The Daily Caller launches, Journopalooza’s ‘Suspicious Package,’ and a star-studded Kennedy Center Honors Brunch

By Janet Donovan

Tucker Carlson greets guest at his launch party as Juleanna Glover looks on.

OUT TO LAUNCH

So many people came to Juleanna Glover’s house to help inaugurate the Daily Caller that partygoers looking to find the website’s founder, Tucker Carlson, had to call him on their cell phones.

The Daily Caller went live on Jan. 11, adding yet another must-read for news junkies – who should probably file a sleep deprivation class action suit against Matt Drudge. (After all, his Drudge Report pretty much started the phenomenon).

Has Tucker finally hit his stride? We hope so. He’s hosted or been a guest on all the major cable networks with multiple writing positions along the way. The consensus according to radio talk show host Bill Press: “If anybody can cut through, thrive, and survive, it’s Tucker. He’s always fresh and different.”

Guests included media stalwarts Ann Compton and Christopher Hitchens as well as hip young reporters Emily Heil of Roll Call and Kiki Ryan of Politico. The big surprise of the night: “Plamegate” scandal figure I. Lewis “Scooter” Libby circulating – mostly unrecognized – in the supposedly politically-savvy crowd.

Tucker’s take: “It hasn’t been a big month for sleeping. The launch has been an adventure.  Ten years from now, when virtually all news is delivered digitally online and there are hundreds of sites doing pretty much exactly what we do, I’m sure we’ll have competitors. As of today we have only friends.”

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The 14th annual record of notably social individuals from politics, diplomacy, business, philanthropy, and the arts.

Enrico and Andrea Cecchi (Photo by Joseph Allen)

A
Mr. and Mrs. JAMES ABDO (Mai)
Mr. and Mrs. WILLIAM ABEL-SMITH (Mimi)
The Honorable and Mrs. TYLER ABELL (Bess)
The Honorable DAVID C. ACHESON
Mr. GLEN ACKERMAN and Mr. ERNESTO SANTALLA
Mr. THEO ADAMSTEIN and Ms. OLVIA DEMETRIOU

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Senior editor Kevin Chaffee remembers the late Dominick Dunne

By Kevin Chaffee

Dominick Dunne, Kevin Chaffee

I was a big fan of Dominick Dunne’s right from the start of his writing career, but did not have the chance to meet him until the mid-’90s when we bumped into each other while both covering one of the Mike Tyson prize fights in Las Vegas. (It may even have been the year Tyson bit Evander Holyfield’s ear off). I told him that I had hung out with his younger son, Alex, in San Francisco some years previously, and we had a cordial chat.
We met again few years later at a Vanity Fair White House Correspondents’ Dinner after-party, but didn’t truly bond until our mutual friend, Susan Mary Alsop, invited us both to her house for drinks while Nick was in town covering the Clinton impeachment trial. I offered to drive him to his hotel afterwards, but he would have none of it. He wanted to see and be seen, take the pulse of Washington at Washington’s top celebrity watering hole.
I still remember the hubbub that ensued when he walked through the door of Cafe Milano in Georgetown. Everyone seemed to know him by sight and we spent the entire evening being interrupted by wellwishers and fans, many of whom knew him personally or had a friend who did.
Milano instantly became Nick’s Washington home-away-from-home. As our friendship grew, largely by periodic catch-up phone calls, I became his unofficial rep in the nation’s capital (despite the fact that he had far better pals here – Bill and Deeda Blair, Jane Hitchcock, and Polly Kraft among them). I took it upon myself to organize Cafe Milano parties after he published two of his books, The Way We Lived Then: Recollections of A Well Known Name-Dropper (1999) and Justice: Crimes, Trials, and Punishments (2001).
These events required lots of work but I never minded a minute of it. Everyone wanted to be invited and both fêtes were jam-packed with grandes dames, socialites, diplomats, politicos, and journalists of every stripe. Even better than getting Nick’s list of those whom he wanted there was his list of people he didn’t want there. I may take some of those stories to the grave.
One well-known socialite actually burst into tears when she learned she was among the cordially uninvited. Others pulled every crasher’s trick in the book despite the phalanx of list-bearing gorgons at the door, including a number of people who really should have known better. In the end, Nick let them all stay. After all, they were his fans.
Both of the events were a huge success, with all the breathless press coverage and flashing cameras everywhere. I still chuckle when I recall a young photographer sheepishly asking Nick if he minded her shooting him over and over again.
“Honey,” he said with an indulgent smile, “I looove it!”
My most poignant moment with Nick came when he asked me to accompany him on a visit to the World War II Memorial. As we walked around the recently constructed monument he suddenly grew silent and I immediately sensed it would be better not to interrupt his thoughts for a while.
Later, as we sat on one of the stone benches nearby, he said he had been drafted just out of prep school at the age of 17 to fight on the European front in World War II. After a minimum of training he soon found himself armed, terrified, and charging enemy lines at the infamous Battle of the Bulge. In the midst of heavy fire he rescued a badly wounded fellow G.I. by carrying him on his back to safety. “We were both completely covered in his blood,” he said, adding somewhat sorrowfully that he was never able to find out if his comrade had survived. I was so impressed when he said that had been awarded a Bronze Star for heroism.
“You know something?” he told me in a confidential whisper. “My father never called me a sissy after that.”
Many have recounted Nick’s world-class storytelling abilities and it would be redundant to add to their efforts here. But he did recount the most amazing tales, most of which would never see print. I’ll never forget him confiding that a scion of a prominent American family wanted him dead and that he had hired private security for protection. Other asides about the peccadilloes of Hollywood stars, financial titans, and titled Eurotrash were equally astounding. I always knew a particularly juicy tidbit was on its way when he prefaced it with: “Now, this is totally off-the-record [pregnant pause with stern look] and that means NO BLABBING!”
“Of course not, Nick! You know I never repeat anything you say!”
Nick was incredibly funny and occasionally terrifying. His anger and mirth, like his loves and hates, were of equal intensity. Every moment in his company was a delight because he knew the art of making you feel as if you were the most special person he had ever met.
He was a friend of the heart, a friend of the soul. I’ll always miss him, dear, dear Nick.

