All posts by pajarice

Poems

95′ Holiday Poem

 
In late 1995, Congress couldn’t agree on a budget and parts of the Government shut down.  The debate still rages as to whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.  Also, it’s a kick in the teeth when it is decided that you’re “nonessential.”  I was two plus years out of Government service, so that was somebody else’s problem.

One of the really great feel good stories in 1995 was Cal Ripken breaking the record for most consecutive baseball games played (2131).  If you figure 162 games a year (I’m not sure the early years had that many), we are talking about playing over 13 years without missing a game!  This record is not just about sports, but about how a person approaches his responsibilities.  His record is something that everyone can celebrate.

My feel good story that year was that I was elevated to partner at Arent Fox.


                                                           95′ Holiday Poem

The Fed may have no budget, and the Government may close,
Yet, I’m picking up my pen, to write some silly prose.
Government worker – nonessential, they’re all uptight,
My issue – should this poem have a copyright?
                    (nope!  not even Jessie Jackson would lift a line)

The Disney family reunion was simply grand,
We ate, rode and played till we couldn’t stand.
Four generations from two to 79,
Thirteen’s not unlucky, when you’re having a great time.
                                                        (no! no! not the luau!)

Missy and Terry have moved, they’re back where they met,
Terry’s working at Caterpillar, making buckets, yet.
Kerby’s still at Safeway, but stacking lettuce no more,
He showed his MBA, and now he runs the store.
                                            (love those sons-in-law)

Paul still works with troubled teens,
Yes, saving a few pearls,
But the problem just got more complex,
He’s switching from boys to girls.
                        (I think I’ll just stand outside)

It’s been a banner year, with really no down side,
Carole’s doing great, she’s definitely my pride.
No longer an Arent Fox newbie, but I’m still making boners,
Yet did enough things right, now I’m one of the owners!
                        (what do you mean, capital contribution?)

Work took me to Brea, Dearborn and Troy,
Fun took us to Charleston, Chicago and boy,
The rocks of Sedona, now that’s a find,
But the Indian myths will play with your mind.
                                    (how – scrambled!)

Mom celebrated eighty at Jeannette and Bill’s,
In Henderson, North Carolina, up in the hills.
We children were there, Karen came a long way,
We laughed till we cried – just a great day.
                                    (no, not that story again!)

Five years in this house, records for us and Cal,
Blanche came to visit, and Holly’s such a pal.
She brings in the paper and sometimes a branch,
That’s Holly I mean, certainly not Blanche!
                                (roll over, sit up – good girl)

So that’s it for this year, we miss all our friends,
Especially at holidays, when the year ends.
But I have the answer, I have the fix,
Let’s see you real soon in Ninety-six!
                (have a wonderful holiday and a happy New Year)

Golf Daze

Bad Day at Golf


Any golfer will tell you that there doesn’t have to be a reason to have a bad round of golf.  Just show up.  There is, however, one scenario that is guaranteed to end in a bad round.  If the last time you played, you had a great round and you just can’t wait to get out to improve on it, you will be humbled.  Golf is a humbling game and when your excitement and expectations are at their highest, it will smash you like a bug.

Last Tuesday, I had a miserable round.  It didn’t come as a surprise.  As a matter of fact, I became stoic in the parking lot.  That was where I realized that my putter and six iron were not in my golf bag.  They were leaning against the portable bar in the room we added on so I could practice putting and swinging (the room has a cathedral ceiling – surprise!).

If I went home to get the clubs I would miss my tee time.  So I went into the Fort Belvoir Club House and asked if I could borrow a Putter (I could get by without my six iron).  We went into the lost-club closet.  It was fairly dark and I still had my sunglasses on.  I picked out a short flat-faced putter.  I suspected it was a lady’s club, but I didn’t care.  What I didn’t realize until I got out in the sun light was that the club was painted pink.  Even the face of the putter was painted pink.  I had no success and at the end of nine holes, I switched putters.  That will be the only nine holes I ever play with a putter with a painted face (distance was OK – direction was bad).

