From: gwb
To: Hank Blakely
Sent: Wednesday, May 16, 2001
Subject: Feats 'a clay
If y'ask me, Dick C's about to make a mistake.
Turns out, what Dick has been doin' is quietly underminin' Condie Rice's position as national-security adviser. One way he's doin' it is by tryin'a take over her role as chair of the "Principals" committees - those're the meetin's where the Cabinet Secretaries formalate their recommendations to me/us. Dick has also cut back on some'a the National Security Council's authority and added more foreign policy advisers to his own staff. I hear tell Condie is warnin' her people to be on the lookout for a attempted take-over.
What makes me worry about all this is Condie herself. Y'see, Condie's a Birmingham gal. She come outta some tough times in 1960's Alabama, survived all that, and in practically no time got up to where she is now. In short, she is what I call a Determined Black Woman. Now, in my life I've had some significant experiences with Determined Black Women, and I ain't anxious to repeat any of 'em. I think Dick might feel the same way if he'd been with me this past weekend, and seen what I seen.
From my foregone messages you mighta noticed that things've been gettin' a little tense between Condie and Colin lately. Dick says that's the way it usually is, 'cause the security adviser and the Secretary of State's got a lotta responsibilities in common, but the security adviser's office is right here in the WH, so State is always a little concerned about undue influence over the President. But Condie and Colin have got way beyond bein' just "concerned".
Things was gettin' so bad, I thought it might be a good idea for ever'body to go on a retreat. So Friday evenin' we all took Air Force One down to the Crawford ranch. Dick couldn't go with us 'cause he had to take some medical tests which he obviously didn't wanta talk much about.
What I didn't know at the time was that Condie and Colin'd had a meetin' earlier that day to hammer out some issues. I guess it didn't go all that well, 'cause by the time we left, Condie was so mad she wouldn't even look at Colin, much less talk to him.
Now, you can't always tell when Condie's mad. She's got this tight little smile that seems to stay in place no matter what's happenin'. But this Saturday mornin' you could practically see the steam comin' offa her. All in all, it didn't look like a propitional start to the weekend.
I was particular anxious to show off the new skeet-shootin' field that Laura and me'd just had built. Nothin' fancy, but it meets all the regalations for competition shootin', and I thought maybe Colin and Condie could work off some angry in a match or two.
It seemed like a good idea then.
Well, Saturday mornin' we went out to the field. Laura and me picked out a coupla nice new 410-bore guns, Colin favored a 28-gauge over-and-under, and Condie had chose a 12-gauge pump - a little unusual choice, but the way she handled it I could tell she knew what she was doin'.
Things started out pretty good. Laura and me was havin' a good time joshin' with each other and some of the Secret Service people. Condie and Colin still wasn't talkin', but at least they wasn't glarin' at each other any more.
I guess you'd have to say that what happened next was kinda Colin's fault. I don't know if you ever done any skeet-shootin', so let me explain. Y'see, a skeet field is made up outta evenly-spaced shootin' stations laid out in a line formed like a semi-circle.. The clay targets are launched from either end of the line, usually one at a time, but in doubles - like we was shootin' - they's launched simultaneity.
Now, one'a the main rules of skeet is you're supposed to stay with the shootin' party until ever'one at the current station's had a chance to shoot. You're allowed to wander a little ways down toward the next station, but safety and good manners says you gotta stay close and - 'specially - well back 'a the current shooter.
But that ain't what Colin did. Colin's always a little impatient to get on with things. So when he finished shootin', he just started walkin' down the line before the next shooter - who, in this case, was Condie - got her turn. Walkin' around the circle like that put Colin about seventy or so feet away from Condie, but he wasn't behind her any more, now he was up dead even with her.