Author Dominick Dunne. Image courtesy of Vanity Fair.

One thousand mourners turn out for the funeral of America’s most celebrated society chronicler

By Kevin Chaffee

New York – Dominick Dunne was my treasured friend and confidante during the last 15 years of his life, and I knew his funeral was going to be rough going. Whirlpools of fond memories flooded my mind as I sat in Manhattan’s ornate Church of Saint Vincent Ferrer on Sept. 10 waiting for the service to begin. Not even the spectacle of the rich and famous swanning into the pews could divert my thoughts from the many wonderful moments we shared.

Nick, as he was known to his friends, had meticulously scripted every detail of the ceremony long before his death from cancer on August 26: the homily and hymns, the cordon of 14 honorary pallbearers (Vanity Fair Editor Graydon Carter, playwright Mart Crowley, and composer Stephen Sondheim among them), the eulogists, and, of course, the list of those he wanted invited afterwards to the reception at the Union Club.

Nick loved names, so you’ll get names (in no particular order) of a mere few notables from a crowd I estimated to be nearly 1,000 strong: William McCormick Blair Jr., Jane Stanton Hitchcock, Diane von Furstenburg, Arnold Scaasi, Carl Bernstein, Richard Gere, George Stevens, George Hamilton, Uma Thurman, Dina Merrill and Ted Hartley, Mica Ertegun, Peter Duchin, Virginia Coleman, Pat Patterson, Harry Evans, Brooke Hayward, Jean Harvey Vanderbilt, Wendy Vanderbilt Lehman, Sam Peabody, Iris Love, Mimi Van Rensselaer Strong, Nancy Biddle, Casey Ribicoff, Fernanda Niven, Jamie Niven, Mort Janklow, Charlotte Ford, Marie Brenner, Reinaldo Herrera, Steven Aronson, Melinda Blinken, Boatie Boatwright, Ann Slater, Audrey Gruss, and Karen Lerner. Read the full story

Jane Stanton Hitchcock’s Mortal Friends is the perfect summer beach read – unless, of course, you’ve already gotten burned.

By Kevin Chaffee

Jane Stanton Hitchcock at home with her beloved Chloe. (Photo by James R. Brantley)

There hasn’t been this much buzz about a roman-à-clef set in Washington since Alan Drury’s Advise and Consent hit the bestseller lists 40 years ago. Now Jane Stanton Hitchcock’s Mortal Friends has le tout Washington vying to decipher the true-to-life identities of an “irritatingly smug philanthropist,” an “ageless rake with military bearing … and a dark side,” and other memorable monsters – one of whom may well be a serial killer.

