I really like country music. I didn’t grow up with it, and, in fact, I didn’t care for it as a youth. I thought it was too twangy and too corn-ball.
I remember when I was a kid going on vacation in the Ozarks, in Branson, Missouri, when Branson’s downtown area was one block long. One of the popular country songs went like this. “Oh, I was looking back to see, if you was looking back to see, if I was looking back to see, if you was looking back at me.” Anyway, even though I committed the lyrics to memory, I left Branson satisfied that there was no social redeeming value to country music.
In the late Sixties, I was stationed in Germany. The only English speaking radio station was Armed Forces Network (AFN) which could be heard throughout the then Federal Republic of Germany. If you were in your car and wanted to listen to an English speaking station, you listened to AFN.
I was assigned to the 4th Armored Division Headquarters in Goeppingen, which was about 30 miles East of Stuttgart and about 100 miles from most of our Division troops. All of our troops had relocated much farther to the North and East. That meant that I was usually traveling two or three times a week to see my “clients.” I was defending soldiers in criminal cases. Between 4:00
and 5:00 PM, AFN played country music. The show was called “1605 to Nashville” (1600 hours is 4:00 PM in our military world). At 1605 hours, I was usually driving home from some military unit and AFN was force feeding me country music.
Someone told me that if you played a country song backwards, the good-old boy gets his pick up, girl friend and hound dog back. Well, the truth of the matter is that country songs do tell stories. Some good and some so-so, but they do keep you awake! Even though I was tired after a long day, listening to county music kept me wired. I understand why all those truckers humming down the Interstate are listening to country music.
By the time I left Germany, I was sold on country music, at least while I was driving. Then along comes Garth Brooks with “Friends in Low Places.” I’ve played it for some of my friends who don’t like country music and by the end of the song, they were smiling and singing along. If you have never heard “Friends in Low Places,” I can’t help you.
There are so many lines from these songs that are classics. I can’t do them justice, but I will give you a few. There is a song entitled, “Strawberry Wine,” in which Deena Carter is singing a song about first love and she sings, “I was thirsting for knowledge, and he had a car.” That says it all!
My favorite group is Sugarland. The lead singer is a cute, little gal named Jennifer Nettles. The group has published two albums and both have gone platinum. In the song, “There’s Got To Be Something More,” she sings, “Armageddon could be knocking at my door, but I ain’t gonna answer, that’s for sure.” I have previously told you that country songs don’t always rhyme, but the way Jennifer sings “door” and “sure,” they rhyme! This song is also helpful, because now you know what to do when Armageddon comes knocking at your door. So don’t tell me that country music is just about honky-tonks, pick-up trucks, cheating and beer in Mexico. It deals with significant problems like Armageddon.
Miranda Lambert is a feisty young female artist who writes most of her own lyrics. She has a song and album out entitled, “Kerosene.” Part of it goes, “Forget your high society, I’m soakin’ it in Kerosene. Light ’em up and watch them burn, teach them what they need to learn. HA! Dirty hands ain’t made for shakin’, ain’t a rule that ain’t worth breakin’. Well, I’m giving up on love, cause love’s given up on me.” Yep, you guessed it. It’s another cheating song.
BYRD-Man From C’Ville
Byrd Eastham was a Department of the Army Civilian who had worked at the JAG School in Charlottesville, Virginia for a number of years. I was there in the early Seventies and again, in the late Eighties. He was there both times.
I don’t know what his title was, but he was the commercial artist in our media group. He could draw anything and bring an artistic flair to any School project. The JAG School had a reputation for being a cut above in those things it accomplished, and in many cases that translated to the “Byrd-man.”
A few months back, he retired and the School had a gala affair for him. The Judge Advocate General came down from Washington, DC to officiate over the ceremony. I was unable to attend, so I prepared the following poem to commemorate the occasion.
The BYRD-Man From C’Ville
It had to happen, and no one’s the blame,
The Byrd-man’s retiring, it’ll never be the same.
He is the institution, the brightness of the School,
Everything he touches, comes out really cool.
