Interview: Alan Simpson
Statesman and Advocate

Senator Simpson, you've talked about an experience you had as a Boy Scout in Wyoming that broadened your understanding of other people. Could you tell us how that came about?

Alan Simpson: I don't think most Americans remember, but Wyoming people sure remember...

Suddenly, in 1943, when I was 12, the third largest city in Wyoming sprung up in the sagebrush between Powell, Wyoming and Cody, Wyoming. Carpenters out there worked day and night, with lights on, building tarpaper shacks. And the carpenters were all 45, 50, 55. We thought they were ancient! But there they were, they were pretty adroit. And they built a city. And suddenly 11,000 Japanese Americans came in on the train. They were Americans who were gathered up in San José and the coast of California and taken to Santa Anita racetrack, put in the stalls, and told that they could have one bag, and that they were headed for Manzanar in Colorado, or Heart Mountain in Wyoming. And they were U.S. citizens. They were not aliens. Some were permanent resident aliens. Very few, I mean, maybe ten percent. The rest of them were called U.S. citizens, and they were all Japanese American. We didn't do that with the German Americans. We were fighting them, but we couldn't identify them. We didn't do it with the Italian Americans, and we were fighting them, because we couldn't identify them. But we could identify our fine fellow Americans. It was a total racist operation.

Although there was great fear. Don't forget who signed the order to do that was Earl Warren, the Attorney General in California. And don't forget who the Supreme Court Justice that upheld that was: Justice William O. Douglas. And they spent the rest of their lives trying to atone for it, and all their writings disclose it, the pain of what they did in that situation. Yet it was something to be done. We thought there were submarines off the coast. We thought they were signaling them in. There was real fear, and much of it valid. So anyway, the Scoutmaster, he's sitting there one night, and he said, "You know what we're going to do next week?" We all were tying our knots and looking around, trying to read those little magazines and books, you know, before anybody caught us. Those little books, they were marvelous. Dagwood and Blondie, terrible things. Corrupt. So we said, "What are we going to do?"

He said, "We're going to go to the Jap camp." That was what it was called. It had guard towers. It had barbed wire. It had guards in the towers, and we said, "We're not going out there. We could be killed!" He said, "No, no. You need to go." He was a Scoutmaster ahead of his time. Honestly, I can't remember his name. This was this tragedy. But anyway, we went to the "Jap camp." And here were these 12-year-olds, just like me, with San José Scout Troop Number 24, and telling the same stories, reading the same stupid little horrible books. Telling the same jokes, speaking the same language. They didn't even know where Japan was. And there's where I met Norm Mineta, this pesky little rascal, and we laughed and tied knots and did some other devilish tricks. He says that we did more tricks than I imagine.

But anyway, a couple of times we did that. And here they were, living in tarpaper shacks. And there'd be an older woman and the woman would say, "Come over, son. Tell me, where do you live?" "I live in Cody." "Do you have a grandmother?" "I do." "What does she look like?" "Well, she's beautiful." "How about your mother and your father?" And all the people in there were people who were either over 50 or under 16, because the people 17 through 30 were in the U.S. military, in special units, like with Bob Dole. And so it was. As a kid, it just didn't fit. Your mind couldn't run it up. Nobody spoke Japanese. Very few. And their fathers were professors.

Mineta goes off, becomes a mayor of San José, and I wrote him a letter. I said, "You remember the fat kid, tied knots?" He said, "Oh God," and he wrote. Then we got to Congress together and we're in the Congress together. A wonderful guy. And then we're on the Smithsonian Board of Regents together, and now we're on the Smithsonian National Board, and the only horrible part is that every time we see each other, we just kiss each other, hug each other, and our wives say, "God, there they are, doing it again!"

It was a great adventure, and a powerful one. The most powerful of all.

How were you affected by that experience, in the middle of the war?

Alan Simpson: Well, I'd go home at night and get out my BB gun, and shoot holes in Adolph Hitler's picture and Tojo's picture, and Mussolini's picture. I mean, that was obligatory, you did that. While in Japan, they were shooting holes in Churchill's picture, and FDR's picture, and Stalin's picture. That was the way it worked. The war ended on my birthday. September 2, 1945, was the actual end of the war. I just never figured it all out.

There was a sign on the door in the restaurant in Cody. It said, "No Japs Allowed." And yet the trusties would come into town from the camp and they were all wonderful people. And then some Cody kid would be killed on Guadalcanal, or somewhere in the South Pacific, and there'd be some racist thing on the window. "Get those..." you know. And yet, on the other side, the Japanese who were gone from the camp were serving in the U.S. Army. So there's just things you don't -- it's like the search for truth. You just give it up and go ahead with your life. Or give up the search for perfection and go on with your life, because you'll never find those things. So I never sorted that out. But there was one lawsuit that the people of America missed. They drafted about 19 of those kids -- I mean they were there for about three years -- and drafted them into the army, the U.S. Army. And they refused to go until their people were turned loose from Heart Mountain. And they went to the federal district court in Cheyenne. That's a wonderful story. Somebody ought to do a -- you talk about some of the great trials -- that one was a great one. They lost, of course, and they all were drafted. But boy they put up -- they said, "Okay, we love America, we don't even know Japan. But let my mother and my little brother out of Heart Mountain." Pretty good stuff. Somebody ought to do one on that one.

You're right. That might make a good book or a movie.

Alan Simpson: It was just a time of confusion, and then elation. The war ended, and as you know, we were getting closer to 17. The war ended when I was 14, but in those days you kind of hoped you might get old enough to go. That's a whole different game now. I think all of us kids were thinking, "Oh, we'll go over and get them. We'll go get Hitler, that dirty fink, and Benito fatso Mussolini, and Tojo. We'll get those finks." It wasn't like Vietnam days, where you feared that you would get old enough, because you were fighting a war that nobody understood. This one, everybody understood. You'd listen to the radio and hear Churchill, and it was pretty inspirational. And FDR, my old man said, "He killed all those hogs, but he's still our president."

What was your childhood like?

Alan Simpson: It was quite idyllic.

My dad was a lawyer. He'd gone to Harvard Law School and he busted out. He always felt badly about that. But then he read the law, and he was a very capable lawyer. His father had been a lawyer, and he was thrown out of the fourth grade for witnessing a public hanging. That was William L. Simpson, my dad's father. The teacher said, "If anybody goes to the hanging, they will be thrown out of school," and that was a twofer for him. He was in the fourth grade, so he knew if he went to the hanging, he'd get thrown out of school. He did. And then he went to my grandmother, who was then a beautiful young woman, teaching to the Indians at St. Stephen's in Fort Washakie. He heard that if you learned Latin you could be a lawyer. So she taught him some Latin phrases, and he married her and he became a lawyer. He was devastating because he was totally, totally novel, and irreverent.

