
My posting on this is much delayed due to a family vacation, but a few weeks ago the unforgettable American writer and political thinker
William F. Buckley passed away.
Over the course of his life, he'd sailed across the Pacific once, the Atlantic twice, had run for Mayor of NYC, sat on the UN, worked for the CIA, mastered the harpsichord, became the longest-running talk show show host in America and was credited with getting Ronald Reagan into the White House. Even more amazing, Bill Buckley had zero interest in golf.
So why do I even mention him? I was Buckley's assistant from 2001 to 2002. At the time we met he was one of the smartest people on the planet... and I was working on a TV show with a talking cat.
I thought I was going to Connecticut for a formal interview but in the end it was a bizarre, hysterical day that culminated with WFB inviting me to join him for a swim in his pool. Naked.
The story was turned into a longer essay I'm trying to get published since, well, if not now, when?
I'll end this with hands down my favorite moment with him, the one brief moment where I knew something that William F. Buckley did not:
Bill is sitting at his keyboard, typing. He stops and looks up.
Bill: "Uh, Bob..."
Me: "Yes?"Bill: "What do you call the kind of pants that Westerners wear?"
A long uncomfortable pause.
Me: "Blue jeans...?"
Bill: "Ah yes..."
Bill goes back to typing.
RIP, Bill...