The Fun in Washington

Properly togged in white ties and apprehensive grins, official Washington turned out in the Presidential Room of the Statler-Hilton hotel for its annual roasting by the 50 newsmen of the Gridiron Club. Just about every big shot in earshot got done to a turn. But the griddle was never hotter than when Attorney General Robert Kennedy was asked about his refinement of the art of Cuban ransom raising.

To the tune of I Kiss Your Hand, Madame, the stage Bobby crooned an answer:

I haven't any right, my friends,

To do the things I do.

But when I put the bite, my friends,

They cough up out of fright, my friends,

With dollars shiny bright, my friends.

Some day I'll ransom you.

Traditional Ribs. Bobby's ribbing was part of a hoary tradition. The Gridiron, formed in 1885 by 50 Washington newsmen, is a dining club with little excuse for existence other than its annual dinner--still something of a command performance. The club itself has become somewhat self-conscious with age. Women, television and magazine reporters are barred. The current roster, frozen at 50 regular members entitled to wear Gridiron lapel buttons, is made up mostly of bureau chiefs. But the club does have 15 limited members, chiefly to provide music and song for the annual skits. John Philip Sousa was one of the first limited members, and since his day, the director of the U.S. Marine Band has always been asked to join the club.

The club owes its name to its regular griddling of top officials, and at its 78th annual dinner, Club President William Beale, Associated Press bureau chief, got the affair going by nodding toward the Supreme Court's Earl Warren, one of 500 guests, and announcing archly: "In deference to the presence here tonight of the Chief Justice of the United States, we shall omit the customary invocation.''

Two Jobs. The basting, roasting and broiling went on from there. Someone tagged ''Dick Nixon'' streaked across the stage in a track suit. "What's he running for?" asked a bystander. Replied an actor representing Republican National Chairman William E. Miller: "Exercise." Somebody else wanted to know what freewheeling, freeloading Democratic Congressman Adam Clayton Powell Jr. did for a living. "I have two jobs," replied Powell's standin. "Living it up and living it down."

To the tune of Why Do I Love You? New York's Governor Nelson Rockefeller was shown arm in arm with Arizona's Senator Barry Goldwater and musing

Could I run with you?

Could you run with me?

Could we win with two

Different as we? To Frere Jacques, two actors trilled:

Peter Lawford, Peter Laivford,

How's by you? How's by you?

Where's your wife Patricia?

Maybe in Phoenicia.

How's your in-law Teddy?

Younger than he's ready.

How's your in-law Bobby?

Hoffa is his hobby.

Cousins Galore. But the best laugh getters, as usual, were the guests of honor. President Kennedy was in top form. With the issue of Government-managed news still a hot one, he began his talk with the greeting "Fellow managing editors." In mock-somber tones and with almost professional timing, the President went on to describe the discovery of a serious new Soviet threat. Khrushchev sent his son-in-law Aleksei Adzhubei over to subvert the Vatican, the President noted, and there was talk that the touring Russian had left some Marxist bibles behind in caves around the Holy City. But Washington was on to the game, warned Kennedy. The U.S. even knew the secret Soviet code name for the operation: "Vat 69."

Jack's act was tough to follow, but Michigan Governor George Romney more than managed. Mormon Romney mused that he had 231 first cousins, thanks partly to a forebear who had four wives. Just imagine the situation in Washington today if the Catholics had allowed bigamy, chuckled Republican Romney. "And Kennedy thinks he has trouble finding jobs for his relatives."

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.