A Special Thanks to William F. Buckley, Jr.
By Nicholas Desai | Tuesday, March 4, 2008
William F. Buckley, Jr. died on Wednesday, February 27 in his study at Stamford, Connecticut. No one could accuse him of not wringing out every milliliter of his well-heeled background: all of his energy, it seemed, went to staving off boredom and helping others do the same. This newspaper was fortunate to have had him as an ally during its turbulent incipient years and beyond. On behalf of all past and current staff members, I would like to express this newspaper’s gratitude for his guidance and mentorship over the years. The Dartmouth Review also extends its sincere condolences to Christopher Buckley, his son.
On page 11 are excerpts of his writings about the Review. One is struck by several things but most of all by his prescience. Though he famously wrote that his magazine, National Review, would “stand athwart history yelling Stop,” in his commentary on the Dartmouth scene, he was on the right side of history. He stood up in the national press for free speech, for fraternities, and for democracy in alumni elections when such things seemed on the wane. As it did in so many other political venues, his view of things prevailed at the College on the Hill.
His friend Jeffrey Hart sketches a bigger picture on page 15, discussing how he skillfully fused different strands of right-of-center thinking into a viable conservative magazine. This led to Goldwater, to Reagan, and perhaps most consequentially of all, helped crumble the Berlin Wall.
He went about his life with infectious cheer, as demonstrated by a Wall Street Journal interview written Review Editor Emeritus Joseph Rago: “‘There’s nothing I hoped for that wasn’t reasonably achieved,’ declares Mr. Buckley, who will turn 80 later this month. ‘Now, I’m going to have a cocktail,’ he announces, flashing his oblique grin. ‘Will you join me?’”
What better tribute to a man whose greatest work of art may have been his own personality than to report one of his jokes? He once sent a copy of a book to Norman Mailer. In the index, next to “Mailer, Norman,” he wrote, “Hi, Norman! I knew you would look here first. Bill.” That was good, but what about the time when Allen Ginsberg recited some of his poetry on Firing Line? When Ginsberg had finished, Buckley let a beat elapse and then said to the camera, “Rubbish.” Who blends the serious and the entertaining as beautifully, now that he’s left? n
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