Your Grace

Grace Kelley: The Last Philly Patrician Part I of a video bio with Jack Perkins of NBC. Five in a series. Check out You Tube for the rest.
JohnBullEsq has shared a video with you on YouTube: Grace Kelly biography part one Part OParne of the A&E Biography "Grace Kelly: Hollywood Princess"

Vini, Vici, Vinnie!

Where There's Smoke, There's Fumo

By Richard Carreno
Is Vincent Fumo, disgraced state senator, community service czar, yachtsman, farmer, marksman, jealous lover, and hardware and vacuum cleaner collector extraordinaire, guilty of corruption, influence peddling, improper use of government money, and vainglory? Yeah, and he probably breathes fire, too.

There's little doubt Vince Fumo, South Philly wunderkind and now a defendant in Federal Court on the above charges, will likely be found guilty -- of something.

What he will never be found guilt of is poor constituency service. That's why I hope my pal Vince gets off lightly. And that's why I'm pleased that I had the chance this morning to wish him good fortune in person.

It goes like this: A few years ago, I ran into what, at the time, seemed to be an insurmountable roadblock from a Harrisburg bureaucracy. I was at wit's end, and I turned to Vince for help. What had previously involved months of hardship was resolved in less than 24 hours.

There was nothing exceptional, in this case, about Vince's constituency service. There was nothing exceptional really about my case: a small matter for him; big for me. And, naturally, I became beholden.

Vince was with his lawyer when I saw him about 9:30 this morning in front of the Federal Courthouse on Market Street. He was hunched over a suitcase-sized briefcase. He wore his standard-issue Burberry mac. His face was grim.

'Good luck, Vince,' I said as I passed him. 'And thank you,' I whispered under my breath.

Paul Benedict: R.I.P.

Tonsorial Matters
Paul Benedict (September 17, 1938 – December 1, 2008) was an American character actor who made numerous appearances in television and movies beginning in the 1960s. He is probably best recognized for his roles as The Number Painter on the PBS children's show Sesame Street, and as the quirky English neighbor "Harry Bentley" on the CBS sitcom The Jeffersons.
On June 3, 1994, I was getting a haircut at a hair stylist on Brattle Street, Cambridge, Massachusetts, when I turned to my left, and there was Benedict. I snapped his pic. I didn't know it at the time, but he was a Beantowner. I was an adjunct at the Harvard Extension School -- reason I was in Cambridge that day.
-- RDC

A Visit With Mr Wedgwood

The Author, left, and Wedgwood

LORD OF CHINA

By Richard Carreño

As a hostess, my late mother was china agnostic. Spode. Minton. Wedgwood. Whatever. But not as for decorative pottery. Her cuppa was Wedgwood's Jasperware, the well-known bas-relief pattern in robin's-egg-blue. She particularly favored scenes by George Stubbs. She fancied horses.

There's no longer a Mr. Spode of Spode china fame (the last Josiah Spode associated with the company died in 1893). But there is a Mr. Wedgwood, and when I learned that he was in town, bending the ear of anyone who wanted to learn about the 249-year-old-year-old company founded by his great-X8-grandfather Josiah Wedgwood in 1759, I decided to have a word with him. Also, to have him autograph my mother's Jaspar, which I now own. (I got the Spode and Minton, too).

'Ah, a Stubbs!' he declared, obliging me with signature on one of my pieces.

Actually, 'Mr. Wedgwood' is the Rt. Hon. Piers Anthony Weymouth Wedgwood of Barlaston (just 'Piers' to you and me). There's another thing about Wedgwood, a fit, 54-year-old six-footer who sports what readers of the Sunday comics might recognize as a Prince Valiant hairdo: he actually lives in Philadelphia. More precisely, in Chestnut Hill.

Why Philadelphia? It has nothing to do with business, he told me recently over cocktails at a Center City drinking spot. But rather his wife, the former Jean Quinn, a Philadelphian who he met in Chicago in the 1980's. Later, after many years in London, Philly finally won out as their hometown.

