In the summer of 1993 I was living in College Park, Maryland working for my national fraternity as a Summer Recruiter. The chapter was going through reorganization and I was tasked with traversing the state meeting with incoming freshman and their parents.
It was the summer before my last semester. Shelli and I had been dating a couple of years. I was worrying, at least as much as I worry about anything, about the how in God's name I was going to get a job after December graduation. The two best prospects were going to work full time for my fraternity or trying to get a job on Capitol Hill working for the office of a member of Congress. Neither position paid more that about $12k a year but who needs money?
One of the the prominent alumni of the Maryland chapter was Paul Weller a respected lobbyist (yes I know that is a bit of an oxymoron but true) on K street. My friend and part-time mentor John Kruse had worked several years in the world of DC fundraising and made sure I got in contact with Paul as someone good to know. If I wanted to work in DC he would be a great resource. Also, I think John was somewhat nervous that without a job after graduation I would be sleeping on his sofa and his new bride Susan probably wouldn't have approved. Paul was very gracious and invited me to lunch right a way.
I was 21 from the Smoky Mountains of NC, driving a beat up Ford Tempo getting ready to have lunch with a DC lobbyist. So on a Wednesday morning I put on my ONE navy blue, double-breasted, worsted wool suit I bought from Steinmart for $99. To be fair, it looked great dressed up with a shirt and tie that cost more than the suit itself. Shelli Hamer York had helped my pick it out for just such an occasion. Got on the train and rode into K street like I was somebody. I had visions in my head of Granny in the back of the truck on the opening of the Beverly Hillbillies. I found Paul's office which was nice but modest. I hadn't tripped or farted and nobody was staring at me. So I was doing all right. Paul came in and we shook hands. The first thing I noticed was he wasn't wearing a $99 suit from Steinmart. Then I noticed his tailored shirt with french-cuffs and his "Presidential Seal" cuff links. Dorothy wasn't in Kansas anymore.
After intros and some small talk he asked where I wanted to eat and I am pretty sure I responded with "Its Your Town Paul" . LOL what a schmooz!
We walked a couple of blocks up the street to Paul's favorite spot called Duke's. He said it like I was supposed to have heard of it but the only Duke's I knew was a mayo. I was feeling a bit more like a rube. Paul walked at a quick step and I hurried along with my faux-leather portfolio under arm trying to make sure I didn't trip or otherwise embarrass myself. Then we ducked into an office building which I found odd. With a name like Duke's, I was expecting to be standing at a counter eating a greasy dog, a dive with ambiance. Then we got on the escalator. Maybe not a greasy spoon I thought.
At the top of the escalator, which I disembarked without falling, there were 2 large double doors. They were opened for us and we entered Duke's. As we stood a moment waiting on the maitre d, I glanced to my left to a huge glass case with three silver trophies. Three Vince Lombardi trophies from the 3 Super Bowl championships of the Washington Redskins. Paul must have seen me standing there with my jaw open and explained to me that Jack kept the trophies here so everyone could enjoy them. You know, Jack. Old salt of the earth, buddy and pal Jack. Or as I would have referred to him Mr. Jack Kent Cook the legendary owner of the skins. I'm sure I grunted and we were led to our seat.
Between the reception area and the table I saw no fewer than 3 Senators, 2 House members, 1 current cabinet member and a future Secretary of Defense all having lunch. If I told you my head wasn't spinning I would be lying. I was star struck as much as if my Mom had met Elvis. I had a romantic idea about Washington and politics and from what I could tell I was currently smack dab in the epicenter. We were seated by a window overlooking L street if I recall. All the waiters in Dukes were middle aged men. I found that extremely odd. Most restaurants I could afford the wait staffs were teenagers and women. All of Duke's linens were crisp. All of Duke's silver was sparkling. Everything was professional. Dukes was famous for their homemade pickles and fresh baked onion rolls. I ate both and I assume they were phenomenal but if I am honest I didn't taste a thing. Paul had a martini and I ordered a Heineken. The only thought that kept going through my mind was "Dear God I hope he offers to pay!" I literally had $7 in the bank and less than that in my wallet.
Once we were settled I started looking around and glanced to my right. There, two tables over was ....Larry King. Not sure how I missed him before but there he was larger than life. His table was on the front side of a dividing wall. So it looked like he was holding court. There was himself and what I would assume were staff and a couple of lunch guests. One was an author he we going to interview that night. While we sat there everyone who was anyone stopped by to say hello to the King. I didn't know this at the time but Larry King was famous for his routines. For instance, every morning of his life he darted into the same barber for a touch up and a shave. He also ate lunch almost every day at Dukes. And he must have because it was like he owned the place. It was his world and he was letting everyone else hang around. He was younger and still quick to his feet to shake a hand or hug a neck. Like I said we were close and all the "Hello Senator" "Good to see You Tom" exchanges were just like I was sitting there. I was having lunch with Larry King...sorta.
A few weeks later I was watching the Larry King show and he mentioned lunch at Dukes. Silly as it seems, it felt so familiar. Oh yea, I remember dining there. Just like it was Arby's or KFC. It was was our place. LOL....My old buddy Larry. Do you remember seeing the Senator the other day? Like I said, what a schooz. lol
Paul and I finished our lunch. He assured me I must try the soft-shelled crab. They weren't always in season but we lucked out. He was right. I didn't take a bite till Paul did because I wasn't exactly sure how to attack it. I was feeling a little less like Marcel Ledbetter in a Jerry Clower story but not much. And I have to admit the crabs were divine. Luckily, I was able to come out the ether long enough to talk to Paul about the recruiting efforts at the chapter, some current events and possible job opportunities in DC for when I graduated. Paul and I stayed in touch the rest of the summer and he took me out for Monte Christo's another time but not at Duke's I must not have been nearly as hopeless as I felt. Paul wrote me a glowing letter of recommendation for which I was always grateful.
I made it back to Raleigh a few days after classes had started for my last semester. Then spent the next semester planning for a job and praying I didn't fail Spanish III. Paul's letter and some other contacts got me a couple of interviews with Congressmen and a shot at working in Kansas for the national fraternity. In the end, I also got a job offer in the private sector that was an astonishing $22k a year with a company car and promises of exoctic travel to places like Hamden CT, Adairsville GA and Williamston, NC. If that wasn't enough of an enticement it came with the added bonus of letting me stay in Raleigh and not causing Shelli the excruciating heartache of me moving hours and hours away.
I mean seriously, how often was she going to have the opportunity to snag someone who had lunched at Duke's with Larry King?
