hearts and needing nothing more than a mention of a place, a name, or a number to start a personal discussion of the events on that day. December 7th… Dallas… Bobby… Munich… Challenger… Oklahoma City… Flight 93… Flight 11… Flight 77… or Flight 175…

The tenth anniversary of 9/11 is only days away but chances are good you remember where you were on that day. Much easier than, say, recalling what two teams played in the Super Bowl earlier this year?
Mine started with a phone call at home from Reuters’ picture editor Herman Beals, who prefaced with a warning, “this isn’t a joke…but airplanes are hitting the twin towers of the World Trade Center in New York…get to the White House NOW.”

Reports from the car radio said an “explosion” was heard at the Pentagon. I jumped over the fence at Arlington National Cemetery and ran up the hill that overlooked the building. Flames, smoke, and helicopters surrounded an ugly hole in the middle of the south side of the building; the point of impact when American Airlines Flight 77 crashed. Rumors were another passenger jet was heading towards the Capitol. I kept my long lens focused on the Capitol until two U.S. Air Force F-16 jets armed with missiles declared air superiority.

The next week was a long invisible blur under a dark cloud of grief; standing from dawn to dusk across from the Pentagon watching the sun rise over a stunned nation as weary rescue workers kept a patriotic stiff upper lip while still searching for signs of life inside the smoldering building. Vacant skies were eerily quiet as all commercial aircraft were grounded nationwide.

Ironically, the pilot of the doomed hijacked jet, Charles F. Burlingame III, was U.S. Navy trained and had once worked at the Pentagon during his military career. He received full Navy honors during his funeral across the boulevard from where he died, inside Arlington National Cemetery.

Air travel stopped being an easy romantic pleasure after the attacks with added security. The Department of Homeland Security (created because of 9/11) immediately initiated color-coded terrorism threat advisory levels: Red…Orange…Yellow…Blue…or Green… which served as a traveler’s barometer for the hours needed to get through long security lines stretching inside the airports.

Working as a photojournalist in America soon became more difficult. Carrying a camera on the street now makes photographers “suspect” as lightly informed security guards, nervous police officers and suspicious federal agents look at cameras as possible surveillance tools for a future crime.

Pass the word…we live in a free society and it’s not a crime to carry a camera and use it in public.

And he has always been slender; looking more like a six-foot, two-inch splinter than what you’d expect from a man who woke up to live the impossible dream of occupying the White House and then retiring as the 41st President of the United States.

A dream born out of an idea almost 50 years earlier when Bush was quietly raising a family while making money out of the barren oil fields of Texas but thinking of ways to escape those hot dusty winds swirling above the cactus and sagebrush.

Despite his lifetime of public triumph he never seemed to outrace the aggressive shadows of underestimation that chased him throughout his career. Maybe it was because he was always a thin man, or because he sometimes wore glasses.

“Newsweek” magazine once hinted Bush lacked what it took to serve as America’s Commander-in-Chief when it published the “Fighting the Wimp Factor” cover story just days before he officially kicked off his successful bid for the White House in 1987. He was already nearing the end of his seventh-consecutive year as the nation’s vice president when that story blasted him.

Being shouted out as a 98-pound weakling stung like lemon in the eye for Bush and he didn’t forgive the magazine for years. Just hours after winning the presidency he outlined to the “Newsweek” photographer assigned to the White House, (me), what to expect, or not to expect, for the next four years. “Don’t take it personal, Larry, but never ask for special photographic access of me again!”

He remained true to those words until the day he walked out of the Oval Office for the last time in 1993. I never took it personal and we remain pen pals to this day.

If ever a man was qualified to serve as America’s president it was Bush. Early circumstances were kind to him after being born into old-moneyed New England. His father, Prescott Bush, was a wealthy U.S. Senator from Connecticut and he gave his son the best education money could buy at Andover while he was growing up.

One political opponent used Bush’s well-heeled upbringing in a lighthearted attack against him during a nationally televised speech at the 1992 Democratic National Convention. “Poor George…,” quipped former Texas Gov. Ann Richards, “…he can’t help it. He was born with a silver foot in his mouth…!”