The author has no equal when it comes to putting the social scene under a microscope, and then dissecting it. A witty novelist, hostess, Jacqueline Onassis protégé, and media wife (she is the spouse of Washington Post syndicated columnist Jim Hoagland), Hitchcock knows from long experience that the nation’s capital is a veritable Petri dish where ambitious players fester and swirl. They may plot their way to power and riches, but only get to keep them by negotiating a minefield of political intrigue, strategic alliances, and relentless climbing, to say nothing of money grubbing, backstabbing and betrayal. Read Mortal Friends if you like mystery and intrigue. Read it if you enjoy seeing rather nasty characters get what’s coming to them. Above all, read it as a cautionary tale – because this is how Washington society really works. 

Washington Life: Will you swear that your characters bear no resemblance whatsoever to any person living or dead?

Jane Hitchcock: [Laughs]. My characters are all creations of my imagination. I do hope they bear a resemblance to people who are interesting to others. In general, novelists pick out characters, incidents, and places that obsess them and provide a connection to their inner life. Does Merdle in Little Dorritt resemble someone in Charles Dickens’ time? Probably yes. I write about real people, not aliens or vampires – although I may give them a shot, too – considering that’s what sells these days!

WL: One of your leading ladies, Cynthia Rinehart, bears more than a certain resemblance to well-known philanthropist here. They both have an “achievement” foundation, make  $100 million pledges to the Kennedy Center that fall through, and get caught up in a Congressional tax inquiry. They even have the same initials. …

JH: A character is a character – but that isn’t to say that people in New York, California, and all over the globe haven’t reneged on pledges quite famously or have foundations that give awards. … If I wanted to write a non-fiction book I would have. 

WL: Do you feel a close personal connection to your protagonist, Reven Lynch?

JH: Let me make a blanket statement: I am all of my characters. 

WL: Why did you make Reven an antiques dealer?

JH: I love rummaging around in Georgetown antiques stores and was inspired by a few of the owners, including Deborah Gore Dean and John Rosselli. Reven’s character was also a way to bridge the gap between social Washington and those on its fringes. She’s not on the “A-List” but knows all the people who are.

WL: You set many of your scenes inside carefully depicted residential settings.

JH: You can tell more how a person lives by the way their house is decorated than their résumé. 

WL: You also include a lot of party scenes at local haunts: the Kennedy Center, Folger Library, British Embassy, Café Milano …

JH: In Washington, more business gets done at parties than in Congress. Behind-the-scenes alliances are formed; discord is sown.

WL: Any examples from your own experience?

JH: I attended a dinner one night where a senator had a brutal confrontation with a Cabinet secretary – who left abruptly. Four prominent journalists were there but no one broke it as a story because of national security. It was a private party and therefore off the record. That’s when I realized that social life may look like furs, jewels, and parties, but it’s really gas masks, helmets, and guns.  

WL: I’ve heard tales of powerful government officials who get incensed because they weren’t invited to a dinner.

JH: Hell hath no fury like the uninvited guest. That’s especially true in Washington because social life here is much more consequential than anywhere else. Feuds and friendships forged here can affect national and even global policy. ….  A war could get started over a dinner table!

WL: How has the capital changed since you moved here?

JH: It was much more provincial when I arrived in 1996. It was the twilight of the great Georgetown hostesses who ruled social life. The political types didn’t commute as much as they do now. Then people got much younger. Big money came in and intertwined with power.

WL: Does money count a lot more than it once did in Washington?

JH: It counted more, then it counted less – after the stock market crash. The Federal government is now acting more like a business, so in that sense, yes. Power may be on the upsurge again.

WL: You are pretty hard on arrivistes.

JH: I remember hearing someone saying on TV that she should get the best seats because she gave the most money. Everyone knows that’s true, but why rub it in their face? I mean, have a little grace.

WL: Has there been a ‘fashion revolution’ here?

JH: Credentials used to be more important than clothes. Women were considered frivolous if they dressed fashionably. Then, suddenly it was OK for women to dress well. Now Mrs. Obama is the epitome of the cutting edge. 

WL: It is still rather outré to wear fantastic designer gowns and major jewelry in public here.

JH: Remember, “chic” and “showy” are two different things.

WL: You focus on the plight of the cast-aside Washington spouse in your novel, in effect saying they are forgotten but not gone. 

JH: “Old ex-wives never die, they just fade away.” 

