Let me make it clear that I was never a disciple. I never read his books. I disagreed with what was written in The National Review the few times I glanced at it.
But I did watch Firing Line when I was growing up and old enough to care about the arguments that were made. I admired his facility with language. I respected the arguments he made and had to smile when asked just the right question to put his guest on the spot, smiling mischievously as he did. When I did not agree, which was most of the time, I still had to think through why I disagreed. Someone who makes you do that needs to be thanked.
His love of language was palpable. No doubt many found him snobbish and showy because of his penchant for using long, little-known words. The New York Times this week caught his tone beautifully:
"Mr. Buckley marshaled polysyllabic exuberance and a refined, perspicacious mind to elevate conservatism to the center of American political discourse."Yet I read once that he chose words precisely. To him, not just any word would do; it had to fit the meaning he intended perfectly, or close to it. That is a precept I have tried to follow when writing. I confess that I owe the attitude to him. His words were showy and pyrotechnic. But they were pyrotechnics with a purpose and a love for the sheer sound they produced. If such language is a vice, it is easily forgiven.
His brother Reed once came to Culver Military Academy when I was a cadet. He was much like his brother in politics and language. I remember the evening as one of polite but earnest intellectual sparring. This wasn't Bill, but it felt much as if it were. I loved it.
Firing Line is long gone. And now so is Buckley. There is now no one who can both challenge and entertain us with splendid language and rigorous logic placed at the service of political argument.
Thanks, Bill.