I went back to the closet and found a putter that I thought said “Acushnet.”  Acushnet made the famous Bulls Eye putter that was so popular a number of years back.  They still make excellent putters.  The putter I selected was a mallet head.  I like mallet heads.  After I missed a five foot putt on the 10th hole, I took a closer look at the putter.  It didn’t say Acushnet, it said, “Accusline.”  It was a clumsy knock-off.  The only thing done well on the putter was the printing style to make “Accusline” look like “Acushnet.”  The shaft was heavy, the mallet had no weight (distance was bad – direction was bad).  The whole time I am playing, I am telling myself that I am getting just what I deserve (if the game is 90% mental, that is not the best thing to be telling yourself).  Yes, you are right, the blame for the poor putting should be equally shared by the stick and the stick handler.

I need to come up with a check list before I leave the house.  In fact, as I was leaving, Carole, my wife, is asking, “Do you have your shoes?” I forgot my golf shoes when we went to Florida for a golf vacation.  I also have forgotten them when I have practiced at Fort Belvoir.  I would just go ahead and practice in the shoes I had on – usually Nike running shoes.  Then, she said, “Do you have your wallet?”  I have previously forgotten my wallet and that is a show stopper.  You can’t get on to Fort Belvoir without an ID.  But, does she ask if I have my putter?  NO!

I have a little ritual I go through when I am having a bad round.  I periodically count my clubs to make sure I go home with the same number I came with.  While the number was less that usual, I did go home with all the clubs I brought.

I play in a retired members golf association at Fort Belvoir.  We play most of the country clubs in Northern Virginia.  So, it’s good to have a high handicap.  But there was no way I was going to post this score.  I decided it would be wrong on so many levels.

The good news is that this experience will guarantee that I won’t forget my putter for at least six months.

Poems

A Holiday Poem (with in-depth commentary)

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I told you I had lots of Christmas poems.  I’m only up to 1994. 

Not really much to explain in this one.  Marion Barry, the former mayor, went to jail for drug possession and use, then got himself elected as a councilman in D.C.  Chris Weber spent less years in D.C. than DWI arrests.  In fairness, I think we did go to the playoffs while he was here.


                                        A HOLIDAY POEM
                               (with in-depth commentary)


I’m starting too early, I have time to waste,
It’s usually better when I’m in haste.
But I’m traveling this December, clients in the West,
But Carole says no packing till the poem meets the test.
                                            (if she accepts this, she’s easy.)

It’s almost five years since moving to D.C.
For us military folks, that’s an eternity.
Arent Fox has been great, worries not a nary,
City’s in good hands, ask Marion Barry.
                                    (don’t ya believe in redemption?)

Carole’s enjoying life, Thrift Shop and used books,
Her hearing’s gone South, but she still has her looks.
It’s time for the Christmas party, it should be a blast,
But she say every year, this one’s the last!
            (this time she really means it – – that also sounds familiar.)

Then there’s sports in D.C., no baseball, no hockey,
But Redskins, yes Redskins, but the season’s so rocky.
But we still have the Bullets, that’s the suggestion,
But if Chris Weber is the answer, what is the question.
                        (does it have something to do with the playoffs?)

It’s tough to be separated from family and friend,
Especially on holidays, when phone wires bend.
But a reunion is coming, Carole’s planned it for years,
The entire family together, for hugging and cheers.
This January in Orlando, we’ll come, we won’t dally,
The Hansen’s from Hutchinson, the Ross’ from Prescott Valley.
Blanche and Mary from St. Louis, Paul from Buckingham County,
We’ll meet Mickey and Goofy, and all reap the bounty.
                                                    (which one is Goofy?)

It’s difficult to be separated from family and friends,
But at Walt Disney World, the separation ends.
The grandchildren will be there, and each great grandma,
Carole’s the tour guide, and I’m just Grandpa.
                                            (do you take American Express?)

We scream from the Tower of Terror, as we fall out of sight,
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night  fantastic 1995!

The Fox

The Prom

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It’s not just for high school kids.  I belong to an AMLAW 200 law firm and we have a prom every year.  Ours is a little different in that I don’t have to hire a limo, nor buy my wife a corsage.  But, I think the corsage would be a nice touch.  It’s all part of Arent Fox’s annual retreat.

Each year, Arent Fox takes all of the attorneys, senior legal assistants and selected staff away for a weekend retreat.  Business meetings are held, golf is played and, of course, there’s the prom.  We have gone South to Wintergreen and North to Hershey Park, Baltimore, Wilmington and Philadelphia.  With offices in D.C. and New York, those of us from D.C. end up going North most of the time.  This year, we have an office in Los Angeles, so I thought the retreat should be in Ozarks.  I was overruled.  We went to Williamsburg.  Branson will have to wait.

