When I was accepted to Princeton many many years ago (I won't say when, but the Church committee, exposing 60s CIA spying on campuses was recently in the news), I received a call shortly after I received my letter, and the caller identified himsels as McAllensby Smythe (some such WASPy name) of the CIA, he'd like to talk to me about my admission to Princeton. I was flabbergasted, the Church committee has just exposed this sort of shenanigans, these spooks had no shame! But I was curious to see what Smythe had to say, so I said, Where? He said, The Pikestaff in McLean. This was the spook hangout, notorious in its day. I said, how about Rudy's (a good Armenian joint at the other end of the same mall.) He said, OK. I said, how will I know you? He replied -- I am not making this up -- I'll be wearing a carnation in my lapel. While waiting for our meeting, I made up the following song: I'm a government spy for the CIAI spy on all of my friends for payI tell them everything I knowAnd when I don't know nothing, I make it up as I go OK, so it's not Gershwin. Or even Phil Ochs. The day came, I showed up at Rudy's. A greyish looking middle aged man (he would have been about my age now ;-<), no carnation, picked me out quite easily (there weren't a whole lot of hippyish 18 year olds by themselves looking for someone outside Rudy's; it was pretty classy), and took me to lunch. The long and short of it is that Smythe _worked_ at the CIA, all right, but that was just where he worked. He was the local Princeton alumn interviewer, and I had somehow got in without an interview from him, damaging his sense of duty, and he was going to interview me for Princeton whether or not it made any difference. He told me Tigertown stories, recalled his misspent youth, and did not even hint at asking me to do anything improper. Sigh. Not that I would have done anything, I really just wanted to call the Washington Post and expose the bastards. But I didn't get anything out of of it but lunch, this story, and a song. jks
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