When Russell Baker was still writing (he is still alive, at 90) he complained about the emerging columnists that were only writing two columns a week, while he churned out three on deadline, and did so until he retired over 20 years ago. Ms. Dowd churns out one, and can be quite good, but not very often these days. Sometimes there isn't even a weekly effort. She's smoking Willie's weed somewhere. She phones, or mails them in.
This one must have been written while waiting to clear airport security somewhere. The picture is better than the words. Look at the package George W is sporting through his jeans. Who said he had no balls? Grab a guitar and join the gang at the Country Music Awards. Do a duet with Kenny Chesney. The clan's sport gear is telling us where Sammy Sosa played. Texas, then the Cubs. George W, as an owner of the Texas Rangers was roundly criticized for letting Sammy go. Then they found out about the steroids. Who knew what, when?
The managing director of the last company I worked for was a bit of a well-connected individual, whose wife was related to the Walkers of the W in the Bush name. After a meeting at a client's he told me of having once been invited to Kennebunkport, through his wife's family connection.
I teased him and asked if he was made to play horseshoes, personally finding that a very funny sight, a British national playing a '"bloody" American game, and surely losing because that bunch is good at it.
I always somewhat whistled at his providence over securing an invitation to Kennebunkport, further teasing him that with that kind of invite, why did he have to keep scratching his ass to try and make money with the company. He told me that "they are very careful" about what they talk about in front of outsiders, but the Bushes are pretty much a regular bunch, with the house, while nicely situated on the water, was really just a big vacation home with a rustic downstairs bathroom that lacked latches on the stall doors.
No two writers are alike, and it's unfair to have ever expected that Ms. Dowd would fill Mr. Baker's shoes. In his last piece as he was retiring, Mr. Baker explained that three times a week he was trying to create a ballet in a 750 word phone booth. His 'Observer' column was very often that. Carefully constructed sentences that delivered their point in syntax that very nearly begged to be diagrammed, if you knew remembered how.
Ms. Dowd's columns were initially under the marquee of 'Liberties.' Well named, because she immediately took then and set out to create one liners that could be part of a snarky talking head dialogue. At one point her column appeared twice a week, now once, and not always even that.
Perhaps the early years were better than these latter years. I remember telling people to read her, and sure enough, she soon won a Pulitzer, much like Mr. Baker.
Over the years Mr. Baker and I have very sporadically traded correspondence of the old fashioned, written, typed, paper, stamped, envelope kind. The earliest of these was in 1967 when he advised me to stay in college, which is something that had already been tried twice and remained unrenewed.
If you attain some public status, the Internet will always cough up some biographical details. For Mr. Baker's 90th birthday I sent him a birthday card that might have said something that being 90 is better than probably not being anything.
Eventually I got a reply, handwritten on personalized New York Times, Observer note card that further made me wish there was still an Observer column taking in the national and worldly happenings and putting a gentle, well-worded touch to them.
Mr. Baker once appeared on the cover of Time magazine with the corner banner telling us he was "The Good Humor Man."
The Good Humor Man stopped coming around the neighborhood when he retired.
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