High life
Who'd fancy Nancy?
Taki
ike Wallace is an acne-ravaged 71- year-old mediacrat with dyed black hair who is an expert at kicking people who are on their way down. Wallace works for CBS, the television network that did more to undermine the war in Vietnam than China and the Soviet Union combined. Seven years ago Wallace hoodwinked General Westmoreland into doing an inter- view and then, by expert cutting of the film, accused him of deliberately mislead- ing his government by cooking the intelli- gence books on Viet Cong strength.
Westmoreland, needless to say, had done nothing of the kind, but libel laws being what they are in America, the good general could not prove that Wallace had done it with malice aforethought.
Wallace also did a hatchet job on the fallen Shah, while treating him with less politeness that he presumably would have extended to Joe Stalin. On the other hand, when Mike interviewed Khomeini, he bowed and scraped in a manner that would have embarrassed Uriah Heep. Last Sun- day, he surpassed his Khomeini perform- ance while interviewing Fancy Nancy Reagan, a lady who I presume disapproves of the manner the Virgin Mary dressed in her time, despite the fact that designer dresses were then a thing of the future.
Now I have often written badly of La Nancy, a lady I have never met, but had any of you seen the Wallace interview I am sure you would agree with me that the women's vote should be revoked in Amer- ica, and the sooner the better. Wallace, who is an old friend of the fancy one, was as gentle in his questions as, say, I would be had Ito interview Oliver North, a man whom La Nancy made clear she does not like. Now the idea that a woman whose two best friends are one Jerry Zipkin, a Boy George look-alike in manner but without the dignity, and Alecko Papamar- kou, a Greek who took three years of elocution lessons. in order to learn to speak like Tallulah Bankhead, can judge two war heroes like North and Poindexter seems to me as outrageous as having Pol Pot run an orphanage.
Nancy, my spies tell me, was the first to ask her hubby to throw the two patriots to the wolves, and for that act alone I hope she never again gets to wear Bill Blass. Alas, it was not the only time she meddled. As that arch-phony Mike Deaver conceded in his memoirs, Nancy was working full- time behind the scenes to end aid to the anti-communist forces in Nicaragua. Even worse, she was in league with the likes of Armand Hammer, the only man I know who has managed to con both Joe Stalin and Prince Charles.
Nancy's best remarks were about how she hoped that she would be remembered. Not for her fondness for fancy clothes and Hollywood moguls, nor for her use of astrologers, but for her efforts to solve the nation's social problems. I must say I had a hell of a laugh at that one, a laugh that was heard all the way down to Mortimer's, a place Nancy pledged she will visit soon and as often as possible.
Well, the country does need laughs, and Wallace provided it with our now ex-First Lady. Which proved to me yet again that a stretch limo, an anti-Contra attitude and a public relations huckster as mentor will keep chic liberal hacks like Wallace off one's back — in fact on their knees. This week I'm off to the nation's capital to dance away the nights celebrating the coming of Barbara Bush to Washington as numero uno. And next week I will report to you what it was like to be near the President of the United States without a Zipkin in sight.
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