The Wright rules

I glanced up from my terminal at the Star-Telegram as the managing editor approached with a bushy-eye-browed man who was too much on television. I stood up.

“Congressman,” the managing editor said, “this is Bob Merriman, one of our news editors.”

I shook the congressman’s hand. “Congressman Wright,” I said. I gestured at the terminal. “I was just reading a story …”

“And over here,” the managing editor was saying, and he tugged at Wright’s arm, leading the congressman somewhere else. I sat. Well, I thought. Excuse the f out of me for beginning to say, “I was just reading a story about Congressman (Somebody) …”

I didn’t know the rules, but from that one incident I learned the rules: Stand up, smile, shake the congressman’s hand. Smile. If the congressman asks a question, answer in as few words as possible. If the congressman does not ask a question, keep your mouth shut, smile, and wait for the congressman to go somewhere else.

Sort of like rules of conduct when meeting a Royal. When Prince Charles the Unnecessary, of the Windsdor Unnecessaries, tripped to D-FW a few years later, TV stations ran stories on “What to do if approached by the prince.” Amazingly (or maybe not) rules for meeting Royalty were near those for meeting Congresspersons. So do not say (afterwards), “By golly this is the United States of America, where men are men and women are glad of it …” It don’t mean nothin when Important Folk are around.

Later that year a pickup team from the newspaper played a softball game against Wright’s Fort Worth office. There were about 15 of us on the newspaper team, some serious players, some wanting to be seen, including a couple of women who waved a bat and girly-threw the ball in the cause of “Hey, I’m a woman and I’m just as good as any man.” And, for honesty’s sake, a couple of women who knew how to hit and catch and throw and run.

Wright’s team kicked our a$$. We played six innings, and in the dugout after the bottom of the fourth, score around 15-5, somebody said, “They are kicking our a$$.” One of the political reporters said, “There is no way a congressman’s office beats a newspaper team.”

I led off the top of the fifth. I was an embarrassed 0 for 2. Wright’s office had put in a new pitcher, the third or fourth. The new pitcher was different, though – tall, blonde, with legs that went from here to there, red short-shorts, a white T-shirt, and, when I stepped into the batter’s box, a smile that genuinely said, “I am so sorry we have kicked you’re a$$ all over the field. Here’s a pitch. Do something with it.”

I singled into right field. In the next two innings, the Star-Telegram team scored somewhere between 15 and 20 runs; Wright’s team only enough to keep the game interesting.

If I had managed Wright’s team, there would not have been an “I am so sorry …” thought. But, then, the manager of the congressman’s team probably was looking at next week and next month and what’s going on in Washington and he really needed good publicity … And a whole lot of other stuff.

I’d rather be the guy who’s going out there to beat the other team. That’s the rule that counts.