WL: I remember the just-divorced wife of a  senator who continued accepting invitations to parties that were still being sent to the both of them. It was so embarrassing. People didn’t know what to say. Finally the invitations dried up and she disappeared.

JH: Eventually they make new lives for themselves, usually somewhere else – unless they become secretary of state!

Author Jane Stanton Hitchcock’s latest novel is the talk of the town, whether you’re in it or not.

By Kevin Chaffee

Author Jane Stanton Hitchcock at home

What do Jim Kimsey, Ben Bradlee, Sally Quinn, Carolyn Peachey, Liz Stevens, Amanda Downes, Jim Johnson, Deborah Gore Dean, Rima Al-Sabah, Ann Jordan, Carol Joynt, Leo and Grega Daly, and Rep. Jane Harmon have in common? – apart from living in Washington, that is.

Yes, all were spotted at the party celebrating Jane Stanton Hitchcock’s recent novel, “Mortal Friends,” at Café Milano on Thursday night, but there is a far deeper connection. It turns out that each is a character in her book – but under a totally different name, of course.

Anyone who really knows the Washington scene won’t have too much trouble deciphering that “Nouria Salaha,” described as the ultra-fashionable spouse of a Middle Eastern ambassador, is based on top diplomatic hostess Rima Al-Sabah, wife of Kuwaiti Ambassador Salem Al-Sabah. Or that “Bob Poll,” an “ageless rake with military bearing” sure seems a lot like AOL co-founder Jim Kimsey, who, if he minded any of the comparisons, was shrugging them off that night (as he did during Joynt’s sold-out “Q&A” lunch with Hitchcock at Nathan’s earlier that day).

“Mortal Friends” is sure to be this summer’s essential plane or beach read. It’s a delicious thriller filled with social climbing, back-stabbing, deceit, betrayal, and the hunt for a serial killer who carries out his terrible deeds in such familiar haunts as Georgetown’s Montrose Park. No wonder Politics and Prose sold out every copy – the first time that has ever happened at a book party, according to a member of the sales staff.

Guests sipped wine and Champagne while waiting patiently in line for author inscriptions. It wasn’t long before the crowd spilled out into the reception area, and from there to patio where Jill Biden, the wife of the vice president, had quietly entered to dine with a friend (even she ended up getting a book.)

Jane Stanton Hitchcock's latest novel "Mortal Friends" explore dangerous liaisons in Washington social life.

Here’s who else was there:

From the diplomatic corps: German Ambassador Klaus Sharioth, Yemeni Ambassador Abdulwahab Al-Hajjri, Japanese Ambassador Ichiro Fujisaki and Yoriko Fujisaki, and Lady (Julia) Sheinwald, wife of British Ambassador Sir Nigel Sheinwald.

From the media: Jim Hoagland (Hitchcock’s spouse), Bob Schieffer, Arnaud de Borchgrave, Tammy Haddad, Andrea Mitchell, Margaret Carlson, Edie Emery, Jim Lehrer, David Corn, Ann Geracimos, Roxanne Roberts, Fred Hiatt, Patrick Gavin, Steve Smith and Sally Bedell Smith.

From the social scene: Andy Athy, Michael and Afsaneh Beschloss, Dr. Susan Blumenthal, Conrad and Ludmila Cafritz, Buffy Cafritz, Marcia Carter, John Cecchi, Walter and Didi Cutler, Count Renaud de Viel Castel, Susan Eisenhower, Nini Ferguson, Bitsey Folger, Jim and Ann Free, Ina Ginsburg, Lloyd and Ann Hand, June Hechinger, Chris and Jennifer Isham, Winston Bao Lord, Capricia Marshall, Mac and Donna McLarty, Bill and Dorothy McSweeny, John and Diana Negroponte, Mike Peabody, Gerald and Eden Rafshoon, Lucky Roosevelt, Jackie Rush, Aniko Gaal Schott, Prince Ermias Selassie, Jamal Simmons, and Judith Terra.

Top Row: President Barack Obama and First Lady Michelle Obama, Rahm Emanuel, Bob Woodward, Teresa Heinz Kerry, John Kerry, Don Graham, Adrian and Michelle Fenty, Vice President Joseph Biden and Jill Biden. Second row: Rep. Barney Frank, Desirée Rogers, Victoria and Sen. Ted Kennedy, Valerie Jarrett, Timothy Geithner, Eric Holder and Sharon Malone, Peter Orzsag, Jane Stanton Hitchcock. Third row: Sen. Mark Warner, Alexandra Wentworth and George Stephanopolous, Justice Antonin Scalia, Elizabeth and George Stevens, Salem Abdullah Al-Jaber Al-Sabah, Queen Noor, Robert Duvall, Roger Sant. Fourth row: Katharine Weymouth, Justice Stephen Breyer, Sheila Johnson, Plácido Domingo, Speaker Nancy Pelosi, Amb. Pierre Vimont, Ted and Annette Lerner, Sen. Harry Reid.