'Philadelphia has been very good to me,' he said, a winking nod to Lady Wedgwood. 'She's the woman of my dreams.'

Actually, Wedgwood has some other connections to the city, as well, and spins, yes, another Ben Franklin anecdote. Turns out the Franklin met Josiah Wedgwood (1730-1795), the company's founder, on one of Ben's sojourns in London. Wedgwood also remembered that his grandfather, Josiah Wedgwood, the umpteenth, a Labour MP, visited here in 1939 to warn Americans about the 'gathering storm' of war in Europe. Three years later, 1942, Winston Churchill bestowed Wedgwood with a peerage, elevating him to the House of Lords. (Thanks to primogeniture, that's how Piers Wedgwood of Philadelphia became a Lord).

Wedgwood told me that what most excites him now is whether current excavations at the President's House site at Independence Mall will turn up 'shards' of Wedgwood china. Company history cites Martha Washington as an early customer.

Today, from his Philadelphia perch, Wedgwood travels the world as a spokesman and good-will ambassador for Waterford Wedgwood plc. (The Irish crystal maker bought Wedgwood china in 1986).

It wasn't always meant, however, for Wedgwood to be associated with his eponymous company, now, along with Spode, among the world's most prestigious ceramic firms. (N.B. The Royal Warrants from the Queen that both Wedgwood and Spode proudly flourish).

At first, Wedgwood wanted to be a soldier.

After an early youth in South Africa (he was born there 1954), the youngish Wedgwood wound up in London in the 1970's. He did something or other (a job, that this) at the now-defunct Playboy Club; sold sets of Encylopediae Britannica in South London (something like South Philly, for wont of a better parallel universe); and then moved on, with a buddy, to knock about European capitals.

After this and that, he did, finally, find his calling as a military man, enrolling in 1972 at the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst and winding up in the Royal Scots Regiment. Sandhurst's the same place where Prince William cut his eye-teeth, and so, at the end of the day, one gets the idea that Wedgwood got a pretty posh upbringing, as well.

In 1980, after tours in Northern Ireland, Cyprus, Berlin, and in Edinburgh, where he chummed around with the Queen and her sister, Margaret, as a sort of an aide-de-camp (at Holyrood Castle and Balmoral Castle, both in Scotland), he resigned his commission and became a civilian.

Well, not exactly a typical civilian, that is.

In the 1970's, Wedgwood's father, Hugh had died, and Wedgwood, then Lord Wedgwood (that primogeniture thing kicking in), had already decided to turn to politics by taking his seat in the House of Lords. By the 1980's, Wedgwood told me, he was more earnest about his work, defined by defense and trade matters. (The Lords, incidentally, is like U.S. Senate, but without any power. There is a per diem, however).

Wedgwood's excursion into politics came to an abrupt end in 1999, thanks to Tony Blair, Britain's PM at the time. 'New Labour,' as Blair's cohort was called, wanted to cull the Lords, especially of its Conservative Party members. Unlike his grandfather, Wedgwood was a Tory, and he was on Blair's hit list. By 2000, Wedgwood was out of his political job.

But it was all good. In April 2000, Wedgwood segued into being executive director and 'international ambassador' of his namesake firm, at a new salary, according to BusinessWeek.com, of about 126,000 euros. Wedgwood was already helping out the company in a lesser position, 'cutting my teeth in North America in perpetual motion,' as he explained it.

'Perpetual motion' seems pretty much still part of his life. At the time of our conversation, Wedgwood was preparing for one of his regular trips to Australia.

He was also preparing for the 250th anniversary of the company's creation, to be celebrated next year.

This, at a time, he freely admits, when Wedgwood faces 'immense challenges.' Faced with the cheaper Asian imports (Hello! Pottery Barn), a tanking worldwide economy, and greater informality in home entertaining, promoting the upmarket Wedgwood brand has had its difficulties.

Ultimately, Wedgwood is optimistic. 'We keep dancing until the music stops.'

