CHAPTER<br >I<br >The Thing Jumps<br >The luncheon of the Bill Fay Club on Friday， September ~o， i97i， was<br >a gregarious affair as usual. The scene of the feast was the executive<br >dining room of the National Geographic Society， in the Society s<br >elegant building on Seventeenth Street Northwest， a few blocks from<br >Lafayette Square and the White House. Members had sipped sherry in<br >the office of Franc Shor， a Geographic editor， then moved into the<br >dining room for lamb chops and an excellent wine. Shor s girth sug-<br >gested his standing as one of Washington s ranking gourmets; among<br >many other acconaplishments， he was the mainspring of the Bill Fay<br >Club--an ad hoc group named in memory of a former Irish Ambassa-<br >dor and conversationalist of renown. Members met at random for good<br >food and what they assured themselves was "the best talk in Wash-<br >ington." Sometimes， it may have been.<br > Around Shot at the long table high above Seventeenth Street were<br >Ambassador Frank Corner of New Zealand; Ambassador Egidio<br >Ortona of Italy; A. Doak Barnett， the China specialist (a visitor that<br >day); J. Carter Brown， the director of the National Gallery of Art;<br >John Walker， Brown s immediate predecessor; William McChesney<br >Martin， the former chairman of the Federal Reserve Board; Herman<br >Wouk， the novelist; Richard Scammon， the political analyst and statis-<br >tician; Edward P. Morgan， the radio and television commentator; and<br >Tom Wicker， political columnist and associate editor of The New<br >York Times. Former Secretary of Defense Clark Clifford and Herbert<br >Block the Washington Post s famous Herblock， as gentle in person as<br >ascerbic in ink--were frequently at the club table， but were not<br >present that day.<br > These were erudite men， in everything from art to politics， as Tom<br >Wicker had come to know. He always studied Franc Shor s wine<br ><br >