Where did you grow up?

Alan Simpson: Grew up in Cody, Wyoming. The Depression came. I was born in '31. I remember the hobos came on the train. There was a train to Cody; that was the end of the line. And it was funny how you'd be out with all your little pals, six, seven years old, in '37, '38, and these guys would be cooking stuff, and talking to you, and telling you stories. Nowadays, no sane person would ever allow their six-year-old children to sit with a bunch of guys, you know, cooking nail soup, telling stories. Gosh. I mean, that's what we did. We were hunting rattlesnakes and prairie dogs, and that's what we did. Sat by the flume and threw boats in it. It was a great place to grow up. I had a brother, 13 months older, so he was my best pal and we did the whole works. Dug caves, shot BB guns. We were good at it.

What were you like as a kid?

Alan Simpson: I was a fat kid. When I was in junior high, I weighed about 185. Big pimples all over me and knock-kneed, and that was tough. So I learned humor. All humor comes from pain. If you ever meet a guy full of humor, great, good humor -- Danny Kaye, who was here in Jackson, conducting the symphony one night, and I'd met him before. I said, "Where did it come from?" He said, "Where did it come from? A Russian Jew in the streets of New York? A kid, getting my head beat in every day. I couldn't outrun them. That's where you learn humor." And there's a lot to that. So that came, that was great. It was lucky I had wonderful parents who were dear. But a teacher one day... and of course, then you become the class clown. Because then guys pay attention to you and you tell stories. I look at all the stand-up guys, and all I know is that a lot of them have been through pain. It's the way it works. Don't tell me that they haven't. There won't be one. I won't believe it if they don't tell it. And a teacher said, "Do you realize, Alan, have you figured out whether they're laughing with you or laughing at you?" Boy, that was a tough one. Because really, they were laughing at me in many ways. Then you learn you want to have them laughing with you. That's a nice thing. I learned that in grade school.

I had things that you do that you wouldn't expect you could do. Going out for football. What else could I do? I was huge. If you didn't go out for football and you were 235 pounds and six-seven. So I did, and then the old coach was -- he's still kicking -- he's a marvelous guy. He's about 85. He used to make me, you know, get me all worked up and then I'd just tear the butt off somebody. And that's what he was up to. So I learned how to turn it on and turn it off.

I had a vicious temper as a little boy. And my mother said, "I'm not going to allow you to grow up like your grandfather," who had killed a man in the middle of the main street of Cody, Wyoming, in August 1923. Which I suddenly realized was eight years before I was born. And he was acquitted, but he was charged with first-degree murder. Hung jury. A guy hit him in the back of the head, knocked his eye forward, and he just went and got a gun, went and killed the guy. I had a vicious temper, and I knew I could always get my mother to cry if I worked on it long enough. Pretty diabolical. And the old man used to say, "If anybody leaves this house, it'll be you guys and not your mother." Well, that was a wake-up call. And then my mother would say, "You're going to learn how to turn your won't power into will power." And she says -- I don't remember the occasion -- but she said that when I was about 11, I came into the house and I said, "I got it! I got it!" She said, "What?" I said, "I've got my will power instead of the won't power." So, that was -- she was a wonderful, magnificent woman. "The velvet hammer" we called her, Pete and I. And she gave me the inner strength. Pop gave me the humor and the good common sense, But she was the steel. And they both lived -- if you can believe the benefit -- they lived to be 95 and 93, and my brother and I said, "Kind of hell to be an orphan when you're 63 or 62!" And that's when we were orphaned, at 62 and 63. So it was a rich life in Cody, Wyoming.

It sounds like family has been important to you.

Alan Simpson: Oh yeah. They were the anchor. My brother Pete, to this day, is the closest friend I have, other than Ann, my wonderful companion of 44 years.

Some young person came up last night and said, "I heard you say something about you had to have a belief in a higher being, or you said God, didn't you?" "No," I said, "No, I said a higher being." "Well," she said, "I don't have a faith in any kind of higher being, so I'm a little offended by that." "Well," I said, "then you got a hell of a rough life ahead of you, because you're going to find that at some time -- and you can't miss this -- but you will find a time when you don't know where to turn. And then you find there's only one place to turn when you don't know where to turn, and that's some higher being. It might be the Great Eel, it might be a green jade thing. Whatever it is, it's something that's outside of you that's bigger than you are." I said, "It might be even a tree or a mountain." Well that got her. So I said, "If you don't have any of those things in your life, you're among the dead unkilled." She kind of staggered off. I thought I'd ruined her sight. But what the hell, you have to. You don't make it in life unless you have some faith, some belief in something outside of yourself which is bigger than you are. And a good place is right here. You could look out and see the Tetons and say, "I don't have any religion. I'm everything anti-everything, but that thing out there, I think, is bigger than I am and will be here longer than I will." So, those are things that you sort out. In Wyoming it's easy to do. You get up in the morning and you look a hundred miles, and you can see forever. So those are things that you grow up with. That's the vista of -- it clears your mind out here.

Your family were pioneers in Montana. Your father wasn't just a lawyer, he was a governor and a senator. Were there high expectations for you?

Alan Simpson: Oddly enough, it never put the heat on me for that.

I wanted to be a lawyer since I was five years old. I saw a man that loved his work. My dad, his bitter disappointment was that he was -- he'd been in the Army in the First World War, but not overseas -- and then the second war came, and he was 44, and he tried desperately to get in again, and they wouldn't let him. He said, "Look, I'll come in as JAG, or captain in the reserves, but I want to serve." He was a very patriotic man. Born in Jackson, Wyoming in 1897. And I saw that disappointment. Then my first cousin was killed in Wake Island and the old man cried. I hadn't seen that -- at ten years old -- much. So he was a man of great soul, and earthy. He loved limericks and poems, and the doggerel and stuff that was just a riot. But I just wanted to get a law degree, and I went to university, and I didn't do well at all in the first year. I finally went to the dean, and I said, "Look, maybe you're trying to knock me off, but I'm going to get a law degree if I have to go to Panhandle A&M." "Oh," he said, "You can't talk to me like that." I said, "Well, I am talking to you like that. I study with these guys; they get As, I get Cs. I'm tired of it. Just because my old man's on the board of trustees of the university, you're screwing me. That's what you're doing." Well, that didn't go over too well. But I got the law degree and then I ran for the legislature. Practiced law for five years. And I thought, "Well, here we go." I worked very hard. Nothing came easy to me in academics. I was not brilliant. I am not a brilliant man, although I have been inoculated against BS, and it has served me well. It is a blessing of common sense that I have been given, and a brightness.