By the side entrance stands a pillar,
It came with the new addition.
It was Byrd’s idea as a filler,
For the new entrance’s transition.
For these many years, he’s added humor and style,
Plus energy and competency, and did it with a smile.
The School has many missions, and accomplishes so much,
But nothing goes out the door, without the Byrd-man touch.
To receive a “Byrd original,” will make one shout with glee,
To my extreme good fortune, I ended up with three.
But the tip of the Byrd-man’s pen is the beginning and not the end,
The true value of the Byrd-man is having him as a friend.
This town has an exciting history,
There is even intrigue and mystery.
We JAG’s have added to the lore,
Molding in the city our wonderful Corps.
The task was easier with Byrd’s shinning light
May his future retirement be ever so bright.
Imus to the Bank – Wolfo in the Morning
This isn’t a perfect world and this may not be a perfect solution. But, a fix is definitely needed and I’ll just throw this out as a possible solution. I propose to have Paul Wolfowitz and Don Imus switch jobs. That would make Imus the President of the World Bank and Wolfowitz a morning talk show host.
I know, you think I’m wacko, but hear me out. First, Wolfowitz is too long a name, so we will call his show, “Wolfo in the Morning.” You say he isn’t funny. Well, neither is Imus.
There was a time when Imus was funny. Many years back, Imus was a VJ (video jockey) for VH1. We had just returned from Germany and video music was brand new to us. It was really neat. And, who was introducing the videos? The I-Man. When the video was finished, the camera would focus on Imus and Imus would focus on the camera. There would be 10, 15, 20 seconds before Imus would say anything. My wife and I thought he was making a silent commentary on the previous video. We thought it was hilarious. Later, we found out Imus was blitzed and it was taking him a while to focus. But, Imus’ drug and alcohol days are behind him and his sobriety is just what you would hope to find in the President of the World Bank.
The President of the World Bank should be able to collect funds from contributing nations. Imus has plenty of experience at collecting funds. Anyone who has caught Imus’ show knows he has a nonprofit cattle ranch for sick children in New Mexico. He was forever soliciting cattle and money for the ranch. These skills should transfer nicely to the Bank.
You say Imus has offended people. True, but he offends all people equally. I think the President of the World Bank, on occasion, needs to be offensive. Imus’ skills at being offensive are legendary. We need a tough negotiator. How would you like to be negotiating across the table from the I-Man? CBS is about to find out.
Imus is married, so there is only a small chance that he would find a girlfriend at the Bank. If he did, he certainly wouldn’t ship her off to the State Department. And, with Wolfowitz on the air, his girlfriend could come back to the Bank. I haven’t figured out whether she should get to keep her pay raises. But, I don’t see where she did anything wrong.
As for Wolfo in the Morning, I think he is a natural. There is no question that he will look better than Imus in a cowboy hat. And, he wouldn’t spend all his air time hyping his ranch and his wife’s new book (we just have to hope that Wolfo’s girlfriend doesn’t write a book).
One of the things that made Imus in the Morning work was the high-powered guests he had on. Imus would carry on intelligent, insightful discussions with his guests (World Bank material?). Wolfo has held many significant positions in the Government and could call on his distinguished friends to provide intelligent, insightful comments on his show.
Wait a minute. I just found out that Wolfowitz wrote his doctoral dissertation on water desalination in the Middle East. That would be more deadly than talking about the ranch. Let’s just forget the whole thing.
Wow – It’s All Becoming Clear
I hired my first secretary at Fort Riley, Kansas. The trick to surviving and succeeding is gathering good people around you. I think having the right secretary is a big deal.
When I arrived at Fort Riley, I inherited a sweet elderly lady, who had been an institution at the JAG Office. She wanted to retire, but was kind enough not to walk out the door as I was walking in. After a comfortable period of time, she let me know that she was retiring and we started the process to select her replacement.
I don’t understand the process. Don’t have to. Eventually, some admin office on post sends over a bunch of personnel files for us to review. These files have already been reviewed by someone and it has been determined that the individuals whose files were forwarded are “qualified for the job.”
