Sargent Shriver: Keeping It Gully

WWD keeps us up to date on America's semi-Royals, The Shrivers (Quickly: let's do the math on this one -- Spensors:Windsors:: Shrivers: Kennedy's):

"The Shriver clan � Eunice Kennedy Shriver and her husband Sargent 'Sarge' Shriver, Timothy, Bobby, Anthony and First Lady of California Maria, descended on Giorgio Armani�s Rodeo Drive boutique Thursday night for a party hosted by Details and Olympic gold medalist Carl Lewis to benefit Special Olympics, founded by Mrs. Kennedy Shriver in 1968. While the entire retinue wore neutral-hued Armani, it was Sarge who caused the biggest fashion frisson in an Old Guard navy blazer and buttercup yellow trousers paired not with the standard loafers, but black and gold Reebok trainers. 'Am I hip? I don�t know,' he growled, 'but have you ever seen an 89-year-old man do this?' he asked as he lifted his leg to a 45-degree angle, leaned over and bent his knee to better examine his shoes. 'Oh, he is the most fashionable one of us,' joked his wife. 'Don�t let him fool you.'

(The Corsair lifts his leg to a 90-degree angle, leans over and bends his knee to better lift a bottle of Cutty Sark)

Anyhoo: Sure, Sarge, Dick Cheney would pass out if he tried that: you are the healthiest Vice Presidential also-ran in history; but Sarge, you're not tha only old man with some serious athletic game: Jack Palance, 84, that gravelly-voiced creepy Silver Age star, a full three years your senior, does push ups in public.

You better recognize!

Frankly, though, my favorite Sargent Shriver story is told by Sam Stossel here in The Atlantic, April 9, 2004:

"A campaign-trail legend from 1972 places Sargent Shriver, the dashing Democratic candidate for the vice presidency and the former director of the Peace Corps and the War on Poverty, in Youngstown, Ohio, chatting up voters in a working-class tavern. Shriver is his usual genial self, and seems to be connecting with the assembled steelworkers, who will form part of a vital voting bloc in the general election. As the merrymakers call for another round, people shout out the names of their favorite beers. Not to be outdone, Shriver eagerly joins the chorus: 'Make mine a Courvoisier!' For Congressman Tip O'Neill, who had been traveling with Shriver, this faux pas was the last straw. 'That's it,' said O'Neill, stepping away from the bar. 'I'm getting back on the plane and going back to Boston. There's no hope here.' (Indeed, there wasn't. Richard Nixon was reelected in a landslide that November.)"

Oh, yeah, Tip, like a man named after a drink gratuity is unfamiliar with the 'voisier. (averted gaze). Rest in Pickled, Tip