Everyone is excited about the LA office.  We started small and in less than a year have doubled its size. They have outgrown their offices and, in December, they will be moving to a larger space where they will be able to continue to expand.  Moving a law office is a lot like having a root canal.  It solves a current problem and makes things better in the future, but the procedure can be painful and frustrating.  I think I will inquire about the move in February.  By waiting a couple of months, I can reduce the conversation to three minutes rather than 30!

At the business meeting, Marc Fleischaker, our Chairman of the Executive Committee, reported on the status of the firm.  I always come away with a warm fuzzy feeling.  He assured us that the report was 98% truthful and that’s good enough for me.  Throughout the entire morning, I keep count of how many times someone mentions the “culture of the firm.”  We are collegial and very proud of our culture.  When “culture of the firm” is mentioned for the tenth time, I make a star on my note paper.  I’m not sure why.  I guess it tells me that the hard core bean counters haven’t taken over.

Golf is always the afternoon after the business meeting and before the prom.  This means teeing off after 1:00 PM and getting to the cocktail reception by 6:30.  It can be done, but it’s tight.  This year the stars were in the wrong position.  The golf round was OK.  It could have been excellent if I hadn’t triple bogeyed the two par 3’s on the back nine.  I got back to the room at 5:45 and jumped into the shower.  All was going well until I tried to tie my bow tie.

A number of years back, I decided it would be neat to tie my own.  Each time, I have to get out my written instructions and go step by step.  This time, I forgot to switch from my golf glasses to my regular glasses (regular glasses are bifocals).  So, I am looking at the step-by-step pictures, but I can’t read the instructions.  The tie keeps falling apart.  I don’t blame it.  At 6:30, Carole, my wife, is asking how I am doing.  I finally trek out to the car and rescue my regular glasses from the golf bag.  Then, after reading the instructions, I tie the bow.  It’s a terrible job.  Do you think I care?  At that moment, the only criterion was that it didn’t fall apart.  I never dared to touch it the rest of the night.

The prom is a formal affair.  I have on previous occasions worn my dress mess uniform (still requires a bow tie).  But, at Williamsburg, I decided to wear my tuxedo.  Surprisingly, I had a number of people ask me why I was out of uniform.  Last year, when I wore my mess jacket, a couple of the same people came up and asked me to call them a cab.

One of the really neat things about Arent Fox, is that even though I retire at the end of the year, I will still be invited each year to the prom.  I am not sure whether I will wear the dress mess or the tux, but you can bet I will have a back-up clip-on in my bag.

Poems

A Washington Holiday Poem

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The Christmas is 1993.  I have completed my first nine months at Arent Fox and am starting to enjoy private practice (“starting to enjoy” means I finally have some clients).  We have a new puppy- Holly  (just like today we have a new puppy – Nikki).  Carole seriously broke her ankle walking down the steps of our deck.  So here is the 1993 report.

                        A Washington Holiday Poem

Another year?  Already that time.
For me to scratch out a silly rhyme.
Christmas in D.C. – Redskins alas,
Bubba’s in the White House – This too shall pass.

The house is improving, we put up a fence,
Carole was the inspector, that seemed to make sense.
But she missed a step, her ankle blew a fuse,
Now she has a metal plate and six tiny screws.
But that was March, now she’s cruising the sector,
Only problem when she flies is the metal detector.

Holly’s our new little sheltie, I don’t know just why,
Now when we want to travel, it becomes a harder try.
But you know the old saying, says the polly wog,
If you want a friend in Washington, get yourself a dog.

Paul got another promotion, and I’ve become a fan,
He’s had his job longer, than even his old man.
Kerby’s into taxidermy, and it can cause the jitters,
When you look in Becky’s freezer, chucked full of ugly critters.
Missy’s teaching Headstart, Terry’s shaping vans,
This holiday we’ll see them, D.C.’s in their plans.

The military’s behind me, my political career’s in a box,
A bright new world awakens, private practice at Arent Fox.
Time sheets and billable hours, my mind’s become so pliant,
Long hours and library trips, just to please the client.
But the roughest days are over, I think I’m past the crunch,
I must quit writing now – It’s time for my power lunch!

My Military Daze

Why D’you Do It?


Life can be something like your golf game.  Just when you think it is all coming together, it implodes.  In 1982, I was a colonel getting ready for the best year of my life.  I was just starting in as a student at the Army War College.  We had been assigned great quarters and life was good.

