Won't You Come Home, Bill Buckley?

[Snowden]

Won't You Come Home, Bill Buckley?
By Kathleen Parker

CAMDEN, S.C. — You can't have grown up in the latter half of the 20th century and not have some impression of William F. Buckley. He was like General Electric. Always there.

The Buckleys have always been here, too, at least since the mid-1930s. South Carolina's oldest inland city, Camden was once a polo resort for wealthy Yankees and remains a northern outpost where "winter" is still a verb. Buckley's family home, Kamschatka — a historic landmark of regional renown — was named for a remote region of the remotest Siberia. Such was the out-there feel of Camden for newcomers then and sometimes even now.

This town of 7,500, where Buckley's parents are buried in the Quaker Cemetery, is still a near-perfect 19th-century village, populated by a mix of horse people, traffic-weary transplants, retirees and lucky generations of native sons and daughters who tolerate the yuppie obsession with saving old houses. Camden has dozens of old estates and "cottages" with histories and high ceilings to titillate new generations of ghost seekers.

Into this mix are a fair number of Buckleys, most notably Fergus Reid Buckley — or Tío Reid, as his nieces and nephews call Bill Buckley's younger brother and fellow Yalie. Reid, one of the cousins once told me, is "our Interesting Uncle." And that he is.

When Bill Buckley was in town not long ago to participate in one of his brother's famed debates — a crucial component of the Buckley School of Public Speaking founded and run by Reid (and where I serve as a consulting faculty member) — he told the town that his brother, not he, was the master orator in the family. Reid, he said, was the champion at Yale, not he.

Brother Bill — so famous for his brilliance and his charge to stand "athwart history" and yell, "Stop!" — was characteristically self-effacing and generous.

Reid is equally brilliant, but I will save my reflections on his enormous contributions to Western civilization for another day. This column is about the Buckley who left us this week, whose relentless intellect and prolific creative spirit made the world a richer, saner place.

Upon first meeting, Bill Buckley was not what one expected. He had what all Buckley familiars know as That Buckley Charm. I was, to be honest, terrified that I would fumble some ordinary word in the presence of the meister and reveal myself to be the fool nearly everyone was next to Bill Buckley.

As all great men do, he put me immediately at ease, those piercing blue eyes little baubles of joy at the long-anticipated meeting of yours truly. He had that rare gift of making others feel that they were important and that nothing could be more pleasant than making their acquaintance.

It is a family charm common to Buckleys — not only a sign of good manners but of good breeding.

Like so many of my generation, I had known Mr. Buckley from afar nearly all my life. In fact, Mr. Buckley, as seems the proper salutation (didn't he once write a column about the odd habit of perfect strangers calling him "Bill?"), was an instrument of torture during my childhood.

That is, my father made me watch "Firing Line" each week. In fact, Buckley's talk show was among the few programs that were considered acceptable viewing in a household where television was verboten except briefly on weekends. Other approved activities included reading and, of course, reading.

I remember thinking as I squirmed glaze-eyed through these 30-minute episodes of men talking in a language not my own: To what mortal sin do I owe this dreadful fate?

Looking back, I'm certain that my father hoped some of that intellect would seep in, that some of those multisyllabic words might take root, and that through some magic of telepathy or osmosis, I might absorb some knowledge. Indeed, I was involuntarily privy to conversations I now would willingly replay between Buckley and such lights as John Kenneth Galbraith, Ronald Reagan, Benjamin Spock, Otto Preminger, Walker Percy, Timothy Leary, Clare Booth Luce, Murray Kempton, Albert Gore, Barry Goldwater, Steve Allen, John Ashbrook, Dick Gregory and scores of others.

Quite an education after all.
Now Buckley has joined many of those and centuries of others in the great debate hall above. Lord knows, I hope they have dictionaries in heaven.


Kathleen Parker

[Snowden]

A Farewell: God and William F. Buckley, Jr.

