One month from today, our annual Children's Hospital fund-raising campaign will again take wing, and so, I'm sure, will the generosity of you readers. But this year, we have something special to celebrate.
The 1990-91 Children's campaign will mark my 10th year at the controls. Together, over that decade, we have collected more than $3.5 million for underprivileged hospital patients. So together, we should toast the occasion in a festive way -- and give Children's additional help in the process.
On Dec. 1, that's exactly what we plan to do.
A party has been laid on for that evening that will quicken the pulse of anyone who came of age in the 1950s and 1960s (and we can use a little pulse-quickening, can't we, fellow fossils-in-the making?).
The party will feature a man whose rock-and-roll credentials are as silver as our hair: Little Anthony. Back in 1958, as the leader of a group called the Imperials, Little Anthony recorded "Tears on My Pillow." It was, and is, one of the most popular rock songs in history. Even now, a third of a century later, a Levey shower is incomplete without a soap-smeared rendition of, "You-u-u-u don't remember me, but I remember you-u-u-u . . . ."
Little Anthony's age now begins with a 5, and he now bills himself as Little Anthony Gourdine, since the Imperials disbanded in 1974. But the man can still belt it out. You're invited to hear for yourself -- and to dance up a storm at the same time.
The party, called Bob Levey's Happy Days Dance, will be from 8 p.m. to midnight at the new Ramada Renaissance Hotel, 999 Ninth St. NW. Revelers of any age are welcome. Admission will be $35 a person. Children's Hospital will receive $10 for every ticket sold.
Each partyer will be entitled to free soft drinks and snacks, as well as an all-you-can-eat midnight breakfast buffet. A cash bar will also be provided. Levey will be on hand as the emcee. If you beg real hard, he and Little Anthony might even join forces to sing a few bars of you-know-what. Earplugs are strictly BYO.
Reservations are available through The Washington Post's public relations department. The mailing address is 1150 15th Street NW, Washington, D.C. 20071. The phone number is 202-334-7969. Checks should be made payable to The Washington Post. Reservations will not be confirmed until a check is received.
I'd like to extend a special invitation to my special peers -- the members of Levey's 1945 Club. These are Levey readers who, like him, were born in 1945, just as World War II was ending and just before the baby boom was beginning.
We 45ers have always known that our existence is a bit remarkable. Most of our fathers were off fighting throughout 1944 and the first hunk of 1945, which didn't leave an awful lot of time (or opportunity) for baby-making. Besides, who would bring a child into a war-torn world that might not be around much longer?
But we're glad you did it, Mom and Dad, even in this mathematically momentous year when 45ers turn 45. We may now be wrestling with mortgages and midriffs. But a chance to party with Little Anthony? That will return any 45er -- and anyone else -- to some thrilling days of yesteryear.
Again, the date is Dec. 1. A good time is guaranteed. So is a considerable hunk of dough for Children's. We hope to see you there.
Can you tell two brands of beer or soda apart? I can't, for the life of me. But as I wrote in a column earlier this month, some people pride themselves on this ability. Gerald M. Van Pool, of Kensington, tells a story of one such.
Seems a man used to boast about his unerring taste buds to any friend who would listen. So the friends arranged a test -- and a few side bets. The talented taster won them all.
Finally, one friend offered the blindfolded expert a glass of water. He took a sip, swished it around in his mouth, looked puzzled and spat it out.
To the man who had bet him, the expert said:
"You win. I don't know what it is, but I'll tell you one thing. It will never sell."
Thanks to Terry Miller, of Northwest Washington, (and his computer bulletin board buddy, Mark Estes) for reporting this bumper sticker:
I AM AN ANIMAL
I BRAKE FOR NO ONE
Thanks to a Fairfax County reader for this timely twist on an old saw:
Question: Why did the chicken cross the road in Fairfax County?
Answer: to show the squirrels that it can be done.