One of the good people in the office was my Admin Officer, Mr. Frank Maloney, a young warrant officer. Mr Maloney and I selected three or four of the applicants to interview. A couple had been on post for a number of years and had excellent reputations, so I was fairly confident I would end up with a really good secretary.
Another woman, who was working over at the Army Reserve Headquarters, had excellent evaluations, but had changed jobs about five times in the last six years. Frank and I were concerned about that, because we were looking for stability. What we were doing was a time consuming drill and we didn’t want to be doing it again in a year.
The first couple of interviews went very well. Frank seemed to know the right questions to keep everything on track and I was feeling fairly comfortable with the process. Then, the young lady from the Army Reserve Headquarters showed up (thankfully, I don’t remember her name, but I will never forget the interview). She was a very attractive young woman wearing a see-through blouse and a lace bra! Mr. Maloney and I struggled through the interview. Have you ever tried to make eye contact throughout an entire 30 minute interview?
We asked her about changing jobs so often, and she explained that she also had been going to school. Her class schedule sometimes would interfere with her work schedule causing her to change jobs. She assured me that schooling and scheduling were no longer a problem and that she would be a devoted secretary. Egad!
I used to refer to the prettiest secretary in the office as the “Queen Bee”, because there was always a lot of activity buzzing around her desk. The males in the office could always come up with some bogus reason to be there. If we had hired this gal, I think the JAG Office would have become the most popular building on post. We might have had to set up a “take-a-number” system.
After she departed, Frank and I just stared at each other. Finally, I said, “Frank, if I hire her, I think the next 90 days will be the most exciting in my military career. I also think they will be my last 90 days.” We agreed that another applicant was better qualified and put the matter behind us.
Two weeks later, I dropped by the Officers’ Club for Friday night Happy Hour. There she was, sitting at the bar, wearing a bright red tube top. She was looking right at me and pouting. I walked over to her trying to look sad or sorry or something. Frankly, I was trying to look appropriate for a person who had not hired her. She finally spoke. She said, “It was Mr. Maloney, wasn’t it?” What could I say? I said, “Yes, it was Mr. Maloney.”
After a few minutes, I finally got around to telling her that she raised issues by dressing the way she had. Always the teacher, I explained that she should probably dress a little more conservatively when she is interviewing. I should have saved my breath. She knew exactly what she was doing and if I didn’t appreciate the way she dressed, it was best that we both knew it up front. I realized that one of the purposes of the interview process was to inform and she believed in full disclosure.
Best of Ireland
A couple of years ago, Carole and I took a Tauck Tour to Ireland. As it was wrapping up, I wrote a poem regarding the adventure. There are a couple of things you need to know so that the poem makes sense. Mary, our guide, spelled out the name of every town, castle, hill, lake – you name it, she spelled it. Things we were not interested in, she would slowly spell. It was the groups inside joke.
The second inside joke addresses the Dublin Castle. We had a special Saturday tour set up, but no one showed up to let us in. So, we spent about an hour and a half waiting in the “courtyard” of the Dublin Castle.
The Really Really Best of Ireland
With Mary as our guide, and Gerry with the van,
We set out with vigor, to discover Ireland.
(That’s spelled IRELAND, which comes from Eire, which means a mystic goddess)
We’re heading North, we’re out the door,
We’re right on the way to the Cliffs of Moher.
Sleeping at Ashford Castle – not too shabby,
But, we didn’t see the schoolgirls at Kylemore Abbey.
Then it’s on to Sligo and Donegal Bay,
Stopped at Drumcliffe and Yeats by the way.
Poets are strange and I’ll tell you why,
They write weird things, like “horseman pass by.”
Then it’s on to Dublin, Ireland’s fair city,
Yes, saw Molly Malone and she looked so pretty.
With traveling and touring, it was a heck of a day,
But we finished it off in an Irish cabaret.
We saw Trinity College and the Book of Kells,
Dubliners partying and two AM yells.