(Richard Carreño is an editor of Junto.blogspot.com. Another version of this article appeared in the Weekly Press).

Alumni Notes

The Dick Fuld I Knew

By Richard Carreño
Monday, when his critics were verbally 'tar and feathering' him, Richard S. Fuld Jr., the chief executive of the once-mighty, now bankrupt investment bank Lehman Brothers Holdings, was living up to his nickname. No, not 'The Gorilla,' the good natured, self-ascribed sobriquet that signaled Fuld's in-house rep as Wall Street's Mr. Tough Guy. How about 'Animal'?

At school, more than 40 years ago, that was Dick Fuld's other moniker. And looking at the photograph of the combative 62-year-old Fuld in Tuesday's New York Times, you could see why. Fuld was spoiling for a fight. Though walking away from Lehman with millions (he's still said to be worth more than $100-million, though once a billionaire), Fuld wasn't about to admit to any wrong-doing. Much less that he and other top Lehman executives weren't entitled to their golden parachutes.

Fuld and I were students in the early 1960s at Wilbraham Academy, an all-boys boarding school in Massachusetts, and in prep-school speak 'animal' was no derogatory term. All committed jocks, who were a little short in grades, were called 'animals' in recognition of their aggressive play and pumped-up, buffed-up physiques. The Fuld you see today, in other words, is just an older version of Fuld, 1964 graduate of Wilbraham. Bull-neck and all. Appropriately enough, the 'animals' lived in Smith, a senior dorm branded 'The Zoo.'

'Animal,' outside of its aggressive sports connotation, didn't quite do Fuld justice, however. For one thing, as far I could tell, Fuld was never a bully, as some of his cohorts were.

In those days, more than four decades ago, underclassmen like myself (I was a year behind Fuld) were dining-room table servers to seniors. It was a kind of servitude that often meant that during meals we had only minutes to eat, if that. The bullies would make the most servile of servers return endlessly to the kitchen for more pitchers of milk. The unemptied pitchers would pile up on the table. Still, the server was told to fetch more.

I never noticed Fuld participating in this hazing. So it shouldn't come as a surprise that just a couple of years later, when the future Lehman head was slogging it out at the University of Colorado, that he was sacked from the university's Naval ROTC program for defending another cadet who was being hazed by a senior officer. Fuld punched the officer.

While at Wilbraham, I knew more about Fuld than I knew him. Seniors and juniors hardly ever mixed -- unless we were in the butt lounge where some minor interaction took place. Besides, I was hardly an 'animal.'

I fenced, and fencing, according the all-purpose jocks' definition of muscular activities, was girly-man sport. Still, I wasn't tormented like some who didn't conform to jock notion of the ideal. I was editor of the school newspaper, head of its English Club, and considered an aesthete.

Yet there were some other unwritten rules. If you dressed well (in those days it was all coat and necktie), hailed from a world capital, and had family money (or, at least, the appearance of affluence), you were off the hook. My clothes came from London, my family lived in Paris, and, well, we did have a bit of money.

I had no idea where Fuld lived. Somewhere in 'upstate' New York, I reckoned. Years later, after checking Wilbraham's yearbook, Del Todo, I learned it was somewhere in Westchester County. (In those days, I had no clue outside Boston, New York, and Philadelphia). Actually, I wasn't too sure of Fuld's social standing, either. Even then, he was wearing white socks with a suit. Never a good sign.

I did know that Fuld was a BMOC during his four years at the Academy. (In fact, he was rated 'Most Popular' and 'Most Respected' by Wilbraham's Class of 1964). He was a do-er, someone who, it was said, had 'school spirit.' He was a senior monitor, Del Todo's editor in his senior year, and a member of the Dance Committee. Yes, I guess he was a 'party animal,' as well. Most of all, he was a football player. Varsity Football, 3,4.

There was another aspect to Fuld's character that the Class of 1964 recognized: A 'wild' streak. Along with two other class-mates, he was ranked the 'Wildest.' Surely, a Wall Street virtue in a budding career at Lehman, where risk-taking was legend.

