By Jerry Robinson, Publisher

Former Governor Albert D. Rossellini died yesterday at the age of 101. In honor of his remarkable life Robinson Newspapers publisher Jerry Robinson wants to share a column he wrote during the time the Governor was in office in the 1960's that we published last June.

I knew it was going to be an important day, so the night before I shined my shoes, and hid a pair of matching socks in a place the kids would never look (the soap cabinet) and went to bed.
Along with several others, I was scheduled to spend a few minutes with Governor Rossellini the next day. Naturally I wanted to be at my best.

Catastrophe struck early next morning. No white shirts. What does a guy do? Put on a flowered sport shirt and pretend he is just back from the islands? Wear a turtleneck and pretend you think it will snow? " Where are all my white shirts?" I asked the supine form who is my wife in the other bed. "They didn't get back from the laundry," she answered from somewhere under the blankets.
"But I can't talk to the governor in my T-Shirt," I pleaded.
"What do you want me to do? Knit one? she muttered. "There are some shirts in the box in the closet."

"But those are the old ones, all size 15," I said. "You know I wear size 16 now." I was hoping she could wave a magic wand and somehow make a fresh shirt appear.

She was unsympathetic. "Looks like you've eaten yourself right out of shirts, doesn't it, Buster?" she said snoring to feign sleep.

I gave up after promises of mink coats and expensive jewlery failed to produce anything. I rummaged the old shirt box, finally coming up with one. The cuffs were only slightly frayed, a minor problem. You can always pull your coat sleeves over them and secretly hold them down with your fingers. You coat fits funny, but that's the price you pay. By holding my breath, pulling my shoulders down and stretching my head upward, I managed to get the collar button into the hole, selected a subdued foulard and headed for a quick stop at the news office.
"How come your eyes are bulging out and your face is all red?" my secretary asked as I tried to sneak past her into my office. I started to explain, then just glared at her. I went into my office to give it some thought.

I could loosen the top button and wear my raincoat buttoned to the top, I thought. But that would look kind of silly with bright sunshine outside. No, there wasn't time to go over to the White Center Department Store and buy another shirt. I'd just have to tough it out.

The governor, a very snappy dresser, was wearing a sharp, brown, sharkskin Worsted suit, and socks that matched each other. As usual, he had a small rosebud in his lapel. The rosebud is kind of his trademark, in case someone forgets his name.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, striding briskly into his suite at the Olympic, where we had been waiting. We knew he had been detained in a special meeting that Senator Jackson had called concerning Alaskan earthquake relief measures.

By this time my shirt collar was unbearable. The only thing that saved me was a movie I had seen when I was a little kid. Bad guys had driven bamboo slivers under a good guy's fingernails, and set fire to them. He endured the pain, and so could I, even though I was bleeding profusely from the jugular vein.

"Excuse me a moment," the governor said, exiting immediately into an adjoining room. Several minutes later he was back.

"I just wanted to change my shirt," he explained. "I must have gotten hold of an old one this morning. The collar was so tight it was choking me. Now what can I do for you gentlemen?"

This column and many more are available in printed form in the book "Something's Out There: A Newspaper Man's Columns from days gone by" by Jerry Robinson. If you'd like a copy of the book contact him at Publisher@robinsonnews.com and let him know. A limited number are available for $16.95