Annapolis Capital Punishment

The president held a fancy state dinner at The White House last night and it reminded me, coincidentally of a Thanksgiving banquet back in the 1970's. I was growing up near Washington and my friend Bruce was the son of the Australian charge d'affaires, or number two man in the embassy. When I was about 13 or 14, Bruce invited me to be his guest at the Ambassador's official Thanksgiving dinner. All of the children of embassy staff could bring an American friend, so I went along to sort of be Squanto to his Miles Standish. It was a serious affair. I had to get a haircut and get all dressed up and be on my best behavior. There were all kinds of important people there and it was almost at the level of an official state dinner.



Of course that meant it was quite formal and fancy and after some toasts (I was restricted to drinking soda) and formal greetings, the ambassador invited everyone to the formal dining hall. We were seated at a series of long tables and I guess there were probably a hundred and fifty people there. I was a bit overwhelmed and nervous, being barely a teenager. The formality and sumptuousness was impressive.

So, we are all seated, everyone dressed in business attire, the ladies in gowns. And dinner was served. Everyone at the children's table, where I was sitting were served first. Then the adults. Waiters in bowties rolled in carts and carried huge trays of food. Somehow or another the ambassador's golden retriever got loose, and ran into the dining hall, apparently chasing after the family cat. The dog clipped one of the waiters who lost his balance, fell against another waiter pushing a cart. They both fell on top of each other spilling trays of food that flew up in the air and landed with a crash. The runaway cart plowed into the ambassador's wife who was seated at the head of the long table, throwing cranberry sauce and gravy all over her lovely white gown. She jumped up in the air flailing her arms, smacking the ambassador in the face with a loud thwack and knocking him senseless for a second or two.

Another waiter carrying yet another tray of food slipped on the food on the floor and careened smack into a distinguished looking tall man in a turban with a large mustache, who I later learned was the ambassador of India. He fell over the table, knocking a large basket of fruit up into the air, most of which landed on a petite lady across the table, who I later learned was the wife of the Ambassador from Korea.

The dog continued after the cat which oddly enough jumped up onto my lap while the dog was barking and scratching at my feet. Then silence. All eyes turned to me. Little me. I was all of thirteen or fourteen and honestly, had not done a thing except sit there quietly and witness the entire spectacle.

Then more silence. The cat started licking the gravy that was still on my plate. The dog placed his paw upon my lap no longer focused on the cat but the food on my plate. Then more silence. More staring. I was mortified.

Then the ambassador rose, wiped his lips with a napkin and cleared his throat.

"Young man," he bellowed at me. "Young man, do you have any idea what you've just done?" he asked.

I could not answer. He continued. "Young man, because of your actions tonight, you have caused an international incident. You alone have brought about the downfall of TURKEY. You are responsible for the breakup of CHINA and the splatter of GREECE. You have caused the destruction of CHILE. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

I continued in my frozen state and did not know what to say. More silence. More staring. Then I gathered all my strength and answered the ambassador and all the guests in the dining hall.

"Well, Mr. Ambassador, Sir, uh your excellency. The cat was RUSSIAN because of the dog, and then it thought my seat was LAPLAND. I guess it was just HUNGARY but I'll pay for everything. Just put it on my CZECH. At that point, not knowing what else to do, IRAN away and hid behind IRAQ where I spent the rest of the evening in hiding enjoying a MALTA'd milk. Later that night, a kind waiter found me and asked if I wanted SAMOA. Yes I told him, but could you please SWEDEN it up a little bit?

And the moral of the story is Biblical. Nation shall not lift up carving knife against nation, nor shall they make war. In other words, when cultures clash, it's always better to talk turkey than to chase each other like cats and dogs.


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