Yet Fuld's other nickname at Wilbraham is perhaps the most telling in Fuld's roller-coaster career than spanned success as billionaire chief of one the world's most venerable merchant banks to the shamed villain in its downfall. The name? 'Ab Dul the Camel Trader.'

Gallery

Way Back When With David Bailey

Pictures of Jean Shrimpton; The Beatles; Roman Polanski and Sharon Tate; and Catherine Denueve.

Junto powered by Writers Clearinghouse

Salut Les Copains

Photo: Jean et Eddie (Writers Clearinghouse)

Drapeau et Constantine Montréal : -- J'ai visité le Calvet Auberge ici récemment tandis que sur la tâche. (Benjamin Franklin à Montréal). À ma surprise, deux de mes personnes préférées, le défunt maire Jean Drapeau de Montréal, et le défunt acteur américain par l'intermédiaire de Paris Eddie Constantine, étaient ensemble dans une image, en tant qu'élément de mur de montage de photo. Salut, amis de mes ! ---RDC

The Front Page

Jonathan Loftus as 'Hildy Johnson'

Lit'ry Life: John Steinbeck

Steinbeck Channels John O'Hara

By Richard Carreno

I remember, long ago, how the late journalist George Frazier once explained how his son, George Frazier IV, received the moniker 'IV'. It was because of John Steinbeck, he said. Steinbeck, Frazier told the group I was in, landed on the 'IV' for his son John Steinbeck IV (1946-1991) on a whim. There had been no 'Jr,' or 'III,' beforehand, you see. "If it was good enough for Steinbeck, it was good enough for me,' Frazier said. Actually, that was same line of reasoning I employed when I named my youngest son, Hunter, 'Hunter Carreno IV.' But, as they say, I digress.

What got me thinking about John O'Hara was, in fact, Steinbeck. This, thanks to a recent article about the author in The New York Review of Books by Robert Gottlieb, a former -- and the brilliant, I should add -- editor of The New Yorker.

First, I didn't know that O'Hara and Steinbeck were friends, that is, New York-based friends. I always reckoned that their backgrounds and visions were quite different, divisively diffrent -- Steinbeck, the populist; O'Hara, the elitist. It's more complicated than that, of course. But you get the idea Still.... Both authors became more politically conservative as they aged. They were both gung-ho supporters of the Vietnam War. Both of Steinbeck's sons were volunteers in the war. I believe O'Hara's step-son was also a volunteer. (Me,I was a draft-dodger. Actually, not exactly. I received a 4-F, and if you don't know what that is, you're younger than 50 and you don't believe in a Fairy God Mother).

Gottlieb, writing in the Review's 17 April edition, says Steinbeck's 'life in the big city was populated by well-known New Yorkers-about-town: Abe Burrows, John O'Hara, Fred Allen, the Benchleys, Burgess Meredith, the Frank Loessers. When Joshua Logan invited him to a party for Princess Margaret, he told Elaine [Steinbeck's third wife], "That's not the way I live." But it was the way he lived.'

Gottlieb continued, East of Eden was 'also a new kind of novel for Steinbeck -- a novel of moral crisis, told entirely in the first person, very much in the spirit if not the tone of East Coast novelists like his friend John O'Hara...' Who knew?

Just by changing 'Pottsville' for 'Monterey' and 'O'Hara' for 'Steinbeck,' Gottlieb on Steinbeck could be a stand-in for O'Hara: '...[W]ho in America considers him seriously today, apart from a handful of of Steinbeck academics and some local enthusiasts in Monterey?'

There's a big legacy difference, however. Gottlieb notes the 'force-feeding' of Steinbeck on 'hundreds of thousands of school kids' and, more recently, the author's recent 'official canonization by the Library of America....' (Gottlieb's essay on Steinbeck was occasioned by a new Steinbeck edition by The Library of America).

