THE LOW POST: The Vilsack Buzz

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WASHINGTON, D.C. -- Union Station, late Sunday evening. Arriving in town after a long train ride to do a post-election follow-up, I ducked into the men's room to wash my face before hailing a cab. As I propped my roller luggage against the tile wall and flicked on the faucet, I heard a voice -- to my surprise, since I'd thought the bathroom was empty.

"Hey," it said. "Hey, excuse me. I'm sorry. I know how this sounds, but do you have six dollars?"

I turned the faucet off and turned around. A dumpy-looking white man in a wrinkled pinstripe suit was standing with his hands clasped together outside the corner stall. His temples were moist and he had a lilac-colored tie with white flecks and a large coffee stain running down the middle yanked loose around his unbuttoned collar. Looking closer, I saw that there was a pile of newspapers and brown bathroom paper towels arranged on the stall floor; Mr. Pinstripe had made a bed for the night.

"Six dollars?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "You see, my cousin was supposed to come with my train fare, but he didn't show up, and . . . well, I need to get to Trenton, and I'm six dollars short. If you give me your address, I can pay you --"

"What's your cousin's name?" I asked.

"My cousin?" he said. "Well, his name is, uh . . . his name is George. It's George. George Anderson."

"George Anderson, huh?" I said. "And what's your name?"

The man sighed. "Okay, buddy, look," he said. "I don't have a cousin. I just need some money. Can you give me six dollars or can't you?"

I frowned. "Wait a minute. Don't I know you from somewhere?"

"Oh, God," the man in the suit said, shaking his head. "Yes, you might have seen me before."

"Hey, yeah," I said, snapping my fingers. "I saw you in USA Today, right?"

"Okay, you got me," he said. "I'm Tom Vilsack's buzz."

"Tom Vilsack? The governor of Iowa?"

"Right."