My brother, who just kind of had a tougher time sorting it out, he went to Stanford Law School. He was admitted. He didn't like that at all. And he did that for Pop. But I never saw Pop push him. And of course, he's a guitar player, he's a marvelous singer. He's a member of the Screen Actors Guild, and he went to Stanford, and he played at the Hungry I. He said, "This is a wonderful school. You only take one final at the end of the year." Well, when he took it, they took him. And old Pete said, "Yeah, that was a great year, though." So then he went on to his first love. He went to Oregon University and took a degree in Western American history, and a doctorate in Western American History. He's a historian. He's a storyteller. He's magnificent. So the two of us ended up doing what we wanted to do, and now they want us to come to the University of Wyoming, our alma mater, and teach a course on the history and politics of Wyoming. Our great-grandfather, Finn Burnett, came here with the Connor expedition and was a peddler of booze and tobacco and boots at Fort Phil Kearney. He was a settler. Wonderful man from all I know. He died when I was two. And when my mom's dad came here, he was an immigrant from Holland and started a little coal-mining town called Kooi, and you still see the leftovers. That's right outside of Sheridan. Ann's grandfather came here and brought the first ring-necked pheasants, brought them to Shell, Wyoming. So it's a young state, and so we're going to do that, that'll be fun. And we'll have little field trips and drag them all around Wyoming and show them where all the relatives lived and hid.

They worked with the Indians. My great-grandfather was the boss farmer for Chief Washakie on the Indian reservation, the Shoshone reservation, and started the first Masonic lodge in South Pass City. It's a rich heritage, and a rich state of wonderful people. Ornery, articulate, thoughtful, opinionated people. I think we're the eighth or ninth state in the union with more people with a twelfth grade education or above. The cowboys? The teachers came out here on the summer vacations, married the cowboys and raised a strain of people that are very ornery, and articulate, and pesky, and fun. They do like to have fun.

Are you the oldest brother?

Alan Simpson: No, my brother's 13 months older than I.

Was there any sibling rivalry?

Alan Simpson: No, we had our fight. Any brothers are going to have a fight, and boy, we had one. He pounded me up. He still talks about it. Strange, here we are, 66 and 67. He'll say, "God, Al, I didn't mean to. I still can feel it." I said, "Yeah, well I can still feel it, too." Boy, the slug and the blood, and then we never touched each other again, because it hurt both of us. I had two sons. When they were about 19, 17, they had a fight one night. Just beat the hell out of each other. They never did it again, and they practice law together. They're partners in the law practice in Cody, Wyoming, where 100 years of Simpsons have practiced law. Pete has a richer sense of humor than I do. He's the most magnificent humorist, and a very talented actor. He and his wife -- she was a dancer -- they do plays, and they just finished The Gin Game, which is a very powerful play. Irma La Douce, John Brown's Body, Emily Dickinson, the whole works. Very talented, both of them. They're fun.

Who were your role models when you were growing up?

Alan Simpson: My father. People who were in Cody, Wyoming, who you would never have heard of. People who played city baseball, Snooks McDonald. Role models you had as a kid in Cody were people who said hello to you when they were 40 years old and treated you like a decent person. I never forgot any of those people who, when you were a kid -- a snot-nosed, ornery, sloppy, hell-raising kid -- would come up to you, put their hand on your head and say, "How are you doing, Al? What's up in your life?" You know, pay attention to you. That's a community. There were more than several of those kind of people. Silver-haired first grade teacher, I never forgot her. I didn't have to go out into the cosmos to find them. Found them right in Cody, Wyoming. I think most people really find them in the smaller towns, or Red Hook in Brooklyn, wherever you grow up. Teachers, parents. And then we all had the baseball and the football players. Those weren't really role models, but you had their pictures all over the wall.

Were there any books that were important to you when you were growing up?

Alan Simpson: Well, that's an interesting thing. Did you ever stop to think how many people you ask the question, "Was there ever a good book or a good movie that changed your life?" Without exception, they'll say yes. Then I always say, "Well, what do you think this other crap is doing on the other side of the spectrum? What do you think this crap where somebody's slicing the breast off this gal, or bending her over a car hood or just a continual series of expletives and four-letter words and bullshit, is doing on the other side?" Unless you don't believe that a good book can change your life, then what the hell do you think a bad one can do? Or if a great movie can change your life, how about one of those twisted ones? I mean just twisted, twisted stuff. Very interesting when you throw that back to people. I don't think they just turn it off. I say, "Forget it, pal. You plant those seeds..." Let me tell you, that's all I needed at my age. I was on federal probation. I was always hell-raising. That's all I needed, to come home and watch three hours of the horniest people in America on every soap opera in America. What do we think is happening? That's my personal view. And I'm not really a gong ringer or a ten-percenter.

I read -- I loved the series -- anything illustrated by N.C. Wyeth. You know, the Scribner's books, King Arthur, or the Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. Treasure Island, you know, Blind Pew and the Black Hand, I mean, that was big time stuff. I loved those books. Billy Whiskers. I was in the Kennedy Library and it showed the books of John Kennedy, and here's Billy Whiskers. I said, "Billy Whiskers?" I said, "My brother and I read every one of those." And the Oz books, the real Oz books -- the Gump and the Flying Couch. Oh hell, it was imagination, curiosity. I would hate to think -- and I don't think it's true -- that kids are growing up without imagination and curiosity. But I can see how imagination could be robbed from them, from the crap that comes into them electronically. It must just kind of get to be a sodden mass, where you can't sort it out. Virtual reality? What kind of a statement is that? Virtual war, virtual whatever -- stupefying. But, that's for that generation to sort it out.

In Cody, you grew up with some real American heroes.

Alan Simpson: I didn't grow up with them, but you can imagine living in the hometown of Buffalo Bill Cody, who laid out the town. Who brought the railroad to the town because of his friendship with Teddy Roosevelt. Who then got Roosevelt to establish the first national park, Yellowstone National Park, 1872. He was part of that. More the railroad than Buffalo Bill. First dam in 1915. First reclamation project in the United States, the Buffalo Bill Dam, still there, providing water from Cody to Montana. First national forest, Shoshone National Forest. First ranger station, Wapiti Ranger Station. And who did that? Buffalo Bill Cody, because of his relationship with Teddy Roosevelt and Owen Wister and Frederick Remington, they started our town. George T. Beck, a gentleman from Virginia, whose parents were with the first signers of the Constitution. Those are people who came West, and they started this town, 100 years ago, in '96. That's where I grew up. So Buffalo Bill's statue is out there -- heroic size, by Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney. And Gertrude Vanderbilt Whitney came back to town and bought 40 acres, said, "Here." Gave it to us for a museum. So we built a museum in '59. And Sonny Whitney gave us 500 grand, and we added another wing in '69, another wing in '79. And it's one of the most amazing art complexes, about 250 million bucks worth of Frederick Remington, Charlie Russell, Albert Bierstadt, Robert Jacob Miller, George Catlin, Worthington Whittredge, Gifford. You name it. Wyeth, amazing. Two hundred fifty thousand people a year come see it in Cody, Wyoming. So it's an amazing community. It consists of a lot of amazing people. People come there to retire -- been successful. Bob Woodruff of Coca Cola, E. B. Robertson. Good Lord, you could go on and on, people who succeeded and came to this unique community.