As for O'Hara, nowhere to be found -- much. Certainly, not in schools. Thanks to the O'Hara Estate, I'm told, his works have not been permitted to seep their way into school-oriented anthologies, the source of 'literary' teaching nowadays. Likewise, no Library of America editions of O'Hara's oeuvre.

Another check? At my Barnes & Noble in Rittenhouse Square (in Philadelphia, no less!), three O'Hara books on the shelf. More than dozen by Steinbeck. Enough said.

Horse Furniture

Hullo, Ralph, Where's the Horse?

'Popeye' Resigns as NY Gov

Gumming It

Elliot Spitzer, disgraced New York ex-governor, gives new meaning to 'suckin' it up.'

Incidentally, regarding hypocrisy, is Larry Craig still voting against the best interests of gays?

Wedding Gown?

France's New First Lady

Twins

Separated at Birth

Man by William Hogarth (18th Century) (Above right)
Tim Russert from Buffalo (21st Century) (Above)

First-Class Mailer

Chapter I: Norman Mailer at the Barricades
Bala Cynwyd, PA: -- Anyone who had ever met Norman Mailer, who died last month, has a searing memory of the author.He was that kind of man -- larger than life, a force of nature to contend with. And the last of the early-to-mid 20th century macho authors. Ernest Hemingway, Irwin Shaw, James Jones. In other words, the likes of which we'll never see again. My recollection of Mailer involves two occasions.

One, in the early 70s when he was running for New York City mayor. His sidekick at the time -- I don't remember what post he was seeking -- was Jimmy Breslin, another outsized character in New York journalism. 1.

The Mailer I remember most vividly was the one who addressed the anti-Vietnam war protesters in front of the Conrad Hilton Hotel in Chicago, during that infamous summer of the 1968 Democratic Convention. On television, Mailer was also 'debating' Gore Vidal, almost coming to blows.

I was in Chicago, teamed with Roberta Levine, as a reporter for The Washington Square Journal, the NYU daily. I was covering the anti-war protesters, later what became the 'police riot' in front of the hotel. Before that, speaker after speaker addressed the crowd. Mailer was amongst them.

'Chapter I,' he declared, segueing into an anti-war harangue. 'Chapter II,' he cried, continuing in that vein, cramming in as many 'chapters' as he could during a half hour or so. He was memorizing. More important, convincing.

If it weren't Mailer, it was surely Mayor Dick Daley' and his police 'pigs' who 'radicalised' me that August in Chicago. Moments after Mailer spoke, the police started throwing protesters through the Hilton's front pane windows, those facing Michigan Avenue. Others were clubbed.

I came away unscathed. I had positioned myself on the of a TV news van. From my perch, I saw the worst of it. And the best -- Mailer at his finest.

1. I met Breslin many years later for a day-long session in Worcester, MA, when he was Central Massachusetts, tending to his wife who was hospitalised in Newton, MA. That Breslin memory, of course, is another story.

-- Richard Carreño

Exclusive! Bush's Report Card Discovered

At right, 'Like a Rock. Only Dumber.'

'W's 3rd Grade

Report Card

1. Since my last report, your child has reached rock bottom and has
started to dig.

2. I would not allow this student to breed.

3. Your child has delusions of adequacy.

4. Your son is depriving a village somewhere of an idiot.

5. Your son sets low personal standards and then consistently fails to
achieve them.

6. The student has a "full six-pack" but lacks the plastic thing to hold
it all together.

7. This child has been working with glue too much.

8. When your son's IQ reaches 50, he should sell.

9. The gates are down, the lights are flashing, but the train isn't
coming.

10. If this student were any more stupid, he'd have to be watered twice
a week.

11. It's impossible to believe the sperm that created this child beat out
1,000,000 others.

12. The wheel is turning but the hamster is definitely dead.

From Abigail Carreno, reporting from Alabama.

John A. Belmonte

_________________________________________________________
In Memory of
John A. Belmonte
19 September 2006
Always Remembered by Family and Friends
________________________________________________________________

Tony Randall, Actor

Announcer

Tony Randall, the actor and comedian who lives in New York, was about 20 when he was an announcer for Worcester radio station WTAG-AM. He was a newly-wed, and he and his wife lived at 48 William Street, in the city's downtown.