It was the first week of school and I checked my school mail box right before heading home.  There was a phone slip telling me to call Mr. White at the Criminal Investigation Detachment (CID).  It was after 1700 hours (5:00 PM), so I decided to call him the next day.

Shortly after I got home the door bell rang.  It was the officer from the CID and he had with him a special agent from the Secret Service.  They showed me their credentials and said we needed to talk.  I took them into the dining room where we all sat down.  I was really confused, but I had handled any number of criminal matters in my career and perhaps this had to do with some prior matter.  Suddenly the Secret Service agent said, “OK, why d’you do it?”  Now, I was not only confused, but really shook up.  Having been an Army Lawyer for 20 years, I knew that they were screwing up whatever they were trying to do.  But I didn’t think that this was the time for me to go into my “Miranda 101” tutorial.  I guess if someone really felt guilty about something, he might just blurt it out (even if it is not what the agents are investigating).  But, I was clueless and really wanted to know what they suspected me of doing.

So I told them that I was completely confused and asked what was it that I had supposedly done.  The agent said, “Why did you threaten the President’s life?”  I was still totally confused, but I knew I had never threatened the President’s life.  I told them so.  Little by little, I found out the facts.  They had received an anonymous phone call from a public phone at the Kansas City International Airport that I had threatened the President’s life.  It supposedly happened at my last assignment’s going-away party in Manhattan, Kansas.  That had been a few weeks back.  That was all they knew.  No identification on the caller, no facts as to what I had said.

Knowing what the charge was gave me some relief.  At that time I was pretty well satisfied that they would conclude I hadn’t done it.  I gave them a written statement (still no Miranda warning), and a list of people who attended the party that they could contact.  My wife, who was at the party, also talked with them.  Even though I knew they would decided the complaint was unfounded, I still felt terrible.  I had become aware that someone at Fort Riley, my last assignment, disliked me so much that he would make such a vicious phone call.  I spent the next couple of days trying to remember who I could have upset at Fort Riley.  Such activity is not a good idea and I don’t recommend it.

The other reason I felt terrible was with my military legal background, I knew that what had happened would constitute “criminal information” that would stay somewhere buried in my file.  Even if the investigation concluded, as I’m sure they would, that there wasn’t a shred of truth to the accusation, it still stays in my file.  The rationale for this is if someone, for example, is accused of peeking in windows, but it is decided it can’t be proved, it would be nice to have that “criminal information” when the individual is picked up a second or third time.  If the first unfounded complaint gets thrown away, then the second complaint becomes the first.  I requested that if the agents concluded that it was a crank call, they would be doing me a great favor if they could keep the complaint from going into my file (nice try).  I never heard from them again.  The Army War College year turned out to be as great as advertised.

Fast forward ten years.  I’m retired from the Army and working as the Chief Counsel, National Highway Traffic Safety Administration (NHTSA).  Nancy Miller, at the White House, interviewed me for the position and we stayed in contact during my time at NHTSA.  In 1992, she invited me to join her for breakfast in the White House Mess.  I had been through the White House check-in process three or four times without a hitch, but this time it wasn’t working.  After about 15 minutes,  some security personnel in fatigue uniforms showed up and “casually” stood around.  Finally Nancy came out to see why I was so late.  I told her I couldn’t seem to get through security.

Nancy disappeared for about five minutes and than came back and I was permitted to enter.  We had an enjoyable breakfast.  She told me that the bogus complaint was still there.  She assured me that I wouldn’t have any more problems.  And, I haven’t.  Of course, I haven’t been back to the White House.

Random Thoughts

Little Nikki


Harry Truman said, “If you want a friend in Washington, get a dog!”  Well, we’ve had dogs most of the time we’ve been in Washington and there are days when I’m satisfied that Old Harry knew what he was talking about.  A year and a half ago, however, our dog, Holly, died.  We had truly lost a dear friend.  We were in no mood to replace her.  Plus, we were in our sixties, about to retire, and wanted to travel.

So, here we are, sitting on our couch, starring at a little bundle of fluff we have named Nikki.  We spent a year talking about how much we missed Holly, and it didn’t make any sense to replace her.  We discussed how great it was to be able to pick up whenever we wanted and head out on the “spur of the moment.”  Of course, we had never been “spur of the moment” people.  We fall somewhere between deliberate and regimented.  So, what are we doing with this puppy?

