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The Daily Cardinal Est. 1892
Saturday, June 22, 2024

Editor seeks to make Mohst of life

I signed a lease for an apartment the other day. Nice place--over on Wisconsin Avenue. 

 

 

 

It's got a view of Lake Mendota and the Capitol, all out of the same room. Not to mention nice closets. Spacious. 

 

 

 

I must admit though, I'd be lying if I said these were actually the factors that led me to select this only slightly less than palatial abode. You see, I chose it for the neighborhood. OK, actually, I just chose it for the neighbor. Next door, that is. 

 

 

 

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I used to just be known as \Joe Potente,"" but soon I will receive a new moniker: ""Joe 'Next-Door Neighbor to Fred Mohs' Potente."" 

 

 

 

Fred Mohs? 

 

 

 

That's right--UW System Board of Regents member Frederic E. Mohs, attorney at law. 

 

 

 

""Why so much excitement about a crusty old governor-appointed university system official?"" you ask. 

 

 

 

Well, the answer there is simple--Fred Mohs is one cool dude. 

 

 

 

I'll admit, my somewhat unsettling admiration for Fred (we're on a first name basis now, but he doesn't know that) dates back to the days of old, when I covered city news. 

 

 

 

I'll always remember Fred showing up at a meeting on a warm spring evening, decked out in the nattiest blazer this side of the Love Boat. At the time I thought, ""Wow, I didn't know a guy could look that cool--in a kind of Thurston Howell III way, that is."" 

 

 

 

In my quest to even approach Fred's coolness factor (that's a 7.9 on the Goodness Scale, according to forecasters at the National Cool Guy Service), I am committing myself to living next door to Fred and attempting to emulate his every move. 

 

 

 

Now, this might not prove easy for me, as I think Fred's and my political views might clash just a bit. Let's put it this way: I can't imagine us contributing heavily to the campaign fund of the same fourth-term incumbent governor. 

 

 

 

But I think I have it in me to pick up the Mohs swagger. 

 

 

 

What am I talking about? 

 

 

 

I'll just drop by his house and say, ""Hey, Fred. You. Me. Edgewater. Dry martinis. Now."" 

 

 

 

""What are you talking about? Why are you on my porch? Are you selling something?"" Fred will likely ask the first time I broach this. 

 

 

 

""No, Fred, seriously. I just want to become the cocktail-sipping steak-eating confidant of Wisconsin's original hipster regent."" 

 

 

 

""I still don't know what you're talking about,"" he'll say. 

 

 

 

OK, this probably won't be easy. But I'll keep the faith. 

 

 

 

Soon Fred and I will be pals, swapping stories about old times (granted, Fred's old times are a bit older than mine, but I'll try to hold my own), eating slabs of red meat and wearing a lot of gingham shirts.  

 

 

 

""Fred, can I borrow a cup of sugar?"" I'll ask as I once again appear sheepishly on his porch. 

 

 

 

""Sure, and take these blue-chip stock tips and bottle of 12-year-old Scotch, too,"" Fred will say. 

 

 

 

Now we're rolling. 

 

 

 

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