Letter from Al

THE VICE PRESIDENT WASHINGTON

June 26, 1998

Dear Rusty,

I'm sitting here in the den, watching highlights of the U.S. Open. I'm sort of in the doghouse with Tipper, ever since I made the mistake of mixing up Michael Jordan and Michael Jackson.

See, when the Chicago Bulls won the NBA Championship, Michael Jordan was outstanding, as usual. And after the game, I said something like, "Hey, that Michael Jackson can sure play basketball, huh?"

Okay, so I made a slip of the tongue. Now everybody in the right-wing media is making a whole Dan Quayle thing about it. At first, I thought I could cover myself. Sid Blumenthal's idea was that I issue a clarifying statement suggesting that I was trying to call attention to the athletic contributions of extremely effeminate African-Americans, who are so often overlooked in our society.

Later, though, after an angry fax from Michael Jordan's lawyer, who reminded me that confusing the world's most famous and respected athlete with the world's most famous alleged child molester was grounds for a very interesting lawsuit, I decided to come clean, face the music, and blame the media and some expired cough medicine.

I thought it had worked. Everyone pretty much forgot about it except for Tipper. She keeps calling me "Dan" and quizzing me on spelling. This afternoon, I finally put my foot down. I had just finished one of her "flash tests" by correctly identifying photographs of Thurgood Marshall, Harry Belafonte, Willie Brown, and Lena Horne, when she presented me with another set consisting entirely of rap singers.

"Forget it, Tipper. I'm going in the den to watch the U.S. Open."

I was just starting to relax when the phone rang. I heard the familiar sound of ice gently knocking inside a full glass. "Hi, Dad," I said.

"Hey, son. What are you up to today?"

"Not much, Dad. Just watching the U.S. Open."

"Boy, you're taking this Dan Quayle thing to the end, huh? Just so as you know, that kid playing golf with the terrific swing and the million-dollar smile is not, repeat not, Sidney Poitier." He laughed uproariously.

"Is that why you called, Dad?"

"Oh, come on, son. What do you want people to do? Sweep it under the rug just because you're a good Democrat?"

"If CNN and the other networks can do it, why can't you?"

He took a long sip of his drink. "Son, the reason I'm calling is, you guys up there have just classified something called `salsa' as a vegetable for the school lunch program."

"Yeah, and?"

"Um, isn't that like calling ketchup a vegetable? You're getting black people mixed up with each other, salsa's a vegetable ... are you feeling okay?"

"Dad, salsa isn't ketchup."

"Then what the hell is it? Just a sec, kiddo. Let me talk to the expert." I heard a little ice rattling, some low murmuring, and then a Spanish-sounding accent. "Well, I talked it over with Estrella as she was topping up my Maker's Mark, and she's of the opinion that what the Mexican people call salsa is what we up here call ketchup. Only theirs is thicker and has little bits of tomato in it."

"Exactly."

"So what you're saying is that thin ketchup isn't a vegetable, but thick ketchup is."

"Dad, who's Estrella again?"

"Estrella is our new housekeeper, boy. She's Mexican. So the next time you come for a visit, I'll just tell her to answer to whatever vaguely Hispanic-sounding name you come up with. Call her Gloria Estefan, if you need to." He erupted into laughter.

I was getting pretty miffed. "I've got to go, Dad. Tiger Woods is about to tee off."

"So him you know. Good for you, kiddo. Just make sure you pronounce that first name right." More laughter.

"Dad, come on. It was a slip of the tongue. Jackson, Jordan. They sound alike."

"And to you, apparently, they all look--"

I hung up. It was too much, Rusty. It was stupid of me to get Michael Jordan and Michael Jackson mixed up. That doesn't make me a racist. It makes me mildly absent-minded. I am not remotely similar to Dan Quayle.

And this salsa/ketchup thing is being blown way out of proportion. Everyone knows that salsa is more nutritious than ketchup, mostly because it has chunks of real tomatoe.

Your pal, Al

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