Thursday, June 27, 2002 | 10:57 a.m.
IT IS SAID that advice is worth what you pay for it.
If that is true, generations of Americans paid nickels, dimes, quarters and more for almost half a century to get the best advice they ever received. It came from Ann Landers.
Over the next month, the last of her lifetime's work will be published, and the name that Eppie Lederer took in 1955, Ann Landers, will be retired forever. The brilliant, dynamic and in the vernacular of her time, "one heck of a dame," died a few days ago.
There will be billions of tears shed from millions of people around the world whose lives were touched for the better because Ann Landers paid attention to them and their plaints. At one time, Ann Landers was the most powerful woman in the world because tens of millions of people hung on her every word, every day. I know in my own family, one of my father's proudest achievements was being among the very first newspapers in the country to recognize her talent and agree to publish her syndicated column. She was the franchise player in the newspaper business for five decades.
In trying to pay this remarkable woman and good friend of my family's the kind of tribute she deserves, I discovered an open letter my father, Hank Greenspun, wrote to her in 1959 seeking -- as every American did or wanted to do -- her advice. I am reprinting that letter together with Ann's response, both of which were published in my father's "Where I Stand" column.
I can't think of a better way to acknowledge her most significant contribution to humanity -- on a global scale -- and, very likely, to my family's well-being on a very personal level.
"Dear Ann Landers:
"I do not drink, gamble, smoke cigarettes or go out with other women. I might make a bet on a golf match or play a little gin rummy once in a while, possibly drink a little wine or beer with my meals but I definitely am not an alcoholic. Oh yes, although I do not touch cigarettes, I have been known to keep a cigar stuck in my mouth part of the day but I don't inhale.
"I don't even look at another woman. And if you can keep a secret, the truth is I hate them. You see, I'm married -- although, I did like women pretty good before I got involved with nuptial bliss.
"I tell you all this my dear Miss Landers because I feel I can use a little advice. From what I have already told you, you can see that I'm a pretty good husband and father. I have been a good provider most of my life and though expenses are greater in Las Vegas than elsewhere -- my wife plays pan three nights a week and golf six days out of every seven, which runs into pretty good dough -- we are never short of food in the house.
"The milkman delivers eight quarts a day which is barely enough as we have four children and a mother-in-law who baby sits and loves brandy and milk. The maid drinks brandy straight.
"I have never played golf on a Sunday as I firmly believe it is a day for the family to be together for fun and games. Never, that is, until yesterday and that's coming pretty close to the heart of my problem.
"There was a newspaper press convention in town and I hadn't seen some of my buddies for a year. A few of the unmarried ones wanted to play golf and as I am supposed to be one of the hosts, I did think it would be sporting of me to indulge their desires.
"It in no way interfered with my usual Sunday schedule as I arise at dawn, feed all the children and go back to bed until noon. The first contact the good wife has with civilization on Sundays is about 1 p.m., so she has no knowledge of activity around the house before that unless she is told.
"Someone must have told her yesterday. I fed the kids, bundled them off to Sunday School, played only nine holes to which Dr. Claire Woodbury and Julian Moore could attest as they let us through when they learned that my wife didn't know I was out of the house, and was off the course before 12:57.
"Nonchalantly and with three minutes to spare, I called the house and was surprised to hear my wife's voice ---before she hung up after only the first 'hello.' I tried again, as long as the Desert Inn was paying for the calls, and the phone clicked. It is now 2 p.m. and I am in my office calling my home number every five minutes but the phone seems to be dead.
"My problem is this, Miss Landers.
"Is the phone really dead or did the old battle-axe pull the darn thing off the wall? I daren't go home to find out or I might be as dead as the phone.
"Although my wife has a bad temper, she is convinced of her own infallibility and there isn't a jury in the world who wouldn't believe the whole thing was in self-defense. This, of course, gives her a crack at the insurance which happens to be a tidy sum. To get rid of a husband and collect for it is a joy to which no wife is entitled.
"I'm sure you will understand if I do not sign my right name as I am fairly well known in the community and I wouldn't want the neighbors to think we were fighting again. They'll never guess if I don't go home because most neighbors only believe what they hear and my wife can be heard for blocks when she lets go. I will wait here for you answer but please don't keep me hanging too long. I'll begin to miss my kids after the first few days.
-- 'Perplexed'
"P.S. I can almost guess what your advice will be but please bear in mind that Nevada is a community property state and some of us just don't have the freedoms guaranteed by the constitution of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
"P.P.S. I won a few bucks on the golf game. Do you think this might affect my problem?"
"Dear Hank:
"Your sad story gets me right here, Pal.
"If I were just some brand new dame who started to give advice two weeks ago, I might be inclined to sit down and cry huge tears for you, pat your little pointed head, and say -- go to your good woman and explain. Put the cards on the table. If your record is good, she will forgive you.
"But look, Buster, I'm a hard-crusted cookie at this point. I've seen every imaginable problem -- and alibi -- these past four years. And cards on the table are nothing new in Vegas. In fact, if the day ever comes when cards aren't on the table in your town, you're all in deep trouble.
"All this jazz about feeding the kids and making noises like an ideal father doesn't cut any mustard with me. The fact remains, you left your good frau waiting and wondering for too many hours. Now you're in up to your hocks.
"If you're a Scorpio, Sunday was your lucky day and the wife was out playing pan and didn't even know you were gone. If you aren't a Scorpio, however, my advice is to put the golf winnings in an envelope, attach it carefully to a dozen roses and enclose a love note with the words:
" 'Dear Angel: If you forgive me this time, I promise no more Hanky Panky. Your Bad Boy, Hank.'
"If this doesn't work, write me again, Dad. You'll have material for a whole new column.
"Love, Ann"
Thank you, Ann, for your friendship, your good grace and your sense of humor. Generations will miss you.
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