You said you were a hell-raiser, but you weren't always a problem kid, were you?

Alan Simpson: No, indeed I was.

Whenever something happened, it seemed the cop car came to my house. And my mother was usually in shock, and the old man would just shake his head. And it was not very funny. That was only the second time I had seen the old man cry, when we shot up a bunch of mailboxes and we were on federal probation for two years. I had a parole officer. Not very pleasant. The old man, you know, the eternal parental lament, which is, "Where did we fail? You grew up, we love you. What the hell are you doing?" And my answer was, "I haven't the slightest..." I didn't answer. You know, you just did it. And then the teachers would say, "Oh Alan, what have you done?" And then they'd call me in and you'd sit there, and they were always the same, you know, and "I hope you'll never do this again." And I'd say, "I never will. Promise." And they'd say, "Oh, wonderful!" Then I'd go do it again. God, I loved it! It was terrible, diabolical. But that was me. That was the Al Simpson of 18, and that's not the Al Simpson of 24 or 40 or 50.

That's the trouble with the country today. Score keepers, the media's a very critical part of this -- and it's intrusive -- that who you are at 18 should be of interest to someone when you're 60. The media loves this, and I begin to ask the media -- I always throw it back to them -- I say, "What the hell did you do when you were 18, while you're giving me this moral line of questions? What the hell did you do when you were 24? You ever screw up your life? Ever screwed up another life? Or you got dysfunctional kids? How's your first marriage? Or is this your fifth? Is this your trophy wife? What do I have to listen to from you?" I love to do that. And that's what's going to happen in America from now on. They aren't going to allow this, one segment of society to just sit around and ask intrusive questions which mean nothing, or try to destroy a person who's 50 because of something they did when they were 18, that they just found out about. "You smoked pot and we saw your hair hanging clear to your navel!" Yeah, I did that, but I didn't do that. But I did other things which were not good.

How did you feel after you shot up the mailboxes and were put on probation? Was that the worst thing you did?

Alan Simpson: Being on federal probation was not pleasant. But it was also kind of a badge of, you know? You were kind of a devil. You could gather a couple of bands of rebels with you.

I got in a fistfight with a cop down in Laramie and I ended up in the clink one night. That one was painful, because the president of the university called me and he said, "You were going to be awarded the -- one of the outstanding..." I don't know what the award was -- "...outstanding Who's Who in American Colleges and Universities, but you will not receive that because of your activity." And I said, "Well, that's all right." But boy, I thought, "God, I did that to myself." Nobody did that. It's called creeping maturity. So that was a painful one. When you know that whatever you're doing, you can't blame on your mother, or your father or your teacher, or the government. And now we have this culture of complaint, and how to escape any kind of responsibility by saying, "Well, my father took my fishing reel away from me and hit me in the mouth with it when I was six. And I killed my brother." Well have another drink, you idiot! A lot of that shuffling off of responsibility, and that's not a good thing.

So that was tough. Those were the worst things.

What changed things for you? When did you figure out what you wanted to do with your life?

Alan Simpson: I went to Cranbrook, that was an eye opener. There was the art of Carl Milles all over the place, and the architecture of Saarinen and I thought, "What is this stuff?" And I'd begun to take an interest in Shakespeare, because it was so powerful. Macbeth and Hamlet, Othello -- no wonder it's been around for 400-plus years, because it's so powerful. It's about greed and lust and hate, jealousy and murder, and vanity and love. So I suppose that Cranbrook was a settling, and then playing football at the university, when I really wasn't that good, but I just reached down, got something deep out of there and I said, "I'm going to make this team." And I did. Basketball was just fun. I was drinking beer and was the tenth guy on the squad. Putting them all to bed at night, and then going drinking beer from Boise, Idaho to Oklahoma City, to Corvallis, Oregon. And I enjoyed that, in a way. But football, I made the first string on defense, and was elected outstanding lineman in a game at Rice Stadium against Houston, and came home and quit. Went to law school. Said, "I proved that, I've done that." And that was really something, because I wasn't physically able to do that. But I had something down inside -- "I'm going to do that." And I did. And those are things -- you don't where it comes from, but it came.

Was there a defining moment?

Alan Simpson: I've never had one of those things where they say, "Oh, Lord! I woke up one morning, this great light came and fairies danced and the earth cracked and the veil of the heavens was rent asunder." I was in love. I married a woman who's a very attractive woman, and that was the defining moment. I don't remember any cataclysmic activity, but I remember I had the hots for her and still do. Our relationship is formed on the firm bedrock of eternal lust. No, it is wonderful to have people you love and love them in many ways. I always kissed my old man goodnight. I kissed my sons. I kissed my daughter. I hug them. Because if I couldn't do that, you could just have a picture of them over on the mantel and burn incense while they were alive and never have intimacy. Intimacy is a lot different than sex. What people lack in the world is intimacy. Just hold me. Just snuggle up and hold me, don't do anything right now. But no, people say, "I don't want to be touched." Or "I'm going to lose something if I do that." And that's unfortunate.

There are people who used to love people and possess things. Now we love things and try to possess people. Jealousy. I tell them to go watch Othello one more time, or read it. The wonder of it all is feelings, and responding to your feelings of love, and physical contact. But when you get into that, they say, "Oh no, wait! Where is this leading?" and I'm not leading it anywhere. I'm just saying it's a better way to live than being one of the dead unkilled, or living in a sterile kind of relationship. So whether I see Norm Mineta, and hug him and kiss him and we probably get teary -- or my sons, or my daughter, or my wife, or my brother -- it's a hell of a lot better way to live than all closed down with all the fence and the fissures all closed.

A lot of people do that in life. They're often the people that are the most shy, or the people who are the most obnoxious, because they don't want to be hurt again. They say, "I'm going to hurt you first." So they look aloof, and they look arrogant. They're not. They're wonderful and it just takes a little while to open that up. That's an interesting part of it all for me. They let me do things. They "gave me my head," that's the horse term. I was in the U.S. Senate and they let me do immigration, when it didn't make any sense out here. They let me do other stuff. They gave me my head. They put the rein loose on my neck and I had a wonderful adventure. They were great. But I was always accessible to them.

At some point you made a decision for public service and public office. How'd that come about?

