Prom-ises, prom-ises
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By Amie Parnes
Posted at 04:36 PM on April 28, 2006
WASHINGTON - The courting began a couple of months ago.
At the other end of the phone was a Florida congressman’s press secretary. The conversation went something like this:
"Are you going to White House Correspondents Dinner?" the voice on the other end asked.
"I'm not quite sure."
"Well, if you are, can you ask my boss?" the press secretary asked.
"Sure."
After much begging and prodding, two tickets were scored for the coveted event, which takes place Saturday night at the Washington Hilton.
The dinner is Washington's big night, a kind of prom for journalists, wonks, and celebrities famous only in the Beltway. It's one night where everyone can feel 16 again - even the president.
Reporters are generally supposed to invite a source to the dinner, usually a lawmaker or an aide. No spouses or significant others allowed, unless you’re POTUS, of course.
An invitation by phone was extended to the congressman. Not good enough. The congressman needs to be asked in writing, his aides said.
"Dear congressman, will you go to the pro ... I mean, to the White House Dinner with me?"
Signed, sealed and delivered - by e-mail.
And then, the waiting. ("The Waiting is the Hardest Part")
Tick tock. Tick tock.
Will he? Won’t he?
A week later, the phone rang.
It wasn't the congressman, but his scheduler.
"Good news!," the scheduler began. "The congressman has accepted your invitation!"
Sigh of relief. Confetti flies in the air, balloons are launched, fireworks go off. (Well, not really, but no one likes rejection.)
A dress was purchased. The good shoes were sent to the shoe repair for some minor touch-ups. Plans were finalized.
For weeks, reporters had private bragging sessions about who scored the better "date."
The congressman was "popular." (Washington, it turns out, does have a very high school feel to it.)
"He knows everyone," a reporter said. "He's chummy with the president," another added.
Excitement builds. 10 days to go, 9, 8.
Then, one day this week, the phone rang.
"Bad news," the press secretary said. "He’s not going to be able to make the White House dinner.”
A 16-year-old’s disappointment sets in.
"But why?"
"He has to be at a constituent event back in the district," he said. "He’s very sorry."
That mean old Congressman Mark Foley, selling a girl out on the biggest night since the senior prom.
But with time, there was an opportunity for reflection.
First, the good news: Constituents beat out lowly reporters, any day of the week, especially in an election year, as they should. Aren’t you glad you know that?
The bad news: Foley's press secretary is his stand-in.
Wonder if he can dance?
Posted at 04:36 PM on April 28, 2006
WASHINGTON - The courting began a couple of months ago.
At the other end of the phone was a Florida congressman’s press secretary. The conversation went something like this:
"Are you going to White House Correspondents Dinner?" the voice on the other end asked.
"I'm not quite sure."
"Well, if you are, can you ask my boss?" the press secretary asked.
"Sure."
After much begging and prodding, two tickets were scored for the coveted event, which takes place Saturday night at the Washington Hilton.
The dinner is Washington's big night, a kind of prom for journalists, wonks, and celebrities famous only in the Beltway. It's one night where everyone can feel 16 again - even the president.
Reporters are generally supposed to invite a source to the dinner, usually a lawmaker or an aide. No spouses or significant others allowed, unless you’re POTUS, of course.
An invitation by phone was extended to the congressman. Not good enough. The congressman needs to be asked in writing, his aides said.
"Dear congressman, will you go to the pro ... I mean, to the White House Dinner with me?"
Signed, sealed and delivered - by e-mail.
And then, the waiting. ("The Waiting is the Hardest Part")
Tick tock. Tick tock.
Will he? Won’t he?
A week later, the phone rang.
It wasn't the congressman, but his scheduler.
"Good news!," the scheduler began. "The congressman has accepted your invitation!"
Sigh of relief. Confetti flies in the air, balloons are launched, fireworks go off. (Well, not really, but no one likes rejection.)
A dress was purchased. The good shoes were sent to the shoe repair for some minor touch-ups. Plans were finalized.
For weeks, reporters had private bragging sessions about who scored the better "date."
The congressman was "popular." (Washington, it turns out, does have a very high school feel to it.)
"He knows everyone," a reporter said. "He's chummy with the president," another added.
Excitement builds. 10 days to go, 9, 8.
Then, one day this week, the phone rang.
"Bad news," the press secretary said. "He’s not going to be able to make the White House dinner.”
A 16-year-old’s disappointment sets in.
"But why?"
"He has to be at a constituent event back in the district," he said. "He’s very sorry."
That mean old Congressman Mark Foley, selling a girl out on the biggest night since the senior prom.
But with time, there was an opportunity for reflection.
First, the good news: Constituents beat out lowly reporters, any day of the week, especially in an election year, as they should. Aren’t you glad you know that?
The bad news: Foley's press secretary is his stand-in.
Wonder if he can dance?
