what a minute, i was just hearing the radio and in one of those thoroughbred collages after which they slam some song by Cher or whoever i thought i heard Richard Nixon saying "and that's the way it is.." and i'm thinking 'is this what made cronkite great? did he quote nixon every night? why on hell did anyone care about walter and his dypsotic post-salutations anyway? is it because he mocked mr. richard, the only famous person to whim i ever wrote who simply Would Not write back to me. i wrote 20+ letters to aforementioned ex-pres, because i knew from a friend of a friend that He lived in Cherry Hill, and all i wanted to get from that most exalted Executive in Chief was a copy of the manuscript of the only piece of music he ever wroe, because i learned in later days that Mr. Richard Nixon wrote the theme song for this club he was in in college, Whittier College in California, the club was The Orthogonians, and i wrote letter after letter begging Mr. Nixon to please send me the score to this music, to please help me out because i was putting together a program of 26 pieces by 26 composers for every letter of the alphabet (that's alkan, beethoven, cowell, davies, eisler, felciano..) and i did not have an "n" (i later settled on Nanes, wait no i didn't), and so i wrote letter after letter to Mr. Nixon imploring his most exalted ex-presidential buttocks to please just do me this one favor, and the sunuvubitch never even wrote back, never nodded, never did shit to make me think i was alive or dead or somewhere inbetween, and i shoulda forgotten about it by now but i didn't, because the plot thickens, i mean somewhere in 1992 i was sitting behind some desk hating myself for this ridiculous piece of life id chosen to wheezle out for myself, when who should call me on the phoe at work but soandso, the librarian at Whittier College, RNs alma mater to which i had angered off a letter not 5 days earlier bitching about the way in which RN had ignored me and so i was turning to Whittier in hopes that they would have some archival interest in extending the RN name beyond the Obvious *.*Gate shit that goes everywhereeverywhere, and they did, and what they told me smoltered the stuff of my bones, because they told me tha they'd "sent you a fat envelope of information about Richard Nixon's musical compositions" and that they did not know why i had not received it, but i knew why, it was because i moved from one armpit at 166 West 75th Street to another asshole of the universe at 9 Cabrini way the fuck up in washington heights where i sat drunk and poignant in the middle of riots and attention-getting nonse which smashed my windows and made me really scared for the first time in my pinkpink life, and somewhere between 166 West 75th and 9 Cabrini i lost the complete musical works of Richard Nixon. that librarian who called me, he said he'd forwarded my letter to "mr. nixon" and soandso, richard nixon's best friend in college, and in the weeks that followed i saw that mr nixon did not answer me, and i saw that mr. nixon's best friend did not answer me, and suddenly the silence was enormous, and i felt like the most giant asshole that ever lived, because i was ignored by a president, and i knew for sure tat Richard Nixon knew my name and he saw itand said "no." he shook his head. i felt power, i felt like garbage. i knew that Mr. President knew what i wa thinking and i knew that he said "no." i can't describe it. it was powerful and i feel it every day. i wrote that bastard at least 100 letters.