Posted by Rachel Alexander
April 7, 2008 at 7:43 am

The memorial mass for William F. Buckley, Jr., was held April 4, 2008 at the spectacular St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York City. Around 2,200 guests filled the church, a fascinating who’s who of notable conservative and political celebrities from Henry Kissinger to Chris Matthews to Tom Selleck. It was a beautiful full Catholic mass reflective of Buckley’s many years of Catholic apologetics, lasting almost two hours.

Henry Kissinger gave a moving eulogy, choking up at the end, possibly only the second time ever he has done so in public, the first time being at Richard Nixon’s funeral. He began by saying that WFB began four score and two years ago, a subtle way of putting WFB – particularly his verbal ability - in the same league as Abraham Lincoln. Next Kissinger contrasted WFB to Mozart, saying he wrote the way Mozart composed, using words to put cracks in an empire. When Kissinger declared there can be no common ground with evil, one wasn’t sure whether he meant WFB or was adding his own opinion.



Kissinger correctly characterized the essence of Buckley by describing how his faith in God formed the foundation of his political greatness. For WFB, secularism was like charity without a cause. Unlike others who had narrow political agendas, WFB’s ultimate goal was the delivering of the human spirit. And although WFB never claimed it for himself, only for some of his friends, Kissinger said that WFB had achieved both intellectual and spiritual fulfillment. One of WFB's many Biblical references was that we are like little black sheep who have lost our way – but this was said with insincerity since he never lost his way.

Siblings James Buckley and Priscilla Buckley read from the Bible, Ecclesiastes 1:1-11 and Psalm 121:1-8, and Reverend George Rutler gave the homily (sermon to us Protestants), but unfortunately the acoustics in the church were poor and they were difficult to hear.

WFB’s son Christopher, famed humorist in his own right, brought some lightheartedness to the service in his eulogy, observing that the beautiful music (which included some of my favorites, Bach’s Air on the G string, the breathtakingly somber Albinoni Adagio, and of course concluding with Firing Line’s Allegro Assai from the Bach Brandenburg Concerto No. 2 in F major) was meant as a dress rehearsal for the pope’s visit later that month – although WFB would have preferred the order of events the other way around.

Christopher told of his terror growing up as a child on daring family sailing excursions with the “world’s coolest mentor.” He shared some anecdotes revealing the level of WFB’s immense achievements both verbally and literarily. After WFB’s show Firing Line show ended, he appeared on Nightline. The host said at the end of the interview “We have only a minute left, would you care to sum up your 33 years on Firing Line in one minute?” WFB’s response was simply, “No.”

Christopher noted that a man must do three things in his life; write a book, plant a tree, and have a son. While he wasn’t sure whether his father ever planted a tree, he was certain he had destroyed many trees with all of the books (55) he’d written. But he’d also planted many seeds.

For those of us who have always been disturbed that WFB permitted Playboy to interview him, Christopher assured us that the article included a scripture reference at the end, “I know that my redeemer liveth” - something only WFB could get included in a Hugh Hefner adult magazine.

At the burial, Christopher put three things in his father’s casket: his favorite rosary, the TV remote control, and a jar of peanut butter. WFB had a fondness for peanut butter (the only thing I dare boast I have in common with WFB). Christopher shared one of the political cartoons about WFB’s death, featuring St. Peter at heaven’s gates saying he was going to need a bigger dictionary.

Not surprisingly, Christopher revealed that WFB was working on another book the day he died. WFB is finally home from sailing. God and WFB at last.

Notable guests included Rich Lowry, Bill Kristol, Ed Koch, Ward Connerly, John Fund, Lee Edwards, Rep. John Shadegg, Mona Charen, Jonah Goldberg and Lucianne Goldberg, P.J. O’Rourke, Morton Blackwell, Tom Wolfe, Charlie Rose, George McGovern



The Loft » Blog Archive » A Farewell: God and William F. Buckley, Jr.