Carole would say, “Of course if we ever did get another dog, I would want another Sheltie and to go back to Pat Schap.”  That is how we got Holly.  Pat evaluated dogs for temperament and steered us right on Holly.

So here we are 18 months later and still questioning ourselves.  That probably was most telling.  For 18 months, we have been saying, it just isn’t very smart to acquire a pet.  But, if we didn’t want one, why is the conversation continuing.

We made the decision driving back to the St. Louis area for that Class of 57′ reunion.  We have made many significant decisions on long road trips.  That’s how we decided on a career in the Army.  Miles together in a car is an excellent time for discussion and decision making.  We were driving through Mexico when we committed to the Army.  Not much on the radio to distract our conversation.

Pat Schap is no longer a breeder, but she put us on to Linda Sanders in Clifton, Virginia, who according to Pat, “knows her puppies.”  Last week, we picked our eight-week-old Sheltie, who didn’t know her name, wouldn’t come when we called her and would potty whenever she felt like it.  But we knew all that when we got her and Nikki is improving every day.  Training a dog requires you first train yourself.  You need to look on puppy mistakes as great training opportunities.  We are getting lots of great training opportunities.

As I said, we knew about all the time demanded by a puppy when we entered on this trek.  We probably didn’t factor into the formula how, at our age, she was going to wear us out.  But it’s a cost-benefit thing.  The cost in time and energy is high.  Plus, our plants in the backyard aren’t fairing too well.  She is trying out those baby teeth on everything (plants, flowers, rugs and ankles).  On the benefit side, we have a little creature who we are enjoying and loving and she is learning to love us.  So the costs are high, but so are the benefits.  And, the costs will be going down and the benefits will be increasing (invest in a dog)!

Nikki is already stalking toys, then leaping on them.  When she leaps, sometimes the toy fairs better that she does.  But with her herding instincts, it’s just a matter of time till she has all of her toys in a tight little group.

Our daughter, Missy, helped with the name Nikki.  When Carole told Missy that Missy’s name was one of the more popular dog names (top 20), she came up with a name quickly.

Taking liberties with Harry Truman’s quote, I would say, if you want an additional loving friend in Washington, you can’t miss with a dog.

Poems

Another Silly Christmas Poem

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When I wrote this poem in 1991, I actually entitled it, “Another Silly Christmas Poem.”  How would I know that 16 years later, when I am publishing back poems, that the title would be so apropos.

We had been retired from the Army for over a year and I was becoming knowledgeable in motor vehicle safety.  It seems manufacturers were putting all kinds of things on the steering wheel – symbols of horns and airbags, and cruise control buttons.  For safety reasons all these items were required to be upright so that they could be easily understood.  Well, once the steering wheel is turned, everything goes upside down.  In our wisdom, we decided the symbols and gadgets needed to be perceptively upright only when the car wheels were going straight.  Sometimes, we did things that saved lives.  Sometimes we just avoided doing stupid things.  This was the latter.


Another Silly Christmas Poem
(because Carole made me do it)

I guess it’s that time, to put poem in gear,
So, seasons greetings and a happy New Year.
Happy in Springfield, you surely can guess,
For the first time in four, the same address.
We’re hanging paper and painting and watching things grow,
And next year we’ll try for three in a row.

Carole’s a Thrift Shop volunteer, one of her joys,
Hates the Springfield exit and the Dallas Cowboys.
She started the year working, but gave it up for Lent,
Fighting rush hour traffic, would leave anyone spent.
The Christmas party’s coming and Carole’s oh so busy,
With cookies, candies and decorations, Lord, I’m feeling dizzy.

Jack’s still cranking out rules to make car safety air tight,
Why even gadgets on steering wheels must be perceptively upright.
Airbags and seat belts make our season safe and merry,
With special help from the crash dummies, Vince and Larry.
The boss has been tapped to lead FAA,
It makes life exciting day after day.

Christmas should be great, we’ll be sleeping in the hall,
With Missy, Terry & Tyler, and also Blanche and Paul.
We’ll miss Becky and Kerby and the kids this season,
Arizona’s far away, and that’s the reason.
Uncle Sam has them stationed out in the West,
He’s teaching ROTC, and proctoring a test.

Paul’s got a job and we’re flipping our lids,
He’s providing guidance to troubled kids.
He’s patching together what was damaged goods,
They’re finding themselves, out in the woods.

