The New Year started out so well.
Tom Wheeler and I congratulated each other on bowl wins by Ohio State, his alma mater, and Tennessee, mine. He said he and his son, Max, wearing the OSU hat I gave him, cheered the Bucks on to a dramatic 20-17 victory over previously unbeaten Arizona State.
Though we argue over policy, our relationship is kept healthy and balanced, I think, by our mutual love of competitive sports and politics. Sometimes, we even take a stab at solving the world’s problems over lunch at Sam & Harry’s.
So it couldn’t have been Tom.
Ron Nessen’s an old pro. He wouldn’t be carrying a grudge from our tele-shouting match a few weeks ago. What’s a little spat between good friends. For sure, the dust-up was nothing compared to the tete-a-tete between Ron and UCLA flack William Andrews a while back. So cross Nessen off the list.
And as far as George Carlo goes, I thought I cut him some slack. So then, who the hell did we hack off? PCS 2000, NextWave, Ted Kaczynski, Madonna, Elmo, Dick Morris?
It turned out to be none of the above.
Let me explain. I was about to write this column Thursday, when I saw my life flash before my eyes. I’m not talking about an urgent e-mail, mind you, though some advance warning about the possibility of being blown up would have been appreciated.
The first two letter bombs went to Al Hayat, a London-based Arabic newspaper on the 11th floor-just three floors up from RCR and its sister Crain pubs in the National Press Building.
Both bombs were exploded at RFK Stadium (I thought the fireworks at RFK ended with the Skins 37-10 win over Dallas, the last football game at this field of dreams that once housed the Washington Senators). Then two more letter bombs came. This time, building management evacuated the building.
The management’s savvy was matched only by that of my colleagues, well educated folks mostly, who stood next to the building after being kicked out. As for myself and Debra Wayne, we went across the street, a few yards away, where it was safe. Then we split up, figuring we’d improve odds of keeping the D.C. bureau staffed at 50 percent.
Now, to find a safe haven. I thought of hunkering down in the White House media briefing room, but remembered seeing an Independence Day trailer and thought otherwise. There was a bank of venerable red brick, a block down from the Clinton bungalow. What impressed me was the bank’s claim to being the oldest savings institution in the city. Good, save me.
Today is Friday and I’m finishing the colu … Sorry gotta go, mail just arrived.