Condie noticed it right away. She turned to look down the line. And as she turned I seen a kinda wild gleam come into her eye. Right off she yelled "pull!", and at the same time turned her gun, smooth as a tank turret, to the right and fired down the line! Things happened real quick then. Colin's white cap flew off his head, Condie yelled "no bird!" (meanin' an improper launched target), pumped another shell in and sighted down the barrel again.
I guess at that moment all 'a Colin's basic trainin' musta come back to him, cause he hit the ground flat as a paper doll, with his arms spread out like he was gonna make snow-angels. At the same time, Condie swung her gun back down-field, fired and pumped and fired again, nailin' both targets before they hit the ground.
By this time, the rest'a us'd rushed over to Colin, who was sittin' up now, with what I think a poet fella once called a "look of wild surmise". He'd stare at his cap, which had a coupla pellet-holes in the top, then he'd look down the field to where Condie had pure obliterated both targets as easy as cuttin' butter, then back at his cap again. He did this several times before we helped him up and walked him back to the ranch. Condie was proper apologetic and all, but we didn't do no more shootin' that weekend.
All that has had some kinda effect on Colin. Somehow he's a cautiouser, more... attentive ex-general - 'specially when Condie's around.
I must admit Condie's playin' into his concerns a little. The other day, in the West Wing, I saw Condie and Colin approachin' each other from opposite ends'a the hallway. Colin was with some other people, but his attention was all on Condie. Just as they got about three yards apart, Condie sudden reached into her purse. In a split second, Colin had threw all his papers up into the air and flattened himself out against the wall in his snow-angel position again. But Condie just walked on by, takin' a comb outta her purse, runnin' it briefly through her hair, and replacin' it, leavin' Colin starin' after her, wide-eyed, as the papers slowly drifted down like fallin' leaves.
I was up the hall a ways, so I could see what Colin couldn't: a big old grin spreadin' all over Condie's face.
You know I'm the last one to tell Dick what to do, but I sure hope he thinks this through a little more. Colin and I could give him some reasons why he might want to.
Gotta get back to runnin' things again. You take care now.
W
From: gwb
To: Hank Blakely
Sent: Wednesday, May 16, 2001
Subject: Feats 'a clay
If y'ask me, Dick C's about to make a mistake.
Turns out, what Dick has been doin' is quietly underminin' Condie Rice's position as national-security adviser. One way he's doin' it is by tryin'a take over her role as chair of the "Principals" committees - those're the meetin's where the Cabinet Secretaries formalate their recommendations to me/us. Dick has also cut back on some'a the National Security Council's authority and added more foreign policy advisers to his own staff. I hear tell Condie is warnin' her people to be on the lookout for a attempted take-over.
What makes me worry about all this is Condie herself. Y'see, Condie's a Birmingham gal. She come outta some tough times in 1960's Alabama, survived all that, and in practically no time got up to where she is now. In short, she is what I call a Determined Black Woman. Now, in my life I've had some significant experiences with Determined Black Women, and I ain't anxious to repeat any of 'em. I think Dick might feel the same way if he'd been with me this past weekend, and seen what I seen.
From my foregone messages you mighta noticed that things've been gettin' a little tense between Condie and Colin lately. Dick says that's the way it usually is, 'cause the security adviser and the Secretary of State's got a lotta responsibilities in common, but the security adviser's office is right here in the WH, so State is always a little concerned about undue influence over the President. But Condie and Colin have got way beyond bein' just "concerned".
Things was gettin' so bad, I thought it might be a good idea for ever'body to go on a retreat. So Friday evenin' we all took Air Force One down to the Crawford ranch. Dick couldn't go with us 'cause he had to take some medical tests which he obviously didn't wanta talk much about.
What I didn't know at the time was that Condie and Colin'd had a meetin' earlier that day to hammer out some issues. I guess it didn't go all that well, 'cause by the time we left, Condie was so mad she wouldn't even look at Colin, much less talk to him.
Now, you can't always tell when Condie's mad. She's got this tight little smile that seems to stay in place no matter what's happenin'. But this Saturday mornin' you could practically see the steam comin' offa her. All in all, it didn't look like a propitional start to the weekend.
