that Reginald’s opponent went three days per week without exercising at all.
A radio network reported that he often exercised only once in five days.
Reginald, of course, was dismayed to learn that his opponent, who was so prideful of his fitness focus, could have such a lightweight exercise routine. In the hours leading up to the primary, he managed to convey the message many times in a statewide media blitz.
In his concession speech immediately following the election, Reginald’s opponent detailed his exercise regimen to the press. It turned out that he completed a rigorous, ninety-minute routine that included calisthenics, free weights, and a two-mile run, between six and seven-thirty A.M . every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.
A junior reporter for a suburban newspaper later figured out that all three exercise routines were actually completed in an elapsed time of 97.5 hours (four days plus 1.5 hours). That meant that the losing candidate did not exercise at all for 70.5 hours, which is 2.9375 days and which rounds easily to three. In addition, two of the three routines were completed in only 49.5 hours, which meant that there wasonly one routine in the next 118.5 hours, which was 4.9375 days. Unfortunately, the newspaper’s editor did not elect to publish the reporter’s findings since it was not at all clear that the article would maximize the wealth of the parent company’s shareholders by increasing circulation.
Reginald had his agendas. So do the media, business, and charity. Always exercise caution when dealing with any numbers that they package for your consumption. Better yet, take a few moments to add them up for yourself.
CHAPTER
21
The Duke of Pork
“A billion here, a billion there, and pretty soon you’re talking about real money.”
—EVERETT DIRKSEN
L ight travels at about 186,282 miles per second, so it should have taken about 0.015 seconds for news of Reginald DeNiall’s election to the House of Representatives to travel 2,788 miles from Seattle to the nation’s capital. Somehow, though, it seemed like the news got there even faster than that, possibly because of the sincere admiration so many of Reginald’s new peers had for the creative way in which he had managed the final days of his campaign.
This admiration became a matter of serendipity a few weeks later when Reginald was invited to dinner at the Washington, D.C., home of one of the most powerful men in Congress, who was nicknamed the “Gentleman from the South.” That evening, over fried chicken, corn bread, sweet potatoes, black-eyed peas, and homemade biscuits, the Gentleman offered Reginald the opportunity torepresent his party on the powerful House Ways and Means Committee.
This was an unexpected honor for a rookie congressman. The honor had a price. It was that Reginald would vigorously support his host’s campaign for reelection some eighteen months hence.
Reginald, who had generally taken to Capitol politics like a young vulture takes to fresh carrion, intuitively understood what his new benefactor wanted. It wasn’t votes, which hadn’t won an election of consequence since 1960. It was leverage in his district, which meant money. Reginald guessed that his host wanted a lot of it, so he asked how much. Over bread pudding with vanilla sauce, he was answered with a quotation attributed to the late Senator Dirksen of Illinois.
For a lesser man, this might have seemed an impossible task. The Gentleman’s home state was not particularly wealthy, and he had less than a 25 percent approval rating in the rest of the United States, so large, “indirect” campaign contributions were out of the question. Reginald, however, was a businessman who believed in the power of capitalism, so he did his homework, or rather his staff did. A few weeks later, Reginald proposed a business solution to the problem, one that was faithfully implemented by the Gentleman from the South shortly thereafter.
In the very
A radio network reported that he often exercised only once in five days.
Reginald, of course, was dismayed to learn that his opponent, who was so prideful of his fitness focus, could have such a lightweight exercise routine. In the hours leading up to the primary, he managed to convey the message many times in a statewide media blitz.
In his concession speech immediately following the election, Reginald’s opponent detailed his exercise regimen to the press. It turned out that he completed a rigorous, ninety-minute routine that included calisthenics, free weights, and a two-mile run, between six and seven-thirty A.M . every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.
A junior reporter for a suburban newspaper later figured out that all three exercise routines were actually completed in an elapsed time of 97.5 hours (four days plus 1.5 hours). That meant that the losing candidate did not exercise at all for 70.5 hours, which is 2.9375 days and which rounds easily to three. In addition, two of the three routines were completed in only 49.5 hours, which meant that there wasonly one routine in the next 118.5 hours, which was 4.9375 days. Unfortunately, the newspaper’s editor did not elect to publish the reporter’s findings since it was not at all clear that the article would maximize the wealth of the parent company’s shareholders by increasing circulation.
Reginald had his agendas. So do the media, business, and charity. Always exercise caution when dealing with any numbers that they package for your consumption. Better yet, take a few moments to add them up for yourself.
CHAPTER
21
The Duke of Pork
“A billion here, a billion there, and pretty soon you’re talking about real money.”
—EVERETT DIRKSEN
L ight travels at about 186,282 miles per second, so it should have taken about 0.015 seconds for news of Reginald DeNiall’s election to the House of Representatives to travel 2,788 miles from Seattle to the nation’s capital. Somehow, though, it seemed like the news got there even faster than that, possibly because of the sincere admiration so many of Reginald’s new peers had for the creative way in which he had managed the final days of his campaign.
This admiration became a matter of serendipity a few weeks later when Reginald was invited to dinner at the Washington, D.C., home of one of the most powerful men in Congress, who was nicknamed the “Gentleman from the South.” That evening, over fried chicken, corn bread, sweet potatoes, black-eyed peas, and homemade biscuits, the Gentleman offered Reginald the opportunity torepresent his party on the powerful House Ways and Means Committee.
This was an unexpected honor for a rookie congressman. The honor had a price. It was that Reginald would vigorously support his host’s campaign for reelection some eighteen months hence.
Reginald, who had generally taken to Capitol politics like a young vulture takes to fresh carrion, intuitively understood what his new benefactor wanted. It wasn’t votes, which hadn’t won an election of consequence since 1960. It was leverage in his district, which meant money. Reginald guessed that his host wanted a lot of it, so he asked how much. Over bread pudding with vanilla sauce, he was answered with a quotation attributed to the late Senator Dirksen of Illinois.
For a lesser man, this might have seemed an impossible task. The Gentleman’s home state was not particularly wealthy, and he had less than a 25 percent approval rating in the rest of the United States, so large, “indirect” campaign contributions were out of the question. Reginald, however, was a businessman who believed in the power of capitalism, so he did his homework, or rather his staff did. A few weeks later, Reginald proposed a business solution to the problem, one that was faithfully implemented by the Gentleman from the South shortly thereafter.
In the very
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