His radio job only lasted only a year, between June 1941 and June 1942, and it was one of many preludes to his eventual success as a movie and television personality. Before his stint in Worcester, Randall had never been in New England, and wasn't quite sure to expect.

'I remember that the man who auditioned me said my audience would be mostly farmers, and that I shouldn't sound too cultivated,' Randall said.

'Worcester seemed very dark and dingy and run-down. But at the time, most of the country looked like that. We were just coming out of the Depression.

'We didn't have enough money to do anything. We just stayed home, except for the occasional movie.

'I was considered a huge success story at WTAG because my salary more than doubled -- from $35 a week to $90 -- in my year at the station. Still, it wasn't enough for a car. Everyone would offer me a lift when they saw me roller-skating to work.'

---RDC

(This snapshot of Tony Randall was written in 1978. It appearance here is its first publication).

Arthur Kennedy, Actor

Warm Spot

Arthur Kennedy, the well-known actor, Worcester native, and graduate of Worcester Academy, is 62 and living on 284-acre sheep farm in Nova Scotia. The last time Kennedy was in Worcester was about six years ago to attend a cousin's funeral.

Kennedy remembers the year, 1933, when he left to city on a 'permanent basis,' departing for schooling at Carnegie Tech in Pittsburgh.

'Worcester was staid. In those days, you got the feeling that [the city] didn't offer young people very much. There wasn't much opportunity in those days. Worcester was fairly dull, quite frankly,' Kennedy said.

Still, Kennedy went on:

'We had a hell of alot of fun in those days. I was crazy about baseball. I remember skating in Elm Park. It was alot of fun. None of us [his family] regretted growing up in Worcester.

'But even in those days, I wanted to live on a farm. I've never cottoned to city life. I was always trying to get in the country.

'The teachers I had I still remember vividly. They were wonderful. They always had a great deal of influence over me -- especially at Worcester Academy.

'The public schools in those days had a very high standard. I hope they still do. I think we were lucky.

'I still have a warm spot for Worcester. The ties are pretty strong.'

--- RDC

(This article was written in 1978. This is its first publicaton).

Abbie Hoffman, Radical

Native Son

Abbie Hoffman, who's been accused of pushing dope, is now pushing 40. An ageing radical -- and the most notorious native son of Worcester, Massachusetts -- Hoffman is again on the wrong side of the law. Not surprisingly, he's on the lam, as well.

An earlier, tamer, version of Hoffman was that of manager of the Park Arts Theater cinema, an organiser of the local chapter of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), and a psychologist at Worcester State Hospital. He's also one of Worcester Academy's most infamous graduates.

This Hoffman CV, of course, preceded his more recent occupation as defendant, the result of his prosecution in the highly-publicised 'Chicago Seven' trial that followed the 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago. At that point, the former movie theatre manager became a national -- and often reviled -- national figure as a putative 'Yippee.' anarchist. (Not to be confused with the cowboy cry of 'yippie ai ay' at round-up).

An attempt to reach Hoffman through his one-time radical associate, Jerry Rubin, was unsuccessful. However, Hoffman was talking to Ken Kelley of Playboy, who interviewed him recently. Kelley reported some additional details on Hoffman's activities when contacted at his home in San Francisco.

Kelley said Hoffman was his usual cheeky self during the the Playboy interview. Referencing his hometown, for instance, Hoffman quipped, 'Worcester is famous the [birth control] pill and Abbie Hoffman. Most people had hoped that the pill had been invented first.'

Hoffman, Kelly added, wanted to ditch Worcester 'as soon as he could.' 'I don't think he thought Worcester was ready for the concept of what Abbie Hoffman had become.'

'Playboy:Have you ever gone back to Worcester?

'Hoffman: Oh, sure. I even spoke at Holy Cross College, and there was a huge turnout. You know, local boy makes bad.'

-- RDC

(This article was written in 1978, and appears here in its first publication).

