Can you hear me? (the crowd roars yes). Too bad.
What a strange and wonderful place we're in (referring to the room decor), sort of like the bottom of a lake. It's like a science fiction. Something wonderful is going to happen, or it's going to open up and we're all going to drown here.
I suppose you're expecting an older man. I mean, a geezer with a cane and no hair and a lot of reminiscing, who would tell you how much better typewriters are than computers.
That's what you're going to get.
I love this town, and I love this Press Club.
I found only one San Francisco story in the local papers. It was about our licensing sex clubs. That's the kind of publicity San Francisco gets. It's always something to do with what we used to call "kooky". I don't know what the word is today.
It's amazing that people want to run for mayor. Who wants to become chief kook of Kookville? Apparently a lot of people, but we've got a great one. He's as kooky as we've got. Willie Brown. His name is on the hotel here. He's a local, but he's a national figure. Watch out for him. The Unsinkable Willie Brown.
At the Brown Palace Hotel there's a sign that says "Guests only above the second floor". What does that mean? I know what it means, but are they serious? This is a grown-up town, isn't it? You can't bring a friend above the second floor? The second floor must be a pretty busy place!
I learned a lot about the newspaper war that's going on here.
At 4:05 p.m., the Rocky Mountain News was ahead by seven papers.
At 5:37 p.m., I bought three Posts and that closed the gap.
I learned a lot about Denver. We took a taxicab. This is what San Franciscans do with an hour to kill. We took a cab to Coors field, and we weren't the only ones. There was no game on and there were 18,735 people there, all staring at the diamond. We did the same. We won.
Last night, we discovered that The Denver Press Club goes first call all the way...We came in from San Francisco...There was a stretch limo waiting for me, driven by a beautiful woman whose name eludes me. But she gave her card. Second Floor Brown Palace.
And wouldn't you know, as I sank into the back seat, I heard the clear, insincere voice of John Denver. I punched him out. He got the Denver Boot immediately.
Denver Boots and omelets: is that all this city is famous for?
We've got the Denver Boot in San Francisco. We thought we were supposed to eat it. In fact, The Denver Boot and the Denver omelet taste quite a bit alike.
You know, the real reason I'm here tonight? It's because Molly Ivins is here.
Deep down inside, The Chronicle's a Republican paper...We have some liberal columnists, of which I am one, but Molly Ivins is the one we love.
Sometimes, two weeks go by without a Molly Ivins column, and then I run into the publisher and say, "Long time, no Molly."
When we run Molly Ivins, I think we're more of a newspaper than we usually are.
I met Damon Runyon. I went to the Stork Club just after the war...and there was Damon Runyon in his last days. He was having a drink with Walter Winchell, who was his buddy.
By then, Runyon had lost his voice… he'd just write two words on a pad he kept with him at all times.
Winchell was the perfect companion for Runyon because he never stopped talking.
Winchell interrupted himself long enough to say, "Damon, this is a kid from San Francisco who imitates me better than anybody in the business."
And Runyon thought about that for a second and wrote, "Faint Praise."
Thank you very much for this great honor. I love this town. I love this evening... Here's to you Damon Runyon.