Every child and most parents love secrets a lot, but this seeker of truth here in Denver DOES NOT!
I try to be cheery; it’s part of the season. But honest, I’m cranky, and here’s the whole reason: The news is a downer, with facts all denied. Even simple requests come back stamped “CLASSIFIED.”
From D.C. to L.A., frustrations are growing with sources in hiding and info not flowing. It’s sneaky, suspicious; it’s nasty and vicious. It’s tough to ask questions and have spokesmen diss us.
I wait, for example, for someone to name the villain who outed Ms. Valerie Plame. The story’s been brewing for months, nah, for years, and still it’s a secret. How totally queer!
We know some reporters were given the tale and one of them even spent three months in jail. We know an indictment came down with a thud on a man nicknamed “Scooter” who called it a dud.
We know ’bout the pundit, a gray-haired old hack, who goes by the name of one Robert Novak. He spilled the whole story; he spoiled Plame’s deep cover. And even lashed out at her husband, who loves her.
But then …
When the time came for Novak to name his informant, discretion appeared where it long had been dormant. Before a grand jury, he cut such a deal that his readers might never learn what he did squeal.
And while we sit waiting impatiently for a simple straight answer, no less and no more, a spy-scandal story at last did appear – after folks at The Times kept it secret ONE YEAR.
No big deal, said the White House. It’s legal, ‘nuf said. Some phones will be tapped and e-mails will be read. No warrants are needed; no judge will be called. Constructionist jurists, don’t act so appalled!
And back here in Denver, excitement is growing, the rumors are flying, the tension is showing. The talk of the town is a mayor named “Hick” and whether he’s thinking about a new shtick. He insists he’s not leaving his labor of love to run for election to be our next guv.
But the buzz just gets louder; supporters keep pleading. “We’ll happily find all the money you’re needing.”
They say his disinterest does not make them wary. They think he’ll be running by mid-January.
His spokeswoman Lindy, Ms. Eichenbaum Lent, says her patience with questions about this is spent. “Don’t ask anymore. He won’t talk,” she repeats. But she can’t stop the folks laying odds on the streets.
The secrets keep flying, the leaks multiplying. Our readers keep asking, “Are you really trying?”
Reporters are lazy, they say, and what’s more, the whole world is crazy. Who knows the real score?
These secrets, they haunt us all here at The Post. And sources just taunt us like old Christmas ghosts.
And just when I start to get downright disgusted, I look at myself and think, “Man, I’m so busted!”
For weeks I’ve been burying secrets galore in closets and cupboards and under the floor. They’re not CIA tips, hot leads, juicy scoops or a clue to the future of John Hickenlooper.
They’re sweet things, warm sweaters, knit socks and great fictions. They’re packages stashed in the spirit of Dickens.
The gifts and the treats for my friends and my kids have been kept under wraps or beneath real tight lids.
On this secret-keeping I’m far from alone. My kids ask ideas of me on the phone. We whisper directions in short furtive calls. “Remember the sizes, the larges, the smalls. ”
And now with the moment of truth finally here, we’ll tear off the ribbons and smile ear to ear. We’ll plug in the toasters and play our new tunes. We’ll try on our slippers and laugh like buffoons.
We’ll discover again what we sometimes forget that it’s more fun to give than it is just to get.
And here’s one last secret, one thing all should hear. The best gift of all?
How ’bout peace this new year!
Diane Carman’s column appears Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday. She can be reached at 303-820-1489 or dcarman@denverpost.com.