Hold the Phone!

Nixon on the Line

By Richard Carreno
Rochester, New York (Monday, June 14, 1971):--
Seeking press credentials to Richard Nixon's upcoming press conference, I called the FBI and the Rochester Police Department for direction. Neither outfit was overseeing security for the President's visit, and I was told that my best bet would be the Secret Service, at its office in Buffalo.

In the early afternoon, I telephoned. 'Call back at 5 PM,' a pleasant, female voice said. 'We'll give you the name and the telephone number of the press relations man at that time.'

On the nose, I phoned back.

'Cowler. Mr Dooey Cowler at 546-3300 at the Flagship Rochester [Hotel] in Rochester,' the same voice told me.

Of course, I'm not sure of the first name spelling. I figure it's probably the same spelling as Donald Duck's nephew Dooey -- he of Huey, Dooey, and Louie fame. I record it as such, and the voice confirmed that I got it right.

I call the Flagship Rochester.

'Mr Dooey Cowler, please.'

'Oh, yes, one moment please.'

I'm connected to another disembodied female voice.

'I'm sorry, no Mr Cowler is here.'

'Mr Cowler of the Secret Service,' I responded.

'Please hold.'

Crackling on the line.

Female voice again, 'How might I help you?'

'Press credentials for the President's press conference.'

'The Rochester Journal...?'

'It's a community newspaper,' I said, pre-empting any further enquiry.

'Oh, yes,' she said. 'You're the people who put out the Flower City Conspiracy edition.'

'Yes.' With sinking heart.

Apparently, not all was lost. Still she accepted my name and telephone details.

'Mr Cowler will call you back,' she said.

Next, I called my Journal editor.

'Be cool if the Secret Service calls. It means my press ID.'

I then called a colleague Julie, who was covering Mrs Nixon by getting credentialed by the local Republican Committee.

I put down the phone. I waited.

Rochester, New York (Tuesday, June 15, 1971):--
I called Cowler again.

The hotel operator stalled, and transferred me to the Front Desk. I'm done, I'm sure. I asked for 'Mr. Cowler' again. There was hesitation. 'Mr Dooey Cowler.' After all this accenting of his first name, I reckoned that 'Dooey' was surely the necessary code. Besides, I figured, there was no 'Dooley Cowler' anyway -- at least, none who I would get to meet.

'Oh, yes,' the Front Desk clerk said. 'Yes, Mr Dooey Cowler. He's the man with the Secret Service.'

Are you supposed to say that? I thought.

'He's in Room 331, 332, 333.'

Never mind that's actually three rooms.

'I'll transfer you back to the hotel operator,' she continued.

'Mr Cowler,' I repeated, when connected.

'Oh,' the operator said. 'You're one of them. They have a special switchboard.'

I'm transferred, and a male voice answered.

'Wrong room,' he said, before I could sputter 'Mr Doo...' I soldier on,' 'I'd like to speak to Mr Dooey Cowler of the Secret Service.'

Again, I'm transferred. I'm back to the same female voice that I recognised from yesterday. She was now pissed. Curt.

I leave my details again. I hear the clicking of a t-writer.

'He'll get back.'

'That afternoon, same voice called back. She was sweet again. 'Please call Pam Robinson at 546-8040,' she told me.

'Republican Headquarters....' What!

'Call back,' I'm told.

An hour later, after returning the call, as ordered, I heard, 'Miss Robinson....' She again requested my details. Plus, 'You are a male? You're not impersonating, right?'

My credentials still need to be cleared by the White House, she told me. But if all goes according to plan, I should have my clearance confirmed by Thursday afternoon, delivered by mail. I'll be told then where to pick up the actual press pass.

'If there's a problem, call me back,' Miss Robinson said.

Rochester, New York (Wednesday, June 15, 1971):--
This morning, I heard from Julie -- not Cowler, not Robinson.

'Pick up your press pass at 1:30 PM tomorrow at Republican Headquarters, Four Corners. See you there.'