So I’ve done the deed for another year,
I hope these lines have brought you cheer.
Each year I get worse, just a bit,
but, I’m really not sure, which year to quit.
                     (but I’ve quit for this year)
                     Merry Christmas, etc, etc.

Random Thoughts

Class of 57′


If you live long enough, you can go to your 50th high school reunion.  You don’t have to go.  As rite of passages go, it’s not a big deal.  But it’s nice to be around and have the option.

My wife, Carole, had her 50th high school reunion a few weeks ago.  We both graduated from East Side High in East St. Louis, Illinois.  I was a year ahead of her, so we have a “twofer.”  She sees her friends at mine and I see my friends at hers.  The only real draw back is you see so many old people.  It kind of gets us thinking that we probably don’t look much better.

We drove from Virginia to Illinois.  When I was practicing full time, I couldn’t afford to drive.  We flew everywhere.  I needed to be billing hours for the firm.  Now, we can relax (and put my golf clubs in the trunk of the car).  I got two rounds in.  One was connected with the reunion and the other was with three East Side buddies from the Class of 56′.  Jim Starr picked up Ben Burkett, Larry Hawks and me, and off we went to the Prairies of Cahokia

I went into the clubhouse, paid, picked up a cart and headed back to the car to load up my clubs.  My clubs had already been removed from the trunk of the car and my putter was missing.  I have my putter cover tied to my bag, so I won’t lose it, and it was just hanging there.  If I had just thought who I was playing with, I would have immediately known that they were jerking me around.  But, I am so used to forgetting things that I instantly assumed that I had left it at home.  I must have looked pretty pathetic because Hawks quickly gave me back my putter.  I was delighted that I hadn’t forgotten anything.  A few trips back, it was my golf shoes.  Once you get 100 miles from home, turning back is not an option.

At the big Saturday night dance, I bumped into a tall fellow with glasses whose name tag said Charles Waldo.  We immediately shook hands and started reminiscing.  Charlie was three years senior to me, so I never expected to see him at the reunion.  He had married one of Carole’s classmates.  I knew Charlie through baseball.  He was a pitcher and my brother, Bill, and I were catchers (Bill and Charlie were in the same class).  Charlie used to come over to our house and practice pitching.  Bill would catch and my dad, who had caught professionally, would coach Charlie.   I think my role was to chase balls that got past Bill.  Seeing Charlie after all these years was a feel good experience.  Plus, I now know the answer to that time honored question, Where’s Waldo? 

Charlie wasn’t the only pitcher I ran into.  Mel Roustio was in Carole’s class and I caught him in high school and American Legion ball.  He was a good pitcher, but a better basketball  player.  He went on to play college basketball and then spent most of his adult life as a high school basketball coach.  Our high school basketball coach was named Pick Dehner.  I mention this because after Mel became a coach, he actually coached against Pick Dehner.

Pick was six foot five and best described as demonstrative and occasionally explosive.  On reflecting back, the thing that frustrated me most about Pick was I never learned anything from him.  It didn’t matter in baseball, because I had my dad watching my every move.  But in basketball, I needed someone to teach me how to play defense.  I have always considered myself trainable.  But, it wasn’t until I attended Command and General Staff College that some of my classmates taught my how to play defense.  I went to C&GSC and the Army War College on an athletic scholarship.

Mel told me that when he was coaching at Edwardsville, they were scheduled to play against East Side and Pick Dehner.  One of his assistant coaches told him that they needed to do something to distract Pick.  They decided on the following ploy:  Mel sent Pick a telegram.  It read, “Pick, Disregard the first telegram.  Mel.”  It drove Pick crazy trying to find out about the “first telegram.”   That and a last second shot gave the victory to Edwardsville.

Reunions are for finding out where’s Waldo and reliving great stories.  The Pick Dehner story made the trip worthwhile.  It also gave me a chance to vent about how he never taught me defense.  Maybe he decided that my position on the bench didn’t require much defense.  I need to stop now – I have to prepare a telegram.

NHTSA

Leaping from the Army to Politics

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How does an Army Officer obtain a political appointment from the White House?  The answer is, “not easily.”  I have previously mentioned that I retired from the Army to take a political job at the Department of Transportation.  What I haven’t mentioned is how unnerving the experience was.  I had never been involved in politics and even though I was over 50 years of age, I was a babe in a totally foreign environment.

