This is the way I heard it.

When you look like a movie star and your co-workers call you a golden boy, it might be tempting

to head west, try your luck in Hollywood.

But when your dad's a successful writer and your grandfather's even more successful,

you might feel a certain obligation to find out if you too inherited the literary gene,

which is precisely why Peter was sitting in the White House, staring at a blank piece

of paper, trying to decide what the President of the United States should say next.

Peter wasn't suffering from writer's block, as the newest speech writer for Lyndon Johnson

knew exactly what the President should say, and already churned out a dozen excellent

drafts.

The problem was, the President hated everything he wrote.

Peter's boss, an old friend named Robert Kintner, was getting worried.

Hey, golden boy, you'd better write something brilliant, fast, but Kintner knew that Peter

wasn't really the problem.

The problem was Kennedy.

JFK's speeches had been so damn good that everything Johnson uttered sounded second

rate by comparison.

Peter could hear the ice cracking beneath him when Kintner walked into his office and

told him his latest policy speech was simply not Kennedy-esque enough.

LBJ isn't happy, said Kintner, write up something for that tree lighting ceremony in the Rose

Garden instead.

Peter loathed these assignments.

...