IN SENATE BATTLE, PACKWOOD LACKS WRITE STUFF

Let me make sure I have this straight: Bob Packwood, a U.S. senator, is in trouble for something he wrote in his diary?

Wasn't there a plot line on "Blossom" like this?

Those who govern our republic, capable as they are of farce, reach a new threshold of burlesque with each crisis. Still, the upper chamber of Congress seldom sees this level of hand-wringing. In fact, fretting like this is most often associated with the parents of wild children on prom night.

And all because of Sen. Packwood's private writings. Jackie Collins, take note.

Sen. Packwood, as you might remember, is a man of, shall we say, physical interests. It might be suggested he attach himself to a foreign affairs committee since he seems to have Russian hands and Roman fingers. (There's no need shying away from high-school humor since I'm going with this theme.)

And the senator from Oregon, not content to consider the grabbing of female parts as a congressional perquisite, had the discipline to be a scrupulous diary writer. It might be the only thing he was faithful to. Could this man, an elected official of long-standing and a powerful man in the American government, have been foolish enough (and crass enough) to chronicle sexual indiscretions in his daily journal?

Other senators, apt at showmanship when it comes to the scolding of colleagues and intent to act particularly high-minded in the case of Packwood, probably took only a passing interest in the shenanigans of their colleague, though raised an eyebrow at the possibility they found their way into his tome.

If power, as is alleged, is the ultimate aphrodisiac, then the U.S. Senate is an oyster bar. Hormones run as rampant in the corridors of government as they do in the corridors of a junior high.

Certainly, there are a great many senators who accept the straight-and-narrow course of national leadership in life as well as in campaign literature. There are others, however, who lead with their zippers and occasionally discover themselves outside the protective cloak of Capitol stealth.

Like the junior high kids who won't rat to parents about the mischief of peers, senators aren't usually wont to disclose the transgressions of colleagues ... at least not until they have no choice or it's politically advantageous, at which time they become jackals.

Thus, the Ted Kennedys of the Senate go for years as taxpayer-subsidized lechers, shielded by accommodating chambermates until he becomes an outrageous embarrassment. And if Bob Packwood fondles a few female bottoms for personal enjoyment, or perhaps as a bumbling mating ritual ... well, no need to blow the whistle until it gets out of hand, so to speak.

Part of the redemption of this whole Packwood episode has been watching the senators, who suddenly wish they were spending time with the tedious job of debating health care and NAFTA, squirm as the nationally televised floor discussion turns to sex and privacy.

It's rather like watching a matador kneeling before the crucifix before going into the bullring to get gored.

Talk about righteous indignation, Robert Byrd -- the focus of whose Senate career has been taking all the taxpayer dollars he can lay his hands on and paving every square inch of his native West Virginia -- exuded disgust over the proceedings and insisted Packwood should resign for the good of the institution.

Perhaps the voters of Oregon might suggest that Byrd should step down since he is an embarrassment to blowhards.

For no good reason, my mind drifts from this subject to a dinner-table conversation conducted at my home this week. My second-grade daughter was recounting an activity at recess that day. Some classmates whiled away the time looking over love letters purloined from a girl's older sister.

We were still willing at that moment to accept this as a cute prank. How old is the sister?

"She's in high school."

The older family members exchanged nervous glances. What did it say?

"We couldn't understand it."

A migraine was commencing, though I felt off the hook; this seemed a mother's duty to explain. Down the table, my wife also looked to have a headache.

Why couldn't you understand it?

"It was written in cursive."

Sighs of relief all around. It strikes me, though, that Bob Packwood missed a good bet here, one that could have diffused the entire diary controversy and saved him and his colleagues a lot of heartache and public-relations damage.

Bad penmanship.

Ken Newton is editor of the Southeast Missourian.