St. Patrick’s Cathedral, that was no hassle,
And we saw the courtyard of the Dublin Castle!
Hotels became spectacular, of that there is no doubt,
Mt. Juliet, Hayfield Manor, places of which to shout.
Waterford crystal – money will not be saved,
But, somewhere on each piece, there’s space to have engraved.
So we kissed the Blarney Stone, and drove the Ring of Kerry,
We shot down treacherous mountain roads,
Mary and Gerry – – did not tarry.
We arrived at Dromoland Castle,
Our tour is coming to an end.
Thirty-nine people from all over the States,
And, each has become a friend.
So we give our thanks to Mary,
But, there’s no need to shed a tear.
We’ll get out our catalog from Tauck,
And, we’ll do it again next year.
Fixing Blame
One of the old lines is, “What is the difference between the Army and the Boy Scouts?” The answer is “The Boy Scouts have adult supervision.” I truly love the Army and am proud to have served for 28 years. But, if you are going to be a career soldier, you better keep your sense of humor. The Army does things (with its lack of adult supervision) that can drive you crazy. We used to say, “When something goes wrong, the first thing that must be done is to fix blame.” While it was said “tongue-in-cheek”, it really was close to the truth.
Back in the 70’s, I was teaching at the JAG School in Charlottesville, Virginia. In those days, if we had hand-out material that had a number of pages, we would have the material printed for us at the print plant at Fort Lee, Virginia. Five years ago, we would feed the material into a copying machine and it would come out copied, collated and stapled. Today, the material would be posted on-line and the students would go to a web site and read the material. But, back in the 70’s, the print plant was pretty efficient.
During the same period, there were a lot of Vietnam protests near or actually on military posts and bases. I taught a seminar to the Advanced (Graduate) Class on the legal aspects of handling protesters. The courts had decided there were freedom of speech and right of assembly issues in how we dispatched the protesters (you could remove them from post, but you shouldn’t drop them off at a gate that was 30 miles from the gate they entered). Anyway, these young JAG officers needed to know how to advise their commanders and I had assembled some pretty good material to help them.
The materials for the students had been sent down to the print plant and hadn’t come back. I checked because I was running out of time. They advised me that our supply sergeant was taking a truck to Fort Lee the next day and he would be bringing back my dissent seminar material along with a whole lot of other stuff. That next day, the materials were picked up at Fort Lee and brought back to the JAG School. The following day, the materials had vanished. By the time the School figured out what had happened, all the materials were buried in the county landfill!
I was furious. Remember the first rule – fix blame. I went to my boss and told him it was inexcusable for all those brand new materials to have been trashed. Somebody had to be responsible. He sat me down and calmly explained to me what had happened.
Mr. Merritt, the publication section director, was going through all of the School’s Department of the Army publications. Many were obsolete and he intended to pitch them. The School’s janitorial service worked each night. I believe they came in about 11:00 PM and worked till about 7:00 AM. Mr. Merritt spoke with them just as they were leaving on the day in question. He told them he would be spending the day gathering up obsolete publications to be thrown away. He would pile all the old publications on a large table. This particular table had wheels, so it was great for moving material from one end of the hall to the other. Mr. Merritt requested that when the janitors arrived for work that night, they should wheel the table down the hall to the dumpster and throw away the obsolete material.
Mr. Merritt worked diligently and filled the table. At 5:00 PM, he went home. I know, I know. You are already way ahead of me, but I need to fill in a few more pieces. At about 7:30 PM, our tired and hungry supply sergeant returns from Fort Lee. He needs to empty the truck before he can go home. He walks down to the Publications Section and finds the table he needs to use for transportation, but it is covered with DA publications. He removes the material and neatly stacks it against a wall. Then, he wheels the table down the hall to where he has the truck parked. He unloads all the new material onto the table and wheels it back to publications. By now it is well after 8:00 PM, so he locks the place and goes home for a late dinner.
