In a 60 Minutes interview that aired shortly before Ronald Reagan's inauguration, Morley Safer asked William F. Buckley Jr., "Has there ever been a liberal Buckley? What would you do if one came along and openly proclaimed to be?"
Buckley's response: "Pray for him."
In so many ways, Buckley was a singularity. From sailing and playing the harpsichord to his expansive vocabulary, Buckley's uniqueness makes it difficult to discuss his legacy because so much of his influence was a function of his irrepressible spirit, energy, industriousness, and personality. Growing up in Sharon, Connecticut, one of 10 children, he and his siblings put together an in-house family newspaper. He didn't stop writing until the day he died, February 27, 2008.
There were 55 books, thousands of columns, a television show that lasted for three decades, and countless personal letters. George Nash once told David Brooks that Buckley might have written more private correspondence than anyone in history. For any other man, that speculation might seem to be exaggerated. For Buckley, it makes sense.
When Buckley died, the conservative intellectual movement not only lost its founder. It lost one of its most outsized and appealing characters. Buckley was the paradigmatic opinion journalist: author, editor and publisher, columnist, television host, debater, lecturer. Each media he adopted became a platform to spread right reason. Through his work in print and, perhaps more importantly, television, he communicated that conservatism could be intellectual, respectable, and popular.
Buckley's personality and methods quickly became the templates for conservatives everywhere. He was erudite, well mannered, civil (most of the time), and quick-witted, a match for the best the liberals could put up. His journalism, activism, mayoral campaign, social life, and hobbies were parts of a grand drama, a heightened, epic, and entertaining performance. "No other actor on earth," wrote his friend Norman Mailer, "can project simultaneous hints that he is in the act of playing Commodore of the Yacht Club, Joseph Goebbels, Robert Mitchum, Maverick, Savonarola, the nice prep-school kid next door, and the snows of yesteryear."
This long-lasting show was delightful and enrapturing. It is no accident that Buckley's best books—Unmaking of a Mayor (1966), Cruising Speed (1971), and Miles Gone By (2004)—feature the same protagonist: himself. Who wouldn't want to live like this wealthy, engaged, connected, impassioned, witty man of letters? To read Buckley's work is to become a participant in his madcap, contentious, and exciting life, and maybe pick up a few of his ideas as well.
James Panero of The New Criterion was a recent Dartmouth graduate when Buckley hired him as a research assistant for one of the books Buckley wrote during winters in Gstaad, Switzerland. In a tribute published by National Review Online, Panero described his life with the Buckleys. They worked in the morning as the Goldberg Variations played in the background, then broke for lunch, then skied, before resuming work in the afternoon.
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