“The blessed and long ^ overdue rehabilitation of Ebinezer

“The blessed and long ^ overdue rehabilitation of Ebinezer Scrooge!” he replied. “For over a century this fine old gentleman, this spiritual leader of my people, has been maligned and slandered. But now, at last, his hour has come!”

“Tell me all about it,” I begged.

“Walk with me to my car and I will be glad to do so,” he said. “As you know, President Reagan’s top aide, Ed Meese, dared speak a great truism the other day. He said he had seen no evidence that there were hungry children in America. Now, Ed knows what he’s talking about. My chauffeur, William, drives me from home to the club, and then to my old bank each day. I asked him if he knew of any children who were hungry. He looked at me like he thought it was silly to even ask such a question, and then he answered, ‘Naw suh!”’

“You know, Randolph,” I said, “sometimes people who work for people like you are smart enough to give them answers they think the boss wants to hear.”

“They better had!” continued Randolph. “But in any event,” he went on, “House Speaker Tip O’Neill referred to Ed as a Scrooge, and then Mr. Meese replied in a manner which made my whole year. He pointed out that Scrooge had always had a bad press.

“He said Scrooge was an enlightened employer who paid his clerk, Bob Cratchit, 10 shillings a week, which was a good salary for the mid-19th century. Also he noted that Cratchit was far from under-priviliged. He could read and write at a time when there were no schools, actually lived in a home instead of a tenement, and had a traditional plum pudding for his Christmas dinner.

“He was lucky to have a good job with a distinguished member of the financial community like Mr. Scrooge. You know, Scrooge was always a sort of personal god of mine, a good conservative constantly beset by liberals. It was sad the way they finally turned him around in the end.”

About that time we arrived at my friend’s car. Randolph forgot all about Scrooge when he saw a Richmond police officer standing beside it busily writing a ticket. With the officer was a small, youthful man in a wheelchair. It seems Randolph had parked in a space reserved for the handicapped.

He quickly began to explain his oversight to the officer, mentioning in the process that he was a close friend of the governor, the mayor, the chief of police and the rector of St. Spiffin’s Episcopal Church.

The officer sharply informed Randolph that he was illegally parked in the space reserved for the young man.

“How about it, Tim,” he asked the man in the chair. “Do you want to press charges?”

“^o, I guess not,” he replied, “It’s Christmas, and maybe he really didn’t see the handicapped parking sign.” The officer snapped his ticket pad shut and walked off, giving Randolph a pointedly unpleasant look.

My friend then turned to Tim in the wheelchair.

“Now, for a crippled fellow, that was a right nice thing to do,” said the much relieved Randolph. “I’m going to send you some frozen vegetables from my garden. No! I’ll do better than that. I’ll have William go down to the market and buy you the biggest Virginia turkey you’ll see all Christmas! Where do you live?”

“Don’t bother,” replied the young man as he wheeled off. “I’ve already seen the biggest Virginia turkey I’ll see all Christmas!"

And then he added, “Of course, I understand they have even bigger ones in Washington!”