The janitorial personnel at the JAG School are wonderful people. They took such pride in keeping the building spotless and we treated them like family. On that infamous day, they showed up around 11:00 PM and followed Mr. Merritt’s instructions. They made sure that all the material on the table made it into the dumpster. Of course, the dumpster was emptied first thing the next morning and the Fort Lee print plant material had taken its last ride.
My boss looked at me and said, “Jack, who do you want to punish? Everybody did exactly what they were supposed to do.” I went back to my office and reflected on the situation. Then, after a short while, I relaxed. After all, I had fixed blame. There wasn’t any.
Fearless Leader
Arent Fox is a great place to work. It is a large law firm that doesn’t suffer from those things you expect to find in a large law firm. People care for each other. It’s fun to come to work. We are rated high in pro bono and diversity. We always seem to be moving in the right direction. Oh, and by the way, we are very successful, both for ourselves and for our clients.
One of the reasons for the firm’s success is our Chairman, Marc Fleischaker. On those occasions when the firm has stumbled (not recently), Marc stepped in and put things back on track. He stepped in back in 1993, when he was appointed as acting managing partner, and revitalized the firm. I will be retired, retired shortly (that’s what you do when you have already retired from the military), but I will still enjoy watching Marc grow the firm.
On his sixtieth birthday, I wrote the poem, below.
Fearless Leader Marc
Sixty, yes sixty, I do declare
The boy has made it and still has his hair
He’s remarkably trim, been through some hard knocks
Fighting tough battles and defending the Fox
He’s our leader, our savior, and when there’s a storm
He gathers the Firm up in the crook of his arm
When things look their bleakest, ever so dark
He sets up a Prom date at Hershey Park
He’s growing the Firm, core engines and stuff
Strategic initiatives STOP: that’s enough
But the Fox is ascending, our future chimes
But, please no more interviews with the Legal Times
A family man with an empty nest
Two loving daughters, so he’s passed the test
But even at this age, there’s no time to rest
There’s chores to do and Phyllis knows best
So, here we are at his birthday party
And, Marc is smiling and looking so hardy
But as we look beyond the smile and cheers
We know – He’ll be put out to pasture in just a few short years
So it’s time to close, watch out for the hook
Marc’s true accomplishments would fill a book
A trusted friend of that we swear
And, we’d follow Marc simply anywhere
Master’s Degree for JAGs
I walked back to my car after a University of Virginia football game. No, I was not a student. Just the week before, I had taken command of The Judge Advocate General’s School in Charlottesville. Walking with me was Hugh Overholt, The Judge Advocate General and Fran Gilligan, the Deputy Commandant. There was a pause in the conversation and General Overholt said, “Jack, I think it is time to go after the LL.M. again.”
I couldn’t believe my bad luck. The JAG School had been trying, off and on, to get a master’s degree for their Graduate Class students for at least 30 years. The one-year Graduate Course had previously been called the Career Course and, later, the Advanced Class. The LL.M. effort had been dormant for some years and I had just cut short my tour in Germany to come back and figure out how to be commandant. And now, General “O” is piling on the quest for the LL.M. Where was my squire, Sancho Panza?
About 23 years earlier, as Basic Class students at the JAG School, a few of us decided to stay in Charlottesville and not take leave over the Christmas holiday. The JAG School put us to work. Bill Suter (presently the Clerk of the Supreme Court) and I were assigned the task of preparing a paper explaining why the then Career Course students should be awarded an LL.M. Bill and I thought we did a good job, but realistically, it was probably a “make work” project that just got filed away.
After General Overholt had returned to the Pentagon, we got busy on the LL.M. project. We went about it in an orderly process and put David Graham, our Chief of International Law in charge. We realized that we needed a “champion” in Congress to push our bill through. There was a high ranking congresswoman from western Maryland who was the Chair of the appropriate subcommittee on Armed Services. She was invited down to the JAG School to see our operation and to speak to the Graduate Class.
When the JAG School was built on the grounds of the UVA, it included quarters for the students and guests and dining facilities (We’re not talking a mess hall). It included VIP quarters and a special room up in the club for entertaining special guests, like our congresswoman. Our sergeant major ran the club (ah, those were the days). He could prepare a prime rib that makes my mouth water just thinking about it. Our plan was to have the congresswoman for a special prime rib dinner and then, she would speak to the Graduate Class the next morning.
