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My Children Revile Me

Speaking of my election night adventures, one of my favorite moments was when I was walking along the concourse at 30 Rockefeller Center (“30 Rock,” as apparently everyone but me knows) and I heard a raspy, New Yorker voice behind me calling, “Rocket Man! Rocket Man!” I turned back and shook hands with a young man who was evidently working at the building. I took him for a custodian; he said that he reads Power Line daily and loves our commentary. He asked whether I would be in New York for the lighting of the Christmas tree. I said I wasn’t planning on it; he gave me his card–he is, it turns out, the Assistant Chief Engineer at Rockefeller Center–and told me that I should let him know if I could make it. “I’ll put you in the front row, right next to the Christmas tree!” he said.
We should have done it, of course, but we didn’t. I got caught up in the usual work commitments, and came home late tonight to see this photo:
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The Christmas tree was lit tonight, without us. I have no doubt that, had I followed up, our friend would indeed have put us in the front row. So, justly or not, I’m in the doghouse, as my eight-year-old daughter, in particular, regrets missing the ceremony. But I do take some comfort from knowing that no matter how stupid the pontifications of the talking heads may be, the people who keep the elevators running, the building functioning, and the Christmas tree upright are friends of ours.
UPDATE by BIG TRUNK: Rocket Man’s friend at 30 Rock writes:

Great post Rocket Man!! The show was great and the weather was perfect. And indeed, if you did come, you would have been right up in front. This was my 13th tree lighting ceremony here at The Rock and hopefully not my last. I

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