Smith occasionally dissected for me the difference between Andover kids and Deerfield kids. He explained that among the abominations of the wrinkle-free shirt is that it simply looks too crisp: the true WASP is just a tad bit rumpled because his shirts, while well-cared-for, are also well worn.
His WASP sensibilities have always attuned him nicely to my columns. A statesman ought to see political office as “public service,” not as a stepping-stone to a quick cash-out and the fast money of K Street. “You’ve gotten me good and pissed off,” was high praise from Smith after he’d read my draft.
Exposing the tawdriness of D.C. and the dishonesty of our politics is worthy work, and Smith always encouraged me in this work. But he repeatedly gave me much more important encouragement:
“Whatever you may accomplish in your professional life — awards, fame, scalps — it is nothing when you compare it to family,” Smith told me repeatedly in our five and a half years working together. “In the long run, your work as a husband and father are what will matter.”
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