The evening started out great. The wine was flowing and our congresswoman was delightful. All the key officers at the school were present and she was regaling us with things that were happening on the Hill. We were right on track
Some months before we sat down to eat, a whacked out GI wandered around his barracks in Germany mad at the world. He announced to anyone who would listen that he was going to go out and kill a German taxi driver. He then, went out and with eager premeditation murdered a German taxi driver. He was tried by general courts-martial, convicted and sentenced to death. Guess whose congressional district our GI and his family lived it? Yep, my congresswoman.
That night at dinner, she proceeded to tell me that she was looking into the case and she had found out that the JAG officer who defended the case had never been in court before. There it was, an outrageous statement that I knew was false. But, it wasn’t any of my business. I needed to let it pass. Whenever my good friend, Fran Gilligan, hears something he knows is false or just doesn’t believe, he smiles and says, “Oh, is that so”, like he had just learned something new. But, I couldn’t do it. I responded to the congresswoman that I really didn’t know much about the case, but I did know quite a bit about the Army and the JAG Corps and that there was no way they would try a soldier in a capital case without providing him with a seasoned defense counsel. She replied that it was the defense counsel’s first capital case and I explained that capital cases were extremely rare in the Army. Things then got really quiet and I had a chance to reflect on what a jerk I was. I tried to make small talk, but it went nowhere. Here, we bring our champion down to the JAG School to prepare her to fight for our LL.M. and I have her stewing. Not too swift.
Before the evening ended, I apologized for my conduct. The next morning, before I introduced her to the Grad Class, I apologized again. Her sculpted smile told me I wasn’t making any headway. She gave an excellent speech to the class and then closed by saying, “Your commandant has apologized for taking me to task last night. I haven’t decided to accept his apology, but I want you to know that I am still determine to see that all of you receive an LL.M. for the work you have done this year.” Everyone in the class stood up and applauded – me the loudest.
Congress passed our statute and that particular Graduate Class and every class thereafter received a Master of Laws degree. I would like to tell you that I really learned my lesson and that in the future, I have been more diplomatic. Yeah, I’d like to tell you that.
Shower Me With Routines
I looked up “routine” in the dictionary. I hate people who look up words to win an argument. That shifts the whole argument. You are no longer arguing over the word; now you are arguing over what the definition means. Anyway, routine means “a regular course of procedure,” or “an habitual or mechanical procedure.” Everybody has their routines and that is probably good. Things get done without even thinking about them.
When we back out of the garage, I reach up and push the button closing the garage door. It’s just routine. Then, after I have turned the corner, my wife asks, “Did you close the garage door?” I think I did, but I really don’t know. So I turn around and drive back to see. Carole and I grew up in East St. Louis, so we never leave anything open, unlocked or in doubt. Sure enough, the garage door is closed.
People have routines in the morning, routines in the evening. Golfers have pre-shot routines (which includes envisioning the path of the ball – sounds good, just doesn’t work for me). Even pets have routines. Our dog got a treat at 9:00 every evening. At about a quarter to nine, she would start starring at us. We started the routine, but she was never going to let us forget it. As soon as someone would get out of their chair, she would go crazy. Her routine was to do tricks before she got her treat. So she would routinely start her repertoire of tricks without even being asked so as not to cause unreasonable delays. Switching on and off of daylight savings time really confused our little friend. Her clock worked better than ours.
Routines won’t hold up in court. Someone testifies that they always check the lock on the back door before the go to bed. The opposing counsel asks, “Did you check it the night in question?” Then, the witness responds, “I don’t specifically remember doing it that night, but I had to, because I do it every night.” The witness is in trouble, because every juror knows how a person can slip up on a routine.
