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Whatever the source of Frawley's plummet--despite his back-to-back arrests on DUI charges, the bottle may have played no role in his woes; some physical conditions can cause disorientation and mimic drunkenness--I wish the former president of the University of Mary Washington a kinder fate than that suffered by poor Marland. It was he, by the way, who peacefully integrated the Mountain State's public schools with the simple announcement "West Virginia will obey the law." What a concept.
Because Frawley has made almost no public statements since the extraordinary occurrences of April 10-11, or even hinted at the circumstances of those self-destructive 48 hours, inquiring minds are left to try to deconstruct his rare published communications. One was a May 16 letter to this newspaper decrying its coverage of an incident 20 years ago in Delaware in which he pulled a knife on a man who, Frawley says, was stalking his wife.
It's hard to picture the tweedy Frawley as a Jet out of "West Side Story," but I accept his account of the altercation. David Niven, the picture of irenic refinement on the Big Screen, had seen World War II service as a British commando. Before his comedic career took off, Bob Hope broke noses as a professional boxer. I worked for an editor who dropped a right hand on the noggin of a nut who, set off by a perceived driving slight, had followed my former boss off the beltway and up his own driveway. (No charges stuck in that one, either.) People are often more than one thing.
My objections to Frawley's letter lie elsewhere. Playing the Lemony Snicket card, he calls the Fairfax County and Fredericksburg pinches "unfortunate events," the Delaware fracas an "unfortunate episode." This is not only mincing tea-party talk; it is the sly language of victimhood, intended, I guess, to change the speaker from actor in the drama to mere prop--as though driving erratically around town on three tires is just bad luck, like being hit by lightning.
Frawley also seems to be relying on technicians--the doctors who are telling him to focus on tending his heart condition, the attorneys who are advising him to keep mum--to manage what character should be governing. This may be prudent if self-service is Priority One. Making a clean breast of things would, however, be noble.
Even if that made his lawyers choke.
Unfortunate events--i.e., my bank statements--ensure that La Petite Auberge isn't a regular haunt. I've eaten at that fine restaurant perhaps a dozen times. Twice there I spied Frawley's predecessor, William Anderson. Barring wild coincidence, I assume that Anderson, whom you and I are now putting up in Hilton Head at full pay, made the French place a regular stop.
My advice to Frawley's successor: If the views of lowly townies mean anything to you, eat periodically at the 2400 Diner. House of Delegates Speaker Bill Howell does. That's why he can say with unshakeable certainty that the general public hates the thoughts of a tax increase. The folks who dine on blood sausage aux pommes may hold a different view.
A self-described "dominatrix," formerly of Aquia Harbour, is being held in the local jug pending trial. Except for a couple of pairs of loafers, I am fresh out of leather. But those in quest of short-term punishment should know that I will read aloud previous installments of this column for a small fee. You'll never go back to a cat-o'-nine-tails, boys.
--Paul Akers
