I'll miss the merry prankster

LIKE MANY, I am going to miss Thacher. And I am thinking about so many stories in which he played a role that I will never forget. Here's a favorite.

Like Thacher, I am a proud member of the Union League. Yes, guys with names like Smerconish now belong. One of the benefits of membership is that you get to use clubs around the globe through a reciprocal membership agreement. They include some great places, like the prestigious Union League of New York.

I have been a member of the Union League since law school and have forged some great friendships there. And while the public perception of members might be one of a little, shall we say, stiffness, the truth in our case is far from it.

Every December, I stay at the Union League of New York while attending a dinner for the storied Pennsylvania Society. This group exists for no other purpose than to meet annually at a formal dinner every year in Manhattan.

The Pennsylvania Society dates from a time when Philadelphia was the center of the universe. Every year, the members would travel from Philadelphia to New York City for a grand dinner. Wives would shop and husbands would do business. Lots of political business. Candidates would get slated in smoke-filled rooms during the gathering. To this day, the Pennsylvania Society lives. It's watered down, or course. Not as many deals get cut as the old days, and it is now bipartisan.

In the early 1990s - before I was married - some friends from the Philadelphia Union League would go to the society shindig in December, and we would use our reciprocal relationship to stay at the Union League of New York. Like the League in Philadelphia, New York's version is a spectacular facility. It's located on Park Avenue. Dark wood. Deep leather chairs. Cigar smoke. You get the picture.

And so a group of us spent a weekend in Manhattan. This was a particularly raucous time. We'd closed the Oak Room at the Plaza Hotel a Saturday night before we headed back to the Union League, where the drinking and shenanigans continued.

Suffice it to say things were a bit out of hand. There were some calls from the front desk made to our rooms, and we watched the sun come up on Sunday morning. (Did I mention we are all married now? ) Later that day, we headed back to Philly. A good time was had by all. Nobody got hurt.

When we were all back at our jobs, my wheels were turning. One of the guys along for the trip was Dave Singer (now an equally married, respectable real estate investor). Back then, we called him "CCD," a moniker meaning Center City Dave. The New York rooms at the League were in Dave's name - something he would soon regret.

Another of the posse was Robert M. Flood III, or "Floody. " (Did I mention that he, too, is now married and respectable? ) Floody's dad was then the president of the Union League in Philly. That meant Floody had access to the club's stationery. Soon after the trip to New York, here is what David Singer found in his mailbox on the fancy letterhead of the Union League:

"December 26, 1991

"Dear Mr. Singer:

"The Union League of Philadelphia is extremely proud of its reciprocal relationships with fifty-seven other similarly situated men's clubs world-wide. It is for this response that we place great value on maintaining these relationships.

"In this context, I am sorry to have learned from the Union League of New York of their displeasure with your recent visit to their facility. The President of the Union League of New York has recently corresponded with the President of the Union League of Philadelphia, outlining allegations of conduct unbecoming of a League member.

"The Committee on Member Conduct has reviewed this correspondence and would like to provide you with a forum in which to discuss this matter. You should realize that we are contemplating sanctions against you and other League members that may have been with you on this occasion and are therefore considered to have been accessories in your misconduct.

"The Committee on Member Conduct will hold its next meeting on Thursday, January 9, 1992 at 5:30 in the Binney Room. Please plan to join us at this meeting. In the event you are unable to do so, please call my office.

Sincerely,

"Stanley Orr, Manager"

Not bad, eh? And so Union Leagueish.

I'd completely made up the Committee on Member Conduct, but it would not surprise me to learn we actually had one. And better than the text was the way we anticipated his reaction. He was numb. We correctly predicted who he would call to authenticate the reprimand. So he took this hook, line and sinker.

But to really pull off this stunt, we knew we needed somebody from the League community in our corner. Somebody with credibility. Somebody with stature. Somebody with a sense of humor. Somebody like Thacher Longstreth.

So I called him in his City Hall offices to invite him to participate in the gag. He took my call and listened to my recap of the events. And then he laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

I could tell I had made his day. Thacher told me he loved the scheme and would do anything to support the sting.

Just think about that. Here was the original Main Line WASP. The prototype of Union League member. A proud Princeton alumnus. A WWII naval veteran who early in his career was Life magazine's top salesman, and ended up the president of Philadelphia's Chamber of Commerce. A two-time GOP mayoral candidate who served more than a decade as a member of City Council. And he couldn't wait to help some young guys carry out a schoolboy prank. You have to love that about him. And I did.

At the appointed hour of CCD's appearance before the Committee on Member Conduct, Thacher stood in a foreboding manner on the front steps in front of the august Union League pacing like an expectant father as CCD approached from down the block.

He greeted CCD and simply told him, "Whatever you do, be contrite. " He then spun on his heels and escorted CCD into the League and toward the meeting room, giving no hint of what was really to come. I followed closely behind.

CCD was nervous about what awaited him behind the big oak door. Thacher then acted like he was administering a secret knock - what a great effect - and opened it wide. But instead of a dozen fuddy-duddies, it was the crew who had attended the Pennsylvania Society and a few add-ons, all with cigars and drinks, applauding and anxious to greet our nervous pal. And nobody laughed harder than Thach.

Boy am I going to miss this guy. *

Michael Smerconish can be heard weekdays 3-6 p.m. on the Big Talker 1210/AM. Contact him on the Web at www.mastalk.com.