“You want to distribute your columns more broadly,” my buddy Phil scolded me some months in the past. “You’ll by no means get a Pulitzer Prize if you really don’t get your stuff out there.” Phil is a columnist for our Annapolis paper and a retired international business govt. He’s like that traditional E.F. Hutton commercial on Tv set: “When Phil talks, people listen.”
I took Phil’s criticism to heart, but extra: “Phil, I will do as you say. But I’m not going to win a Pulitzer Prize. They do not give Pulitzer Prizes to pro-lifers, or writers who protect marriage. Significantly significantly less do they award Pulitzer Prizes to people who publish to uphold religious freedom.”
I told Phil I was perfectly content to create five to seven columns a 7 days, mostly on these subjects. And if I offend the pink panzers of political correctness, that is fantastic, too.
The cause we have a Very first Modification is not so we can win Pulitzer Prizes, but so we can aid to keep this Wonderful Republic free of charge. I keep in mind reading Ben Franklin’s sage terms to the Philadelphia girl who quizzed him. Did the Constitutional Convention give Us citizens a republic or a monarchy? “A republic, Madam, if you can hold it,” Dr. Franklin answered.
So, I informed Phil, “I won’t even get a Wurlitzer Prize for quantity of output in journalism.” Phil acquired the jab. Wurlitzer is the maker of organs and the fictional Wurlitzer Prize goes to people who devote their days at the proverbial keyboard, turning out volumes of work.
I had overlooked about my imaginary Wurlitzer Prize when Phil showed up at our doorstep soon after nine pm one particular night a number of months afterwards. I was hoping absolutely nothing was wrong. It was most out of character for Phil to ring our doorbell at that hour. We are believers in the Ronald Reagan rule that you know you are center-aged when you are presented two temptations and you select the one that will get you house by nine o’clock.
Placing on my robe, I rushed to get the door. There was Phil, keeping out a cylindrical mailing tube. Puzzled, I tore it open up to see what he may be offering me at that unusual hour. He had an impish grin on his confront. I pulled out the rolled up document.
It was a vibrant poster, a blow-up of the 1995 U.S. Postage Stamp honoring the Wurlitzer Corporation. The poster—featuring a Wurlitzer-manufactured juke box—was inscribed: “To Bob Morrison—Deserved Wurlitzer Prize for Producing that is Songs to so numerous Ears.” It was signed by the retired CEO of Wurlitzer Corporation.
Phil experienced been sending this gentleman my columns and made the decision to surprise me with my personal coveted Wurlitzer Prize.
As you read through this, you may possibly be declaring to by yourself: How absurd no 1 has ever heard of the Wurlitzer Prize. But everyone has heard of the Pulitzer Prize.
That might be. But given that things are valued as they are exceptional, my comeback query is this:
How many Pulitzer Prize winners have you listened to of? Dozens, right?
You are now looking through a column by the world’s only Wurlitzer Prize winner.
Thanks for reading.