Despite an abundance of fortunes in his childhood he made a very lonely decision after high school and put his birthright of attending prestigious Yale University on hold to instead join the U.S. Navy during World War II. He certainly could have claimed special privilege and watched the war from the university’s ivy covered sidelines but volunteered instead to fly torpedo bombers against the Japanese… a dangerous decision by a teenager.

Bush always found creative ways to generate headlines in Japan. He not only flew 58 combat missions during the war but was rescued from one out of the water by an American submarine, USS Finback, after parachuting from his burning airplane before it disappeared into the Pacific Ocean in 1944.

Bush must have enjoyed the excitement of that experience having parachuted (without the flames racing towards the cockpit) a couple of times over dry land since leaving the White House.

Bush also successfully hit his target in Tokyo in 1992 when he threw up the contents of his stomach into the lap of Japan’s Prime Minister Kiichi Miyazawa during an official dinner.…!

His resume reads like a list of merit badges: U.S. Congressman from Texas, U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations, Chairman of the Republican National Committee, Chief U.S. Envoy to China, Director of the Central Intelligence Agency and eight-year’s as the U.S. Vice President when Ronald Reagan was president. Each one stands alone as a career highlight.

Any lingering doubts about his qualifications ended this year when he stood with dignified calm in front of an overflowing East Room audience at the White House and received the “Presidential Medal of Freedom” from an appreciative U.S. President Barack Obama in honor of his life’s work.

And “Newsweek” magazine? Well… its economic downfall required a bailout. A moment never celebrated in public by Bush but he would have been rightfully justified after maintaining a stiff upper-lip during that public flogging by “Newsweek” nearly 25 years ago.

Obama praised Bush in that ceremony by saying, “His humility and his decency reflect the very best of the American spirit. Those of you who know him, this is a gentleman.” Obama’s insight wasn’t news to anyone who ever spent time with Bush. His confident yet, gentle presence still translates into the definition of his true character… refined “class.”

He always was considerate while president and never packed for vacations away from the White House without first thinking about the impact on those individuals who followed him. An act of genuine concern for members of his traveling press corps, his protective Secret Service detail and staff members who wanted to spend time at home with their kids around a holiday. A tradition passed from Ronald Reagan to him, and then handed down again to his own son, George W. Bush.

Bush also opened up his vacation home on the water in Kennebunkport, Maine, to the White House press and their families for a press party one day each summer. He greeted his guests at the end of the long driveway of his private retreat, Walker’s Point, and explained where to find the tennis courts, hot hamburgers, or the dock leading out to his speedboat, “Fidelity”, for rides on the ocean… and all of that with one simple condition: “don’t step on Barbara’s flowers…” he warned.

One year my teenage son, Mike, challenged Bush to a tennis match. He politely declined but invited Mike into the house to get the rackets kept in the sports room. Mike later explained to curious reporters that the president was inside crawling on his hands, and knees, looking for the tennis balls mixed with the sports gear and mumbling he couldn’t find anything since “Barbara cleaned this room.”

Bush also knew the first name of the news photographers assigned to the White House and affectionately called them his “photo dogs.” Bush liked them so much he invited them to a private barbecue on the South Lawn of the White House early in the Administration; 40 familiar faces standing around sharing hot dogs, ice cream, and playing horseshoes against the President of the United States a few steps from the Oval Office.

Bush loved horseshoes so much that on one Sunday morning he made an early telephone call to one of his favorite “photo dogs,” Doug Mills, and asked him to put together a competitive team of photographers to play against his team later that day. The match continued late into the day. Most of Bush’s teammates slowly disappeared into the afternoon sun leaving the president short-handed against the “photo dogs.” Bush turned to the White House butlers dressed in their servers outfits and ordered them to drop their trays and join his team.

Imagine that….?

Tradition calls for the entire back yard to be converted into a happy place for a one-night lawn carnival for all U.S. Senators and U.S. Representatives to make themselves at home while playing on the lawn with their families.

Invitees are encouraged to leave their briefcases in the car, remove their ties, and enjoy an off-the-record and easy night of relaxed conversations and friendly bonding with their political rivals.

Children are allowed to run freely around brightly decorated picnic tables, eat foot-long hot dogs while listening to live music performances as guests of the president. Even Obama’s personal photographer, Pete Souza, couldn’t resist and grabbed a free dinner before returning to work.

