High life

Capital crimes

Taki

TWashington, DC here are far worse places to be than the nation's capital around this time of year. Throughout last week the tempera- ture was a perfect 75 degrees, the daffodils and cherry blossom were out, and I got the impression there were more law-abiding citizens walking about than criminals for the first time since Mayor Barry became cappo di tutti cappi eight years ago.

This, however, is not to say that Washington is safe. Far from it, in fact. Being the coward I am, I never dared venture further than Kalorama, the tiny and chic section of town where the Ethio- peans, Algerians, Syrians and Libyans (now departed) keep their embassies. Needless to say, it is the safest place on earth, as the bomb-throwers know every trick in the book and keep the local muggers in check by hiring extra secret service patrols.

Once again my host was Arnaud de Borchgrave, editor of the Washington Times, the best newspaper in DC, and not to be confused with the mendacious Post, the Bible of — in William Safire's inimit-

able phrase — the nattering nabobs of negativism. Arnaud lives in Kalorama, but the paper is located near the District line, which means he runs a five-mile gauntlet each day on his way to work. When I asked him whether going to work in Washington was more dangerous than covering the battles of Khe San and Hill 400 in Viet- nam, he thought for a while but finally admitted that the NVA gunners were more accurate than the crack dealers.

I'm not sure I can be accurate, as yet again I managed to get myself thoroughly sloshed much too early while attending the 75th annual White House correspondents' dinner last night. Washington is a town that loves name-dropping, so I may as well act like a native. The president of the White House correspondents' association

for this year was Jerry O'Leary, celebrat- ing 50 years of the White House beat. Jerry writes for the Washington Times, and he

proved a very good public speaker. Arnaud was on Barbara Bush's right on the head table, while Alexandra de Borch- grave was surrounded by such heavy DC

hitters as Jack Kemp, Richard Cheney, Antonin Scalia, Judge Robert Bork, Jean-

ne Kirkpatrick and our very own John

O'Sullivan. Yours truly sat between Sena- tor Malcolm Wallop of Wyoming — one of

the very few great men in the Senate — and Woody West, as good a writer as our Richard West and just as nice. The irony of having had such a good time among politicians is that never have I been more off the species than at present.

Although never a fan, I was outraged two weeks ago to hear Mario Cuomo yet again defend his death penalty veto against the overwhelming wishes of the people of NY. Itwas doubly painful because the previous week a 28-year-old female jogger had been attacked by some 30 youths, eight of whom, and perhaps as many as 14, had raped and sodomised her. Oh, yes, they

also crushed her larynx, smashed her face with a pipe, then crushed her skull repe-

atedly with a brick. Her legs were slashed with a knife and when she quit fighting she was gang-raped, beaten again, tied up and left to die in a puddle.

Yet the dago, the only charitable name can call Cuomo, thinks such mutants, or subhumans, still have rights. He insisted

they be tried as under age, thus ensuring that they will be back on the streets in a, year and a half. But it was the parents attitude that got to me. One of them fell asleep while his son was being questioned, and none of them inquired about the victim. As for the untermenschen, they made fun of their victim, sang rap songs and wolf-whistled at female police officers from their cells. Nice city. Nice people.