Congressional Country Club, Bethesda, Maryland: 8:05 am... “Lockwood,” said Senator Bobby Richards, “you are the only congressman who can miss your tee time by an hour and march right up to the tee and start hacking away.” After resetting his ball by pulling up the tee some, he was happy‒hoping his ball would land where he was looking. “That is about all I do anymore, is hack,” Lockwood replied, with a kid-smile, as he pulled his lucky Boston Celtic golf glove onto his right hand and then tightened the Velcro strap. The slight breeze stroked the leaves overhead. Richards took one last practice swing before putting a steady bead on his Titlist #4 and clobbering it two hundred
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Intently gazing at the Washington Monument like never before–pondering he had never had the time to go up it until now. Slowly spinning the free-moving, black, leather chair, Lockwood stopped it abruptly; his secretary was patiently standing by the open door. No wonder he felt a draft on his neck. Putting his hand over the phone receiver, he bluntly said to her, “Betty, the door, please.” Seeing she was not going to budge, he put his hand back over the receiver and gave her an upward nod. “Lujack Lane is on line four,” she relinquished, in a barely audible tone, and then turned around and shut the door behind her. Lockwood’s conversation would soon be over. “Honey, I have to go now.” Before he heard her say goodbye, his finger was already pushing line number four. “Lujack Lane, Lockwood Hightower here.” “Good morning, Mr. Hightower. Or should I say afternoon? I would certainly like to meet with you, sir. I am in Virginia now. I can be in D.C. in no time. You name the place. If you want to meet that is? By the way, I have someone with me that I think you should meet if you wanna move forward with this.” A brief pause
Intently gazing at the Washington Monument like never before–pondering he had never had the time to go up it until now. Slowly spinning the free-moving, black, leather chair, Lockwood stopped it abruptly; his secretary was patiently standing by the open door. No wonder he felt a draft on his neck. Putting his hand over the phone receiver, he bluntly said to her, “Betty, the door, please.” Seeing she was not going to budge, he put his hand back over the receiver and gave her an upward nod. “Lujack Lane is on line four,” she relinquished, in a barely audible tone, and then turned around and shut the door behind her. Lockwood’s conversation would soon be over. “Honey, I have to go now.” Before he heard her say goodbye, his finger was already pushing line number four. “Lujack Lane, Lockwood Hightower here.” “Good morning, Mr. Hightower. Or should I say afternoon? I would certainly like to meet with you, sir. I am in Virginia now. I can be in D.C. in no time. You name the place. If you want to meet that is? By the way, I have someone with me that I think you should meet if you wanna move forward with this.” A brief pause