A “friendly” pie tossing game is generously provided by the White House for those who can’t leave their political bickering on Capitol Hill.

The White House escorts a “tight pool” of reporters, photographers and television crews to a chained-off press area at the far edge of the massive lawn about 10 minutes before the president and first lady are scheduled to welcome the crowd.

Just long enough for the photographers to search out and photograph the usual political power brokers or grab a quick shot of any current headliners before being escorted off the lawn immediately after the president finishes welcoming everyone.

Even if a senator, or representative, is embroiled in a major financial, or juicy sex scandal, and is successfully evading the press along the way the reality is he, or she, would show themselves and attend the Congressional picnic. No one turns down an invitation from the White House!

Last night’s picnic offered no chance to photograph either one of political Washington’s two biggest news subjects; Rep. Anthony Weiner, who is up to his belt buckle in a scandal for sending lewd photos of himself to women over the Internet, was busy preparing his resignation letter from Congress and Arizona Rep. Gabrielle Giffords is still recovering in Texas from an assassination attempt in January.

That left only the congressional leadership to focus on.

While the president and first lady were introduced and walking towards the podium I noticed Speaker of the House John Boehner darting away from the press area towards the center of the lawn. After walking about 200 feet he seemed to vanish into the crowd.

I stayed focused on him with my longest telephoto lens (300mm) while the president spoke because it seemed unusual for him to move that fast away from the podium. As the president wrapped up his remarks Boehner reached up with his right hand and sucked on what looked like a lit cigarette. Not once, but, surprisingly, twice. I still wasn’t sure what he had in his hand because he seemed so far away.

I shot full speed with my motordrive and hoped for the best. Once back at the White House press room I opened up the pictures in Photoshop and discovered I was correct. It was a cigarette…

The most beautiful photographic moments jump out in front of you unexpectedly and then, as quickly as they appeared, vanish into thin air. Wonderful photographs exist for an instant before they’re gone forever… alluring eye candy seductively winking at you in plain sight waiting for an easy invite to go home with you, be framed, and then proudly shown off for a lifetime.

Sound easy? It is, only if you follow the most basic rule of photography… don’t ever leave home without a camera.

Any camera, big or small, size doesn’t matter!

The latest selection of amateur “happy snap” digital cameras have given new life to professional dreams for all levels of talent of aspiring photographers by providing a chance for picture success on an easier playing field. Technological wonders built by Panasonic, Canon, Sony or Nikon are tiny, simple and efficient mini-computers that are also shockproof, waterproof, and foolproof. Quiet marvels outfitted with fast, world-class optics (lower light capabilities), and built in zoom lenses. All combining to provide the user with significant photographic superiority compared to the larger, slower, mechanical “old school” film cameras needing collections of toxic chemicals and a dedicated darkroom with specialized equipment to produce printed pictures.

There are even pocket-sized cameras now available with Global Positioning Satellite receivers installed inside that map where in the world your camera took the picture.

So stash one inside your jacket, purse or backpack and then patiently wait. Otherwise, those amazing pictures will evaporate quicker than a magician’s burning flash paper as surprised eyes stare right through it with no camera to grab.

More than ever before great pictures can be found anytime, anywhere, as long as you and your “intelligent” camera are always ready as a team. No longer is a tattered passport checkered with foreign visas and exotic border stamps a guarantee to a successful photo safari. Photographs live everywhere… allow curious eyes to find them. Just look inside the ignored morning shadows on the way to work or follow the end of the tangerine rays of light at sunset for your own happy hour.

My pocket Lumix camera is always dialed onto one of the automatic “PHD” settings for quick, responsive shooting. “PHD”?… “Push Here Dummy.” That camera is so smart that I rely on it 100% to quickly calculate the right exposure combination leaving my only concentration on capturing those splashes of primary colors before they twist away as fast as reflected carnival lights dancing across the polished hood of a passing car racing towards the black night.

And because it has an amateur “look” I can freely roam while witnessing unguarded and unrehearsed moments of life without changing the social dynamics of the moment by introducing a larger “professional looking” camera to the stage.

The pictures in this story all appeared without warning and would be empty memories if I hadn’t had my camera with me.