“I remember thinking: “If a person were writing a political novel he’d have to use that character as the typical hanger-on.” The man was apparently in his late fifties, wore a loose-fitting suit, brown shoes that needed polishing, a snap-brim hat which he carried on the back of his head, a waxed mustache and a cigar. He had a big, amiable face, eyes which darted about sizing up all visitors, and a most ingratiating smile. Johnny Welsh was not in the office at the moment, and this gentleman said,... “You’re Jim Michener. I want to introduce myself. I’m the only man you’ll ever meet who has a bottle of whiskey named after him.” With that he dragged out of his right rear pocket a fifth bearing a bright new label reading: “Sam Thompson. Selected from our finest reserves of Superior Quality.” “The name’s Sam Thompson,” he said, extending a friendly hand. “What do you do here?” I asked. “Just hang around and make myself useful,” he replied. Sam was useful in so many ways that I came in time to rely upon him for everything from Scotch tape to advice on electioneering.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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