My Hero
Aside from my mother and father, I would be hard-pressed to name an individual who influenced me more than William F. Buckley, Jr. In college, my parents bought me a subscription to National Review . I read it cover to cover every two weeks, happily inhaling every fact, nuance, phrase turn and argument, and exhaling in the direction of unwitting professors, members of the social justice committee, womyn for womyn and anyone else nearby.
Buckley fed my interest in politics, writing, reading, music and spy novels. I don't believe in cult figures but he represented something pretty damn close for me. I received two pieces of correspondence from him: a letter and an email. The letter came in response to one I wrote him after reading his book, Overdrive, in one sitting sometime between Christmas and New Year, 1984. I liked the book so much that I sent Buckley a letter, thanking him for writing it. He responded, thanking me for my "kind words." I sent him an email late one night, years ago, asking for his ten favorite classical music pieces. He responded that it would be too difficult to list just ten. I treasured the rebuff.
I'll let others describe his many accomplishments. The one that affected me most probably went unnoticed by Buckley, but I am certain that it similarly measured out with thousands of others across at least three generations of conservatives.
Thanks, WFB.
I think perhaps many of us simply wish to be more like him. He could have become like so many of the jeunesse dore'e but chose instead to be a good man.
He was, in fact, my hero.
Tim
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What?
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He was my hero, too.
I didn't quite know it until a couple of weeks ago, when I ran across one of Vanity Fair's Proust Questionnaires. One of the questions is: "Which living person do you most admire?" After a little brooding and pondering, I realized that for me it was WFB. He was the indispensible man in the second half of the twentieth century.
As it happens, the first Vanity Fair questionnaire I ever saw was Buckley's. It was about 15 years ago, I suppose, but I still remember a few of his answers. He most admired the people who defeated the Soviet Union. He considered the most overrated virtue to be "introspection" (probably referring to an ability to answer those questions). He said his most overused phrase was "in due course." (I noticed that phrase in a couple of the online tributes to him.) What he most valued in his friends was "their companionship." That answer impressed me most of all.
He never heard of me, of course, but in a way I felt that he was an old friend. His conversational writing style probably had something to do with that. I never felt that he was arguing or lecturing or preaching or scolding. He was merely sharing. He had some thoughts he wanted to share, and he flattered his readers by taking the stance they were able to understand. Competent critics, including Bryan Garner, say that Buckley's style --especially his use of unusual words -- is "intimidating." For me, it's the opposite. I always got the feeling that Buckley was letting his readers in on the fun.
I used to almost let my National Review subscription lapse, just so I could get one of his form letters reminding me, as if we were old pals, why I should do my bit and send a check.
William F. Buckley, Jr., my dear fried and mentor who never heard of me. I'll miss your companionship. R.I.P.
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