Alan Simpson: Pop. I watched him as governor. Watched my mother as the first lady of Wyoming. She wasn't the first lady, she was the ultimate lady. She was raised in Chicago by this coal miner father who made a ton of money, and she had servants. She was just grand. She had the Governor's Mansion, beautiful. And a beautiful home, and she knew taste, and she played the piano and the mandolin and the organ. But she'd never been to college. That always -- but who cared? God, she was something else. So I watched that. Then they went to Washington and it never changed them at all. And I thought, "Well, heaven's sakes, you can do that and not change." So Ann and I just figured, let's do it. And Ann said, "What do we do if we lose?" And I said, "I don't know. Something else." I practiced law for 18 years. I was getting tired of that. I did this for 18 years. And I just didn't want to do it anymore, and now here I am, speaking all over the U.S., and the Director of the Institute of Politics at Harvard, and teaching 92 graduate students a course. Who would believe it? Certainly not my old professor. I think it would be phantasmagoria. So there I am, and it's great fun.

Whether you were the city attorney in Cody, or serving in the state legislature, or as a senator in Washington, what was motivating you? What did you want to do?

Alan Simpson: I loved the adulation that goes with that.

I thought if I could end up being a senator without having to run for it, that might be a nice thing to go to the grave with. But you have to run for it. You can't end up and say, "Well, that was Senator Simpson. He never ran but we call him senator." And it didn't matter what they called me. I've been called everything. But the motivation was I got into the state legislature and I learned that if I worked hard, did my research, that I could actually create a bill. I had no staff, and I wasn't back in the law practice, I was in Cheyenne. So I rewrote the podiatry laws of the State of Wyoming because some gal said, "I can't even get treated by a podiatrist." So I wrote, rewrote, that took some research. I rewrote the implied consent law, rewrote land use planning. It was called "the grand commie plot!"

Any time that somebody would come up to me and say, "I don't think that you want to touch this issue because it will destroy you politically," I'd say "Where is it?" and then I'd get into it, and it happened in the U.S. Congress, the U.S. Senate. Anything connected with emotion, fear, guilt or racism, I wanted to play in. So I played in immigration, Clean Air Act, veterans' issues, judicial nominations. I've been through it all. And high-level nuclear waste. And it was wonderful, because I would say, "I don't want to hear you babble. I don't want to hear the BS. Everybody's entitled to their own opinion, but nobody's entitled to their own facts. And then you run out of facts and you go to emotion, fear, guilt or racism. But you ain't taking me with you, and if you want to stay and debate, I'm going to whip your ass." Which I did on more than one occasion, and got mine whipped, too.

I loved legislating. So you have to pick what you like. I couldn't be a governor, couldn't be a president. Wouldn't be worth a whit. I'm not an administrator. I loved the hearings. I didn't love them, but I mean you learn from the hearings. And I did the floor management of big bills and I worked with guys on the other side of the aisle who didn't have my philosophy at all. Been there two years and my three ranking members are Ted Kennedy, Al Cranston and Gary Hart. I went to them, I said, "Look, you're all three running for president. I'm not going to hinder your quest, but don't you use this subcommittee for your quest." We made that, and the unfortunate thing in Washington now is people think the word "compromise" means wimp, that you were a wimp. And that's sick. Because if you don't learn how to compromise an issue without compromising yourself, you can't legislate. It won't happen.

What legislation are you proudest of? What means the most to you?

Alan Simpson: The immigration bill. I used to try to pretend it wasn't, but it happened again two nights ago in L.A. I'm in this restaurant. This waiter is all over me, he's obsequious, not a nice guy. And I'm alone. Just eating off of one of these people who've sent me off to speak. And it was fun, just being alone. This guy came up, nice guy. He said, "Simpson, I'm legal. I'm a citizen of the United States because of you. I was one of the guys that was legalized under your bill."

There were 2.9 million human beings who were brought out of the dark, who were living in an illegal society -- they were living illegally in a legal society, and nobody knew they were illegal. They were working in jobs. Some of them were businessmen. So when we put together the Simpson-Rodino, Simpson-Mazzoli bill, we said, "Anyone here before the date -- we set the date -- January 1st, 1982, is hereby given amnesty, and can remain in the United States. Come forward, get temporary papers. Then temporary resident, then permanent resident." And about once a month one of those 2.9 million people from somewhere come up to me in a cab and they say, "Hey, I'm here. Here I am. And you did that. " And I saw at Harvard the other day, beautiful couple, boy and a girl, different race, and this young man said, "My two parents were legalized under your bill." And she said, "My two parents were legalized under your bill, and we're just here to thank you." And they're both Harvard students. I said, "God, I've taken a lot of crap in life, but every time I get one of those, you know, that's it." So that is truly the most gratifying. And it happens quite often. Cab drivers jump out to say, "Hey Simpson, is that you?" I say, "Yeah." "Well, I was living the life of Reilly, except I wasn't legal, and now, since then..." and then they tell you what they're doing.

That was the best one. The Clean Air Act works. Allowance trading, we've cleaned up a lot of America. So those two, and I was right in the middle of those, with both size-15 feet.

What do you say to a young man or woman who comes up to you and asks, "What do I have to do to be successful in politics? To make a difference?"

Alan Simpson: You have to love people, genuinely so. To the point where your poor spouse and your children are saying, "Look, you spent more time with that guy in the airport than you spent with your daughter." You have to watch that, as you're doing it -- there's a very sensitive balance -- which we did, because I never went to the U.S. Senate until the two boys were 19 and 21, and Susie was 15. So we made that conscious choice, not to screw them up too bad by dragging them to Washington. Susie was great, she was a triumph. But I tell them, "Look, go get successful in something else."

Don't just sit and say, "I want to be governor someday," or "I want to be senator, and I know I will, because it's an obsession." I said, "Any time you look obsessed you're going to lose." Show me a hundred-percenter on anything and I'll show you a guy I want to stay away from. It doesn't matter where the issue is. So I tell them, "Look, if you want to be in journalism, or architecture, or labor, do something -- or electrician -- do that. And let people see that you are good at that, or a success at that." And then they will say, "Well now, he wants to go to the legislature, be on the city council or the school board. Well, why don't we put him on there? I mean, he's doing all right in what he's done there." And that's how it works. But I said, "Don't just wander around saying 'I want to be governor,' because you won't ever get there." I can assure you, you won't get there. People will get away from you. They'll think you're nuts. They'll think you're Napoleon, waiting to be crowned. So that's what I tell them. Go do something, whatever it is, do that successfully. Or do it the best you can. Whether it's successful or not isn't the issue. Do it the best you can, and they'll spot that. Then they'll elect you. These people say, "Well, I ran for something, but nobody would help me." Well, there's probably a reason. Probably they weren't a damn, or they didn't stimulate anybody. Or "I couldn't raise any money." Well, why not? Probably because who wanted to lay money on them? So some guys got it and some guys don't. But do something first and then let them grace you with a very intimate type of a thing. They're voting! That's your name on the ballot, and they're either rejecting you or accepting you. Pretty intimate type of thing. But it's very gratifying.