It is tricky business to change a routine. My routine in the morning before work was to exercise, eat, jump in the shower, shave, brush my teeth, get dressed and out the door – in that order. Then, we had the bathroom remodeled and it took a while for the hot water to make it up to the new shower. I had a little extra time waiting for the water to get hot, so I decided to brush my teeth. While brushing, I noticed the glass on the shower steaming up. No problem, I decided to take my tooth brush into the shower. I stepped into the shower and continued to brush. All of a sudden, I was having trouble seeing. My glasses were fogging up. I took off my glasses, but there was no place to put them (most people routinely remove their glasses before they step into the shower). In the process of disposing of my glasses, I got water all over the bathroom, stubbed my toe and said a few choice words. No more! I’m going back to habitual and mechanical procedures.
Melva at the Fox
I am sort of a cautious, conservative guy. So, deciding to try private legal practice just before my 55th birthday was a little out of my comfort zone. But, Mr. Clinton had just become President and I was persona non grata at the Department of Transportation. After 31 years with Uncle Sam, the cord was being severed.
Larry Henneberger and I had started in the military over 30 years before. He was a senior partner at Arent Fox and assisted me in getting interviews which led to being brought into the firm with the title of “of counsel.” The Firm makes you “of counsel” when you are too old to be an associate and they can’t think of any earthly reason to make you a partner.
I had no clients. What I did have was an office, a phone and a secretary. I went through three secretaries my first year. The first one fired me. She was really good, but not the least bit interested in teaching me how to survive in a private law firm. She was a highly skilled litigation secretary and I was cranking out “white papers,” to her dismay, trying to find a client. I was optimistic and suspected I would figure it out, but she just wanted to get away from me.
My second secretary didn’t want anything to do with me. I guess, at that time, of counsels generally didn’t make it at the firm. She didn’t see any need to waste her time on me prior to that happening. I called her in and told her I needed my out box emptied at least once in the morning and once in the afternoon (I wish I were kidding you). She promptly went back to her office and called the mail room. She told them to pick up and deliver distribution directly from my office. We separated on unfriendly terms.
My third secretary was the subject of an inter-office debate. They couldn’t decide whether to fire her, or assign her to me. I got her, but we weren’t very compatible. I came to work at 7:30 AM and she would wander in about 9:30 to 9:45 AM. Then, she would take lunch from 1:30 to 3:30 PM. However, she was a vast improvement over secretary number two. Anyway, the Admin Office was now doing their job and advised her that if she didn’t come to work on time, they would fire her. She didn’t, and they did. And that is how I got Melva.
Melva Pocky (rhymes with okey dokey) was a sweet elderly lady who really didn’t like to file. So, working in litigation wasn’t a good idea. But, she was great for me. She truly was pleased when I would bring in a new client or obtain a favorable result on an existing matter. She always acted a little ditsy, but I was convinced it was just an act. After we had been together for a few years, she decided to donate blood to help out one of her friends. When they took her pulse, they found out that her heart wasn’t even close to beating correctly.
I lost her for an extended time while she was fitted for a pacemaker. Then, when she returned, she told me she was going to retire. Melva’s retirement party was a gala event still remembered at the Fox. My retirement poem to her is below.
Melva
I know it’s true, but it’s hard to believe,
Melva Pocky is about to leave.
She’s filled out the forms, that’s the requirement,
She’s anxious to start on her retirement.
What a great secretary, but oh so beguiling,
The work all gets done, except for the filing.
But she’s loved by us all, she helps everyone,
She enjoys acting ditsy, and just having fun.
She walks to work from Foggy Bottom,
in Winter, Spring, Summer and especially Autumn.
There’s a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye,
And with her new pacemaker, her step is quite spry.
Her heart’s beating fine without hesitation,
It’s warrantied for forty, without lubrication.
This good natured lady from Pennsylvania,
Isn’t dropping us all like the Lusitania.
While we’re losing Melva, no need for hysteria,
While she’s leaving the Fox, she’s not leaving the area.
For she loves all the arts and may telephone ya,
To take a short trip or visit the Smithsonia.
This conclusion sounds silly and even a bit hokey,
But our friend Melva Pocky is just Okey Dokey.