- The Washington Times - Monday, February 4, 2002

Meet your congressman
Shortly before President Bush launched into his State of the Union address last week, numerous congressmen took to the House floor to sing praises and introduce a resolution in honor of Rex David "Dave" Thomas, founder of the Wendy's hamburger chain who died on Jan. 8 of cancer.
One lawmaker after another Reps. Dave Weldon of Florida, Danny K. Davis of Illinois, Deborah Pryce of Ohio, Patrick J. Tiberi of Ohio, Connie A. Morella of Maryland, Phil Crane of Illinois, E. Clay Shaw of Florida and Christopher H. Smith of New Jersey to name several not only praised Mr. Thomas for creating square burgers, but for energetically championing an issue close to his heart: adoption.
Mr. Thomas himself was adopted, and in 1990 former President George Bush was so impressed with his Dave Thomas Foundation for Adoption that he appointed him spokesperson for a new federal initiative, Adoption Works for Everyone.
With that visibility, coupled with his prominent role as spokesperson for Wendy's, everybody in the country knew and loved "Dave" before long.
"He came to Indianapolis one time, and we were sitting, having dinner," recalled Rep. Dan Burton, Indiana Republican and chairman of the House Government Reform Committee. "And two ladies came over from my congressional district. They came over to talk to Dave Thomas, and he said, 'Do you know your congressman?'
"They said no, and he introduced my constituents to me."

Pulling a Clinton
Wordsmiths are coming out of the woodwork after reading about Senate Majority Leader Tom Daschle's invention of the unflattering verb "to Enron."
Reader James Terpening got things rolling by proposing "to Daschle," meaning to softly feign support for your opponent while working to obstruct and undermine his plans. Example: "I'm going to Daschle the president's budget."
Michael Ricke has since created a few additional expressions verbs, adjectives and adverbs for the English language that he hopes stick. For example: "A lame performance following a brilliant one is 'a Gephardted' performance.
"Enron executives, meanwhile, are shredding documents, refusing to cooperate with Congress, mincing words, pocketing big bucks in a failed, illegal scheme while expressing sorrow for the losers who followed them in effect they are pulling 'a Clinton.'
"And of course an incompetent someone who charges in blindly without moral purpose to sycophantically support a boss who despises him or her could be said to be 'Renoed.'
"A person repeatedly and blatantly wronged by his or her spouse who accepts career support as the financial payoff has been 'Hillaried.'
"And finally, those who would take money out of the economy, grow the government and dependency, and pursue policies to slow growth during a recession all for personal political gain could be called no wait, there's already a word 'Democrat.'"

Pass the jerky
In the midst of last week's Senate debate on stimulating the economy, a usually mild-mannered and distinguished Sen. Fritz Hollings, South Carolina Democrat, stepped up to the lectern and declared: "And the squeal of the pig will float on the air, from the tummy of the grizzly bear."
Say what? And what does this have to do with giving the nation a much-needed shot in the arm?
Nothing, it turns out.
Mr. Hollings, in fact, had lost a bet to fellow Democratic Sen. Max Baucus of Montana, and therefore was commanded to recite the bizarre Montana jargon, whatever it means, in the Senate chamber.
"He said 'Egads!'" Mr. Baucus recalls. "Is this what I have to read on the floor?"

More than one "newspaperman" in town found intriguing our pair of items on Enron-funded pundits Bill Kristol, Lawrence Kudlow, Paul Krugman and Peggy Noonan, and reader John Carrigg's long-held perception that media types got by on meager, under-$50,000 annual salaries; had a propensity to hit the bottle as a distraction; and drank Old Buzzard rather than Dom Perignon.
"Tell Mr. Carrigg there are still some journalistic stereotypes hanging around," writes F.R. Duplantier. "I'm a bourbon man myself, supporting a wife and six kids on less than 50 grand a year. My father, a martini man, managed to provide for seven kids back in the days when journalism was still considered a trade instead of a 'profession.' He never referred to himself as a journalist; he was a 'newspaperman.'
"He wrote for the 'States' back when New Orleans had five or six aggressive daily papers, instead of one namby-pamby one. His first name was 'Cro,' short for 'Crozet,' an old family name. When he named my brother after himself, he became 'Old Cro,' which explains my sentimental preference for 'Old Crow' bourbon."

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