Big changes are always in store when a new president takes office. The “out-with-the-old, in-with-the-new” transition of power is even more historic when a change of party occurs (check) and especially when a two-term presidency ends (double check). Barack and Michelle Obama are also younger than their predecessors (they were born at the end of the Baby Boom era; the Bushes at its very beginning), and, most relevant of all, are the first African-Americans to occupy the White House.

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The 13th annual record of notably social personalities from the worlds of politics, diplomacy, business, philanthropy, and the arts.

By Kevin Chaffee

John Pyles and Barbara Harrison

This roster is neither the first, nor will it (inevitably) be the last to single out certain individuals, who, by virtue of birth, rank, wealth or accomplishment, take part in the social life of the nation’s capital. Estimable precursors – drumroll here – include The Green Book,” so-called for its faux green suede cover, which has appeared continuously since 1930; and the Blue Book of Washington, D.C., which ceased publication around 1990 after a century in print. The Social Register, sometimes called the “Black Book,” also contains the names of numerous prominent local figures, many hailing from so-called “blue blood” families, although it merged its thin Washington volume into a much larger 12-city national version back in the 1980s.

A major difference separating Washington Life’s list from the others – apart from having no discernible color – is that we do not publish a “phone book” containing addresses and contact information, much less schools attended, club memberships and yacht listings. Ours is merely an alphabetical nomenclature of people who make a difference by adding immeasurably to their city, and by extension, their country and the world. Another point of contrast is size. Compared to the many thousands of entries contained in other directories past and present, WL’s Social List, currently about 700 names and counting, is relatively small. We do not see the need to include every member of the Congress, Cabinet or Court (i.e., Supreme), much less all those with top jobs listed in the “Plum Book” of political appointments.

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WL’s list of head-turners.

Top from left to right: Steven and Jean Case, Vernon and Ann Jordan, James Kimsey, Jacqueline Mars. Bottom from left to right: Paul and Nancy Pelosi, Roger and Victoria Sant, and Ben Bradlee and Sally Quinn.

It’s hard to elicit a physical response from a Washington crowd; that is, to “turn” a head. Although we’ve produced this list for several years, 2008’s A-list has seemingly evolved into a roster of national names rather than one merely dedicated to the stars in our local firmament; after all, 2008’s elections have brought some bonafide rock stars to town. All eyes have been on Ben Bernanke to solve our financial woes, and we’ve all been waiting with baited breath to find out whether Christopher Hitchens will finally quit smoking (maybe it would help if he had God on his side). We said goodbye to longtime favorites Joe Gibbs, as well as beloved British Ambassador Sir Manning and his wife, Lady Catherine. While farewells are always sad, they make way for new faces such as financial heavyweight David Rubenstein and Secretary of Treasury Henry Paulson. Over the years, we’ve found that A-list status is less about the job and rank than one might think; it’s about having a personality that electrifies the room. We’re happy they’re here.

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Heads turn when they enter the room.

By Ann Geracimos

Photograph by Fred J. Maroon. M. Maroon's son, Marc, has recently launched an initiative to offer digital prints from his father's Washington, D.C. Collection, entitled "Poetic Washington" to local charity events. For more informatino, go to fredmaroon.com.

Power is as power does. It’s a flexible force in this town. No wonder we denizens often take refuge in lists, a comfort zone of sorts in a world where the reality is constantly shifting.

Lists turn up everywhere. The form suits a place that thrives on hierarchy – on knowing just who owns a predetermined political status. The government’s plum list of political jobs is the apotheosis of this. Keeping everyone happy: giving them a title, an objective count of who’s in and who’s out. And why not? That is small comfort in the face of the conditions of daily life that threaten to overwhelm one’s sense of identity.

There is comfort in knowing about rank because it makes it easier to navigate the terrain. After all, who is responsible for the saying that rules (rank and reputation) are made to be broken? It gives a lift to the spirit to know the Calvinist ideal of predestination is not entirely dominant.

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