I was particular anxious to show off the new skeet-shootin' field that Laura and me'd just had built. Nothin' fancy, but it meets all the regalations for competition shootin', and I thought maybe Colin and Condie could work off some angry in a match or two.
It seemed like a good idea then.
Well, Saturday mornin' we went out to the field. Laura and me picked out a coupla nice new 410-bore guns, Colin favored a 28-gauge over-and-under, and Condie had chose a 12-gauge pump - a little unusual choice, but the way she handled it I could tell she knew what she was doin'.
Things started out pretty good. Laura and me was havin' a good time joshin' with each other and some of the Secret Service people. Condie and Colin still wasn't talkin', but at least they wasn't glarin' at each other any more.
I guess you'd have to say that what happened next was kinda Colin's fault. I don't know if you ever done any skeet-shootin', so let me explain. Y'see, a skeet field is made up outta evenly-spaced shootin' stations laid out in a line formed like a semi-circle.. The clay targets are launched from either end of the line, usually one at a time, but in doubles - like we was shootin' - they's launched simultaneity.
Now, one'a the main rules of skeet is you're supposed to stay with the shootin' party until ever'one at the current station's had a chance to shoot. You're allowed to wander a little ways down toward the next station, but safety and good manners says you gotta stay close and - 'specially - well back 'a the current shooter.
But that ain't what Colin did. Colin's always a little impatient to get on with things. So when he finished shootin', he just started walkin' down the line before the next shooter - who, in this case, was Condie - got her turn. Walkin' around the circle like that put Colin about seventy or so feet away from Condie, but he wasn't behind her any more, now he was up dead even with her.
Condie noticed it right away. She turned to look down the line. And as she turned I seen a kinda wild gleam come into her eye. Right off she yelled "pull!", and at the same time turned her gun, smooth as a tank turret, to the right and fired down the line! Things happened real quick then. Colin's white cap flew off his head, Condie yelled "no bird!" (meanin' an improper launched target), pumped another shell in and sighted down the barrel again.
I guess at that moment all 'a Colin's basic trainin' musta come back to him, cause he hit the ground flat as a paper doll, with his arms spread out like he was gonna make snow-angels. At the same time, Condie swung her gun back down-field, fired and pumped and fired again, nailin' both targets before they hit the ground.
By this time, the rest'a us'd rushed over to Colin, who was sittin' up now, with what I think a poet fella once called a "look of wild surmise". He'd stare at his cap, which had a coupla pellet-holes in the top, then he'd look down the field to where Condie had pure obliterated both targets as easy as cuttin' butter, then back at his cap again. He did this several times before we helped him up and walked him back to the ranch. Condie was proper apologetic and all, but we didn't do no more shootin' that weekend.
All that has had some kinda effect on Colin. Somehow he's a cautiouser, more... attentive ex-general - 'specially when Condie's around.
I must admit Condie's playin' into his concerns a little. The other day, in the West Wing, I saw Condie and Colin approachin' each other from opposite ends'a the hallway. Colin was with some other people, but his attention was all on Condie. Just as they got about three yards apart, Condie sudden reached into her purse. In a split second, Colin had threw all his papers up into the air and flattened himself out against the wall in his snow-angel position again. But Condie just walked on by, takin' a comb outta her purse, runnin' it briefly through her hair, and replacin' it, leavin' Colin starin' after her, wide-eyed, as the papers slowly drifted down like fallin' leaves.
I was up the hall a ways, so I could see what Colin couldn't: a big old grin spreadin' all over Condie's face.
You know I'm the last one to tell Dick what to do, but I sure hope he thinks this through a little more. Colin and I could give him some reasons why he might want to.
Gotta get back to runnin' things again. You take care now.
W
Shootin' Match
Let a smile be your imbroglio
© 2001- 2, Hank Blakely