In this era, when it costs so much money to be a candidate, where you are subjected to so much public scrutiny, such invasion of privacy, how do you get good people to commit to public service? How do you get good people to run for public office?

Alan Simpson: They're right downstairs. There are how many down there? Three hundred young people from all over the United States, and I'll bet 50 of them have come up to me in the last day saying, "I'm going to run for public office." I say great. They all know one thing now, though. They know that their life is going to be carefully examined. But when you're 18, and you've done what they've done, I think that's tremendous. They're the best and the brightest in this country, and there can't be too many guys in there who have shot mailboxes and are on federal probation! So what a joy. They know they're going to have to be on their best behavior. They'll probably miss a little of life in that process, but it will help them. At the Kennedy School, the Institute of Politics, our job is to try to inspire young people to public life. How do you do that? Show them other people who do it. Bring Jim Sasser, who now is the ambassador to China. Bring in Sam Nunn. Bring Bill Bradley. Bring Bill Cohen. Nancy Kassebaum. People who've done it. Succeeded.

It's like anything. It's like journalists are offended that they get tarred with the jerks in their profession. And politicians are offended that we get tarred with the jerks in my profession. And some of the discussion down here on, who is this person that's tainted this whole profession? Well, those are the people that get all the notoriety. The rest of them just slog along and get tarred with it. So you know, I think it's great. They do think the present situation in Washington, however you wish to describe that, is troubling. Whatever it is. And they have their views, just like everybody in America. And they say them just as clearly as everybody in America. You know, "Tripp is a fink... Starr is a fink... the President's a fink... Hillary's a fink... Lewinsky's a fink... Ginsburg is a fink..." They all -- five percent of them all have that view -- but they sort it out pretty well. But nobody has missed the fink route. They haven't missed anyone. No one is off the hook. And I tell them that humor is the universal solvent against the abrasive elements of life, and if they have that they can accomplish anything. It opens doors and then you drive a truck through the door. Humor, just humor, real humor, not the fake kind, not the roast kind where you're slicing somebody up. Not the talk show kind of crap where you're just making fun of everybody.

Learn to forgive yourself, time after time after time, because you'll need to do that. Especially in politics, not be hard on yourself, and just -- and I never felt I was, you know, statesman or whatever. But I was honored to be the assistant majority leader. Honored to be Bob Dole's assistant for 10 years. What an honor. What a man. That the American people never got to know who he was. Well, that was a shame. They -- you know -- if he'd just been -- he was who he was, but the handlers, you know, were giving instructions. That's a devastating thing. But Bob Dole is one of the classiest men I ever met in my life. I'd have gone, you know, in a military term, I'd have gone over the hill with him in a minute. And so is Elizabeth. And so is George Bush. I would go over the hill for him in an instant. And Barbara Bush. And that's not like me to say that. I'm not a gung ho guy. But these are decent people, who the American people never knew, and that's their tragedy.

What was the toughest part, for you, being in the U.S. Senate?

Alan Simpson: Loyalty.

If they put a word on your tombstone, it will be just L, for loyalty. It will get you in a lot of trouble. But I did that, and I never regretted it. Loyalty to Ronald Reagan. Loyalty to an issue. When others are saying, "Oh, yeah, I'll help you," and then it comes time for a vote and they're not there. Loyalty on the issue of Robert Bork who -- whether you like him or not -- that was the one that galled me and it isn't the Thomas hearings that got to me. You know, I can read and write. But Bork, who'd been on the bench for five and a half years and done 104 opinions, and none of them ever reversed! And six of his dissents became majority opinions of the United States Supreme Court! And before my eyes, they turned him into a racist, an invader of the bedroom, sterilizer of women, poll-taxer, gargoyle! I couldn't believe that. I never will believe it again. I mean, Yale professor, wanted to withdraw his name before the vote. I said, "I tell you..." What would you do? I said I wouldn't take my name. I'd make them vote, and at least 38 people will get up and tell what a remarkable person you are, from both sides of the aisle. Lloyd Bentsen and others, both sides of the aisle. Say, "This is Robert Bork. What have they done?" I said, "At least your grandchildren can read that instead of this... whatever happened to you."

They used that textbook then. The People Rising, by Michael Pertschuk, that's the textbook now on how to destroy a nominee. Now, they've had their own destroyed. The Thomas hearing was a tough one for me because I practiced law, and she never charged him with sexual harassment. I said, "Wait a minute. What the hell is this about?" She wants us to be "aware of his behavior." Well, what was his behavior? They both watched porn movies on Saturday mornings at Yale University and then talked about them. I said, "Okay, but that's not sexual harassment." You can get in a lot of trouble doing that. Packwood was not charged with sexual harassment, but apparently he met the present test, which is one grope, one grab and if they say no... What a sick situation. But the Thomas hearings raised sexual harassment to a very remarkable point. Now that point has been diminished. I got hammered around pretty good in there, but as I say, I practiced law and when you practice law you use words. And neither Packwood nor Clarence Thomas were ever charged with sexual harassment. So that will get you in a lot of trouble.

How do you handle being hammered? How do you handle criticism?

Alan Simpson: You get with your loved ones, is what you do. Ann was there, but Ann said to me, "I got a great idea for you, with what's happening with you with the media. Why don't you just shut up?" And I said, "I've never heard you use those words with me in all 30 (then) years of our marriage." She said, "Yeah, but you can't win, so why don't you just shut up?" Well, I said, "I'm going to shut up. These bastards, they distort what you do, and then you go back and remember what you've read and what you've learned and the things that were an inspiration to you, that you tacked on the wall of the locker. Like Kipling's poem "If." Great phrase. "If you can stand to see the truth you've spoken twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools..." I live by that one.

After going through things that I relate in that book I wrote -- and I was asked to write that book about the media, it's not a bitter book -- but I went underground for about six weeks. I just didn't go to things. I wasn't sucking my thumb in my room at night under the bed, but during that time, Pamela Harriman called me. She was having a party. She said, "Al, I want you and Ann to come to this party." I said, "Pamela, I am underground right now." She said, "I know you are, and that's why I want you to come to this party. It will be partly for you." Now, think of this, this was the doyenne of the Democratic Party, but she was a wonderful, magnificent woman. And she wanted to do that. And I said, "I won't. I can't. I'm not ready." "Well," she said, "I want you to know that I'm here and I care about you." Kay Graham, who I really, really love, and -- forget the philosophy, forget all that other stuff -- she said, "What in the hell are you doing now?" "God," she said, "Ann, will you come over here and train him up." She said, "I can't do anything with him." She said, "Well now, you're just going to lose all your respect you had. Why don't you just quit? Why do you have to listen to that?"