Major General Jerry Curry had been appointed as the Administrator of the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration by the first President Bush.  I was his lawyer at V Corps and he called me at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, to see if I was interested in being his Chief Counsel.  We had been at Fort Leavenworth for a little over four months.  The phone call alone had generated anxiety and tension in the Rice household.  I had made a few calls to friends back in DC and they had said I would be a fool not to try for the job.  As for political credentials, I was told to go out and get an elephant tattooed on my butt.

After a few days, I called General Curry and told him that I felt I needed to come back to Washington and talk to him.  He said the first thing I needed to do was put a resume together and send it to him.  He would float it around and if it was acceptable, then I could come out for interviews.  A resume should be one page, two at the most.  I was so clueless that I prepared an eight page resume that included such gems as I had been a legal assistance office at Fort Hood, Texas, 27 years earlier.  I suspect no one read the resume, but Curry did call and told me to come out for interviews.

It was to be a one day trip.  Interviews in the morning and afternoon and lunch with Curry.  I went out and bought a suit (I didn’t own one) and purchased my airline ticket.  When I arrived at DOT, I was a little early so I stopped by the DOT Eatery to get something to drink and comb my hair.  When I went into the men’s room to spruce up, I discovered a homeless man taking a bath at the sink.  While it now seems humorous, at the time, it just confirmed that I was totally out of my element.

The interviews in the morning were with the DOT General Counsel, Phil Brady, and his deputy, Lindy Knapp.  They dealt with my legal background and I thought they went well.  I had been a regulatory law specialist in the Army and the Chief Counsel’s position required a regulatory law background.

At lunch, General Curry told me that he was concerned about my afternoon interview with the DOT White House Liaison Officer.  Then he told me that at the end of the interview I was to ask if I had the job.  I thought, “Whoa, I can’t to that!”  It just seemed too aggressive.  What I didn’t realize was that there was a history between General Curry and my interviewer.  If I had asked, he would have been afraid to say no (but, I just wasn’t going to ask).

When I arrived at the Office of the Secretary for my interview, I was told that the White House Liaison Officer was tied up and that I should reschedule for another day.  I made it clear that I was from out of town, flew in for the interview and it needed to happen.  Eventually the secretary told me to have a seat and they would see if they could work me in.  I could just feel everything falling apart.

After waiting for what seemed like hours, I was taken in to see the White House Liaison Officer.  It was a small office and the proprietor looked younger than my children.  I found myself looking at a kid who had joined the political campaign right out of college and his candidate had won.  He was entitled to a position in the Administration.  I think this is true regardless of which party wins.

He didn’t apologize for the delay.  For the first ten to 15 minutes, he talked with reverence about Secretary Sam Skinner and how fortunate the country was to have him as the Secretary of Transportation.  I was satisfied that this young bespectacled lad, with thinning hair, believed every word he was saying.  He told me that when Secretary Skinner entered a room the energy level in that room was immediately pumped up.  He mentioned an energy level percentage, but I seemed to have misplaced it.  I was satisfied his energy level had skyrocketed.

Sort of as an afterthought, he asked me about my qualifications.  I started telling him about my career and he interrupted.  He wanted to know what I had done to help in the presidential campaign.  I told him I had been on active duty and was prohibited form being involved in the campaign.  He just shook his head.  The interview stumbled along.  We were going through the motions.  I was trying, but couldn’t pump up the energy level.  Finely, he said, “Frankly Jack, it will be an uphill battle taking your file over to the White House.”  I responded by saying, “Just knowing that you are willing to recommend me gives me hope.”  He immediately said, ” I didn’t say I was recommending you.”  I responded, “That’s right, you didn’t.”

We just sat there (the energy level definitely pumped up).  He realized that he had tipped his hand and I would be telling General Curry that he was not recommending me.  He was really distressed.  I had gotten the answer to Curry’s question without asking.  Suddenly, the interview started over.  He asked questions like when would I be able to start to work, and how much pay did I expect.  We had turned a corner.

Later that afternoon, I interviewed at the White House.  Guess who had been coaching me on what to say?  The interview went well.  The White House personnel officer was more interested in whether I could do the job, rather than what I had done in the presidential campaign.  I reported back to General Curry and caught my flight home.

I have often reflected on how lucky I had been to get the answer to the question I wasn’t going to ask.  If I hadn’t been lucky, I would have understood too late that the question needed to be asked.