This past Tuesday morning, the news broke hard and cruel that another of the good guys had left us. Though “good” guy is a sinful understatement in the case of P.J. O’Rourke. He was the best guy. Anyone who knew him would readily admit this, even if hating to do so while uttering that ugliest of past-tense verbs (“was”) through gritted teeth. Having been recently diagnosed with a fast-metastasizing cancer, P.J. was taken by a blood clot in his lungs. Or so I think I heard from the mutual friend who relayed the grim particulars. It’s difficult to keep your facts straight while the wind’s being knocked out of you.