Things would appear in the paper and I thought, "Who was there?" There wasn't anybody there, unless they're using a 5,000-power telescope on me. One day out in front of the White House, no one was there, some guy rushes up and he's got a sign and he says, "You put a killer on the court! A baby killer!" I said, "Who?" If I were from Pennsylvania... you wouldn't even talk to guys like that in New York, but I said, "Who are you talking about?" He said, "Clarence Thomas." I said, "Good Lord, you must be goofy." "Well," he said, "I curse you in the name of Jesus Christ." And I said, "Well boy, what a name to use to curse somebody." And I just walked away. Next day in The Washington Post it says, "Simpson, after picking on Anita Hill, and picking on Betty Friedan, is now picking on people out in front of the White House. He gave some guy the bird and told him to stuff it and jumped in his chauffeured limousine and drove away." I thought, boy, who are these bastards? So you get a thick skin and it grows back double-strength after it gets ripped off. Rip it off and somehow there's a meticulous second skin that grows, and it grows tougher than the next one. Then you get a rose in the mail from your daughter saying, "We love you," or your son writes or something, and those things all fall into perspective.

What would we do? Corny as hell, but George Bush had it right. What would we do without family and friends? When you consider your friends, among those friends were people like Pamela Harriman -- and I wasn't in the social scene with her -- this was friendship. Her husband and my father were governors together. Kay Graham, been in her house many times, that was friendship. I couldn't do anything for Kay Graham, but I enjoyed those people. Vernon Jordan wrote me and said, "I don't know what you're doing in this Thomas hearing, Simpson. Whatever it is, I don't like it, but I don't want to see you get hurt."

Can you be successful in public life and hang onto your principles?

Alan Simpson: Sure, unless whatever you were in you'd be selling out. It isn't just politics where you sell out. You could be in business, or selling cows, and you could be a sell-out. It isn't the U.S. Senate that causes a person to sell out, or go into corruption. If that's your bent, you can do it anywhere you are. Or if you're a stressful person, how do you get through that all? You're going to be stressed milking cows. So we laughed. All of us who got out said, "None of us have ever been indicted." There was no reason why any of us would have been, because you just do it. You do it when you're all by yourself at three in the afternoon on a Sunday, picking zits in front of the mirror and you say, "You're a pretty good egg."

Were there ever any self-doubts?

Alan Simpson: Oh sure. Self-pity, all those things go with it. All humans have that.

The most corrupt thing in the world is self-pity. I had plenty of that at one time. Ulcers, gas, heartburn, BO, I've done all that, and so will every human being. Your only hope is that you get it out of your way before you're 60. Because when you're 60 or 70, it's tough then to beat it back. But there isn't a soul within the range of my voice that isn't going to go through some tumultuous and dramatic thing in their life where they will be filled with self-pity, thoughts of self-destruction, depression, all the rest. And if anybody out there says that ain't the way it is, send me your name and address on a box top.

Is there anything you didn't accomplish in your career that you really wish you had been able to do?

Alan Simpson: No, because now I'm doing things I never dreamed I'd ever accomplish. So whatever I didn't accomplish before means nothing. Here I am doing this thing all over the country, beating up on the AARP. The American Association of Retired Persons, 33 million Americans bound together by a common love of airline discounts. I love what I call them. God, it's fun! And they say, "Why do you feel that way?" I said, "Well, get in the game. You could be such a force for good and the helpless. Correct the Social Security system and Medicaid, and you greedy -- how can you do this to your grandchildren?" So I have that spirited interest, and it's not bitterness, it's just reality.

What are the biggest challenges you see lying ahead for America?

Alan Simpson: First of all, it's dealing with the extremists on both sides of every issue.

I happen to be pro-choice on abortion. I've never beat the drums, given speeches about it. Never served with anybody in all my 18 years of representing this magnificent, wonderful Wyoming -- Democrat and Republican, Malcolm Wallop, Dick Cheney, Ed Herschler, Mike Sullivan, Democrats as governor, Barbara Cubin, Craig Thomas -- not one of them held my view. And we never talked about that issue for 15 seconds. The reason we didn't is because we respected each other. If we don't resolve that -- this is purely Republican -- we will never elect another Republican president. I campaigned for George Bush and Bob Dole, and unless we can resolve that, we will never win. And you do it by one sentence. You say, "Abortion is a deeply intimate and personal decision. And out of respect for each other, and to avoid destruction of our party, it will not be part of the platform." That's it. If you can't do that, then keep fighting, gang, and never elect -- whether it's your George Bush, or your Steve Forbes, or your Lamar Alexander -- forget it, you won't ever get another one. They're all gone. They're history.

So then you deal with the extremists. I've been called a baby killer, that is not a pleasant experience. Versus the other side, where I see somebody walking down the street and they say, "That's my belly. I'll put anything in there I want and do anything I want with it." Wonderful. How wonderful that is! Gun control? Hell, in my state house, steady you hold your rifle. And you have to deal with the grandmothers who said, "If my child ever touched a cap pistol, I'd just never talk to the little booger again," versus some guy who wants to put a 105 howitzer on the back of his pickup and blow up everything a quarter of a mile on both sides of the road. Nuclear waste? The extremists: "Hell no, we won't glow!" versus "Nobody's ever been killed."

There are 108 nuclear power plants, whether you and I like it or not, and all of the spent fuel is sitting under 60 feet of demineralized water right next to 43,000 metric tons, and there ain't a political worth their salt that isn't standing on their hind legs saying, "Don't worry. We're not going to bring it down this highway. We're not going to take it here, we're going to take it there." And young people have to get up in front of those guys and say, "Well what the hell are you going to do with it?" Because if the water disappeared from it, it would become recritical in 10 to 14 days. It doesn't mean it's going to blow up, it means it becomes radioactive and it goes to the atmosphere. Now what are we doing about it? Nothing. Then we have people running around talking about methane gas and cows, how that's going to destroy the universe. How many people will belch at one time, or flatulence at one time, to destroy the -- and then how many propellants and shaving cream cans.

What will destroy the earth is the population of the earth. But nobody talks about that. Give Al Gore credit, he was talking about it and then they clammed him, because then you're into ethnicity and religion and other things. But let me tell you, the population of the earth is the most critical thing that this world has to deal with, and we're not dealing with it at all. We're still talking about acid rain. Well that's great, I'll talk about all those things and I'll help. But I'd rather talk about fertility rates, and contraception, and birth control. That's what I'd rather be talking about, because that's how it's going to get saved. So those are the things that are out there, and those things are not being dealt with. These young people are going to have to step into the breach. To me, those are real big things. The other stuff is a sparrow belch in the middle of a typhoon.

