Seldom considered is the toll that impeachment hearings must take on Melania Trump, although evidence to that effect was on display this week when the first lady was moved to respond to an ill-advised joke about Barron, the Trumps’ 13-year-old son, by one of the constitutional experts who testified Wednesday before the House Judiciary Committee.

“A minor child deserves privacy and should be kept out of politics,” Melania Trump tweeted. “Pamela Karlan, you should be ashamed of your very angry and obviously biased public pandering, and using a child to do it.” Karlan later apologized, but it is difficult to understand why she thought Barron Trump was fair game in the first place.

Thinking about the first lady’s ordeal – not only during the recent impeachment proceedings, but also for the whole of the three tumultuous years of her husband’s administration – reminds me of an encounter with another first lady who, like Trump, was not adored by the media and, also like Trump, suffered mostly in silence.

When I began my senior year of high school in 1973, the Watergate hearings in the Senate were in full bloom. After a long, hot summer of sometimes dull, other times explosive, testimony, the hearings seemed truly historic. As they continued into the fall, a television was sometimes rolled into our classroom so we could watch key testimony as it happened.

Unlike today, the impeachment process then seemed bipartisan, actually designed to find the truth about what President Richard M. Nixon had or had not done, as opposed to reaching a foregone conclusion. In 1973, few seemed eager to drive a president from office. Fittingly, the most memorable senators represented both parties. They were Sam Ervin, a folksy North Carolina Democrat who chaired the hearings, and Howard Baker, a Republican from Tennessee, who coined the famous question, “What did the president know and when did he know it?”

At Lynchburg-Clay High School, my fellow seniors and I seemed to be among the last teenagers in America not aligned against Nixon. Our small rural public school, nestled in rolling farmland on the western edge of Highland County, Ohio, was the reverse – both socially and politically – of the Woodstock generation recalled by many now as representative of the youth of the late 1960s and early 1970s.

In the early spring of 1974, with our senior trip to New York, Philadelphia and Washington looming, we came up with the idea of writing a letter to Nixon. Crafted by our class president, Tom Troth, the letter asked whether we could visit the president when our itinerary took us to our nation’s capital. To our surprise, Tom soon received a phone call from the White House. The president would be indisposed, he was informed, but first lady Pat Nixon would be happy to host us.

And so, on May 10, 1974 – one day after impeachment hearings began in the House of Representatives – about 50 of us were ushered into the White House. The first lady greeted us, and we were served by waiters in white coats bearing large bottles of Coca-Cola on serving trays, just like a scene I saw years later in the movie “Forrest Gump.”

Pat Nixon, with the world closing in around her, was gracious and no doubt happy to be surrounded by a sea of young admirers. We said encouraging words to her, never mentioning Watergate, letting her know she was among friends. But the atmosphere was less than festive. Nixon seemed gaunt and tired. One of the teachers who chaperoned us recalled the first lady tightly gripping her hand for a photo.

We made our way to the steps of the South Portico for a class picture, where Nixon, often described as “stoic,” managed a tight smile as we departed. Three months later, shortly after the release of the Watergate tapes, her husband resigned the presidency.

When she died in 1993, the Los Angeles Times reported, “The former first lady cried only twice in public – when her husband lost his 1960 bid for the presidency to John F. Kennedy, and when he made his farewell speech on Aug. 9, 1974, after the Watergate scandal forced him to resign.” Pat Nixon no doubt shed more tears in private, and one imagines Melania Trump doing the same, especially when her child is used for a joke, or when even her fashion choices are viciously criticized.

But, compared with Nixon, Trump is fortunate. Her husband enjoys a solid base of support, and words of encouragement no doubt arrive daily – and from a broader spectrum of Americans than a few students from a small high school in southwestern Ohio.