Sen. John McCain, with good reason, frets from time to time that the media is giving opponent Barack Obama a free ride, covering him like a rock star while sparing him tough questions on issues and ignoring McCain's own campaign.

Worldwide media focus on Berlin's 200,000-turnout love feast for Obama is a case in point.

Sen. Hillary Clinton lodged similar complaints of Obama media mania during the primaries.

In my mind, no candidate in recent history had more over-the-plate marshmallows tossed at him than Ronald Reagan. The lovable, charismatic Reagan charmed the media right out of their underwear.

An upcoming HBO documentary features Helen Thomas, the grand dame of the White House press corps who has covered the last eight presidents. In it, Thomas recalls a news conference at which Reagan said in response to one of her questions, "I can't answer that, Helen."

"Why not, Mr. President?"

Glancing over his shoulders at three aides behind him, Reagan replied in a hushed voice, "Because they won't let me."

"But, Mr. President, you're the president!" she chided.

That was vintage Reagan. He apparently subscribed to the philosophy of Elwood P. Dowd in Mary Chase's play "Harvey": "Years ago my mother used to say to me, she'd say, 'In this world, Elwood, you must be oh so smart or oh so pleasant.' Well, for years I was smart. I recommend pleasant. You can quote me on that."

Earned 'orchids'

The late Phyllis Peacock, renowned English teacher at Raleigh's Broughton High, was known for commending outstanding student performances by shouting, "Orchids to you!" or writing same on their compositions.

"Orchids to you!" members of the legislature. And also to you grass-roots activists who lobbied long and hard for the recently enacted ban on smoking in our public schools as of Aug. 1.

Such a progressive step in a state that ranks first in tobacco production has earned "orchids" by the armful.

Incidentally, Broughton High banned on-campus smoking way back in the late 1950s. One addicted teacher I knew was known to volunteer to run errands for principal Joe Holliday just for the opportunity to go off campus and light up.

Writers all

I have often contended that in every person there is an engrossing short story or novel. No life is an empty page.

My theory was confirmed recently when Bob Huddleston of Carolina Meadows Retirement Center in Chapel Hill mailed a copy of "Voices," a collection of entertaining literary efforts by resident scribblers.

In "The End," Nanette Melcher writes about a senior trying to outwit her son who calls daily at 9 a.m. hoping to gather evidence on her declining faculties so she can be coerced into moving to California to live with him.

Physician Herb Harned turned out a poem that resonates with anyone who has or will have a pacemaker:

Hail to thee, my gizmo smart

That sends live current through my heart.

My sinus node has lost its vigor

And needs adjustment of its trigger.

Your electric mind has figured out

Proper rhythms to give the clout

For contracting pumps both left and right

Rushing blood to proper sites.

Needed oxygen to the brain

For thoughts and conscience to maintain.

Pacer, you mean all to me

Whether to be or not to be.

Honest farmers

I may have overstated my case that the farmer may be Diogenes' last honest man.

Ervin Watts of Raleigh recalls the time when his wife stopped by a roadside stand between Goldsboro and LaGrange that her husband had patronized for years. The farmer raved how great his peaches were.

When Mrs. Watts said, "You may know my husband, Ervin Watts," the farmer replied, "Mrs. Watts, those peaches are not fittin' to eat, I tried one a while ago and they have no flavor whatsoever."

No, y'all

The cardinal, our state bird, sings happily from the crabapple tree: "Purty-bird! Purty-bird! Purty-bird!" Not once has he warbled, "Purty-bird, y'all! Purty-bird, y'all!"

So much for recent research insisting that songbirds sing in regional dialects.

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