What do you think are the most important documents of this century?

Alan Simpson: Jefferson did the best one, the Declaration of Independence. He got damn mad that they picked on his words after he finished that first draft, and it irritated him. He wrote, on the back of one of the originals, words which mean he was tired of them. That's an amazing document, the Declaration of Independence. The Constitution, a living document. It's corny, but you can go see them. I mean go to Washington and stand right next to them. And the Bill of Rights, and this wonderful boxing match we have with the First Amendment, and the boxing match we have with the Fifth Amendment in these times. There's nothing corny to say that there aren't any documents that have the power of those. And the Federalist Papers and Thomas Paine. It's kind of fun living around Boston, because there's where it was: the State House, and Faneuil Hall, and "...the rude bridge that arched the flood... Where once the embattled farmers stood, and fired the shot heard 'round the world." It's a great country. You don't have to even give a talk on that. All you have to know is it must be great, because everybody in the world is trying to get here.

How would you define the American Dream?

Alan Simpson: Well, the young people, and the old people, and the middle-aged people who are here with the Academy of Achievement. Colin Powell, a CCNY grad, ROTC, that's kind of the American Dream -- speaking all over the United States -- superb man, and Alma, a superb woman. George Tenet, who went to public school and his old man came over from Greece, and his mother -- he worked as a cook and the mother was the baker. And George Tenet's head of the CIA. Guys who didn't have a pot or a window to throw it out, these guys who never went to school. Michael Dell took one year of college and now it's Dell Computer. These are the stories that these young people are listening to, that's the American Dream. It isn't just about money, although they all made money, but they're all giving it away. They all have a foundation, they're trying to give it back. The American Dream? This is the only country where you can do that, and make a wad, which may be crude to some people, but if you make a pile, you don't have to go down the street with 15 bodyguards. In any other country, when you make a wad, you better take some boys and girls with you when you're walking around, because there's envy and jealousy, and a lot of feeling about people that do that in the rest of the world, unless you live in a kingdom. I suppose the American Dream shouldn't be about capitalism, but it is. And yet, you have artists there and creative people, and musicians, and poets, and this is what these young people are seeing -- poets and dreamers and people who follow a muse that comes to them. Pretty good stuff. That's the American Dream. For a kid from Cody, Wyoming who now is the Director of the Institute of Politics at Harvard, at the Kennedy School of Government and teaching a class to 92 graduate students... Come on! That's it. And even speaking around the country for money. Ann and I are very blessed.

The American Dream is still there, and don't let them equate it with greed. Because if you stop to think about it, I always say, "Don't forget what makes American great." They say, "What?" I say, "Greed." Now stop a minute and think what happened in the toughest times. Robber barons, child labor. Carnegies, Mellons, Rockefellers, but what did they do? When they got it, they realized, "Wait a minute. There is a social obligation here." Carnegie put a library in every country in America, a Carnegie library. Mellon took his money and put it into America, and the Rockefellers put their money into America. But in the early generations it was guilt about their accumulation that made them do that. Now you've got the new guys, and Gates is feeling the heat. Like, "What are you going to do with all that money? Why don't you get off your fanny?" So Turner set the tone for that. Turner's put up a billion bucks. For what? The U.N. or something. This is great. This is the new guys who have scored it up and now they're getting heat. These kids ask these guys, "Well, now you all made a ton of money, what are you doing with it?" "We're plowing it back in the business." I know, and what's that for? "That's for jobs." They hear that, but they want to see them do a little something charitably and socially, and they are. So the wheel goes around, and it's still the American Dream, and it's still about capitalism and freedom, and doing crazy things, and building goofy things and whatever. But you've got to be about half goofy, and it's fun to do that.

Is there any place in the world you haven't been that you'd like to go? Antarctica?

Alan Simpson: Hell, I'd go anywhere, but they always accuse me when I take my trips of taking too much with me. On the pack trips during the years, they'd say, "Why are you carrying this extra thing for this horse? It's too big and we're only going for a week." And then I'd unpack my little kit, and I'd have a little dry ice with some butter in there, and then I'd fry my fish that I'd just caught in fresh butter. All the rest of them were using some kind of plastic stuff. And they'd say, "What is he doing?" And I always had my toothbrush and so on. So I will go to Antarctica, if it's not slogging through the last 20 miles with my crane-like legs. I've flown in the F-15 fighter plane, I will go under the water, above the water. I haven't jumped from an aircraft, my daughter has. You name it, as long as I can move my stems, I'll go. I love the world. There's places I want to go back to: Florence, Paris. I love Paris. India! I've never been to India. I want to go there. I want to go back to some places, want to see some new places. And I'm gonna do that. Antarctica? Line them up in the alley, I'd try that. Kids should never forget the experience of joy. Joy is faith. The greatest thing you can do in life is live the moment you're in. Joy is a good way to do that. It won't always be there, but faith is simply living in the present, not way out there, not wanting to be 50. Not waiting for the train to stop, trying to see what's going on through the windows of the train while it's going to wherever its destination is. That's what kids hopefully will be looking at. The train trip is not boring, and nobody knows what the last stop looks like.

If you could pick one book for kids to read, what would it be?

Alan Simpson: One book? Good grief! Well, political? It wouldn't be a kid's book. When I was 30, I read Advise and Consent by Allen Drury. I loved it because it was about what I was in as a young legislator. One book for a kid to read? Well, you ought to be a real kid, but you can read it to your grandkids: The Wind in the Willows. It's about friendly little people who care about each other and take care of each other, even though they have to fight off all those evil stoats and weasels. But read it to your children with sound effects, and when Mr. Toad sees the yellow motor car you want to speak it in English and say, "Oh, there 'tis." It's about an erratic, crazy rascal, Mr. Toad, who they cared for, and they were going to help Toady. He was always messing up, and totally spoiled, but they gathered together out of love and friendship. It's a wonderful little story. But that's for kids. Charlotte's Web, you can go do that one one more time. But hopefully they read that and Dr. Seuss and all those things that are still very valid.

When they get into it a little more, get into Robert Service and "The Ballad of the Black Fox Skin" and "The Cremation of Sam Magee" and "The Shooting of Dan McGrew," "The Ballad of Blasphemous Bill," and essays, and Kipling and Longfellow poetry, it's all there. James Fenimore Cooper, still classics. But Shakespeare above all.

"Sleep that knits up the ravell'd sleeve of care,
The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course..."

That stuff, it's fantastic. It's in your head, and it doesn't ever go out of your head. But you've got to get it in your head first! Anyway, I'm off, to see the glassblower, Dale Chihuly, who does remarkable things.

Thank you for your time, Senator.