“That the little redheaded kid should be on the outside with his nose pressed up against the windowpane.”
“Don’t be silly.” She frowned disapprovingly. “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re a genius? You belong here more than most of these people.”
I wasn’t so sure, but if my Rosemarie believed it, that was probably enough.
It was the night the President, God be good to him, delivered his famous line: “The only time in the history of the White House when there was more talent in this room was on nights when Thomas Jefferson dined by himself.”
Pat Moynihan never would admit it, but surely it was his line.
Afterwards we were ushered into the Oval Office for brandy—only the President, Pat, and the two of us.
Rosemarie declined the brandy with a regal smile and a slight wave of her hand.
The President and my wild Irish Rosemarie knew who they were at once. Two splendid Irish monarchs on a state visit to one another. The little red-haired runt was a harmless court jester invited along because he was occasionally amusing.
“I’ve read your new book on Germany with great interest.” The President lit his cigar. “I like the balance and objectivity. It’s hard to keep your head screwed on properly when you’re talking about our enemies turned allies, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Mr. President.” I stumbled over the words, “I don’t believe in collective guilt, however.”
“Neither do I. Well, I suppose you wonder what I want from you? As you know, I’ve tried to broaden the base of our ambassadorial appointments. There’s no reason why we should be limited to business and professional diplomats when there’s a lot of other talent in our society, is there?”
I still didn’t see what was coming. “Certainly not, Mr. President.”
“I’ve consulted with a number of knowledgeable people”—he riffled a stack of papers on his desk—“and they agree that you are a remarkably gifted and multifaceted man. In addition to what you’ve accomplished in photography, you’ve written a brilliant book on the success of the Marshall Plan. So I’m asking you if you would be willing to serve as our ambassador to the Federal Republic of Germany.”
Two trains of thought ran through my head, like a dual-track tape playing in a hi-fi system. The first track listed all the reasons to say no: I was too young. I had no experience. I lacked the skills of a diplomat. I was afraid of facing Trudi and Karl again. I was afraid to separate Rosemarie from the help of Dr. Stone. I had five children. I did not want to be an ambassador.
The second track told me that I had already made another serious error in my ongoing comedy.
Do I have to tell you what it was? Of course not.
I was about to politely decline. But before I could speak, Rosemarie intervened, cutting short the words her husband would regret saying for the rest of his life.
“Surely, Mr. President, we’ll be honored and delighted to represent you in the BRD.” Clancy lowered the boom. Again. With the proper technical name for West Germany. “When do we leave?”
Chicago, Grand Beach, Tucson
1986–1999
“Pulled me in instantly and never let go. … You will want to read
the next one. … Greeley certainly made me laugh.”
—Chicago Tribune on Younger Than Springtime
“Happy families are all alike,” said Tolstoy, and the O’Malley’s are one of the happiest, if slightly crazy, families in current fiction. A Christmas Wedding continues the saga of Chucky, the youngest son who wants to live the quiet life of an accountant and raise a nice Catholic family. Fate, of course, has other plans for Chucky, in the person of the beautiful Rosemarie, his off-again on-again nemesis from the time he saved her life when he was a young man.
Thrown out of Notre Dame on trumped up charges, Chucky ends up going to the University of Chicago. The only problem: his lifelong enemy Rosemarie is a fellow student. They decide to be “just friends,” and while they battle with each other, “just friends” turns into something neither of them expected.
“The leisurely, enjoyable sequel to Greeley’s A Midwinter’s Tale again
follows the O’Malley family of Chicago. … By the end, where
Greeley skillfully ties up one plot line as he keeps the other aloft for
the next book, readers may discover that they, too have been
romanced—by an expert storyteller.”
—Publishers Weekly on Younger Than Springtime
A Christmas Wedding Page 41