You'd never think of Sam Johnson as a modern-day Perle Mesta, the society hostess. But as an apprentice to the title of "host with the most" in the fine art of conversation, he's doing OK.

One Wednesday morning each month, my neighbor, longtime and still-practicing attorney and former legislator, hosts an assemblage of friends, neighbors and law associates on his back patio.

The gathering can possibly be compared to bridge or book club meetings, except the male participants are more reserved and the conversation, thanks to Sam's legal expertise, more controlled.

We each get equal talk time, with Sam calling on us individually for input, often on subjects of his choice.

Example: "Jim, tell us what life is like on a submarine." Jim describes a typical day in a claustrophobic wiener-shaped sub that sometimes stayed submerged up to 123 days running.

Our host has done his homework, introducing interesting topics such as, most recently, the role of the chuck wagon in the days when cowboys roved the American West, moving herds of cattle to market along the Abilene Trail.

He described the chuck wagon as the focal point of life on the trail. It contained the cowboys' food and water supplies, medicine, etc., and was under the strict supervision of a particular cowman whose word was law in the stocking, care and driving of the chuck wagon.

"Now, what do you think was the very last thing the chuck wagon master did at night before going to bed?" Sam asked.

Answers ranged from "Said his prayers" to "Poured himself a stiff drink" to "Took a leak, of course."

"All wrong," Sam said. "He would look up and find the North Star, and park the chuck wagon in that direction so he'd know which way to head off the next morning."

For a moment or two, a bunch of men were transported in time -- from concerns over war in Iraq, $4 a gallon gas and whether Hillary will quit or hang on -- to another culture where life was rougher but simpler, and, in some respects, cleaner and more focused. A time when man's wits were used primarily to outwit nature rather than each other.

Yep, Sam's skill at social discourse management -- "talk less, listen more" -- is preferable to that of the late Alice Roosevelt Longworth, who used to say, "If you can't say something good about someone, sit right here by me."

But I wish now that I had asked Sam what the chuck wagon master did when rain or an overcast sky hid the North Star from sight.

A word to use

Ending a recent column with "Selah" prompted reader queries as to the word's meaning.

Don't depend on Webster's New Collegiate, which inadequately defines it as "a Hebrew term of uncertain meaning."

Before using it in the context of "Amen," or "So be it," I called a couple of preacher friends. The Rev. Bob Inskeep, at First Prez, came up with an interesting answer.

"Since the Hebrew language is an ambiguous one, translating 'selah' as 'amen' is defensible," he said. " 'Selah' literally means 'lift up.'

"But my favorite definition comes from highly respected theologian Jerome Creach, who once taught at Barton College in Wilson. He suggested that the term might have been a signal to the temple band, meaning something like 'hit it!' "

Feel free to use "Selah" as you see fit. But use it sparingly, lest the word becomes as stale as spent wine.

He has the baby blues

After scorning him for a couple of years, friend Keever's bluebirds are back and have just fledged four little birdkins, causing him to wax nostalgic:

"Strangely, I am saddened at the departure of my baby blues. I miss them. It is all the fault of my first-grade teacher.

"When I started first grade, England was already at war with Germany. An Anglophile, this teacher taught the class to sing, 'There'll be bluebirds over the white cliffs of Dover, Tomorrow, just you wait and see.' She would tear up as we sang the song. She made England and bluebirds special for me. She would be very happy about the new brood."

You want how much?

A failing economy? Not to the political fundraisers, one of whom called last week and asked, outright, for a $300 contribution ... nothing less.

When you get a call like that, say, "Sorry, Bill Gates doesn't live here any more," and hang up.

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