William F. Buckley
Dear Mr. Buckley,
Despite being a liberal who never met you, except through Firing Line and your columns, I still miss your wit and charm and, let us not fail to mention, your convoluted but entertaining proclamations about conservative rectitude.
As noted by some of those fortunate to have known you, you’re not really gone, the energy you created is eternal.
Regarding the passage of time, I remember a 1975 Firing Line show when your guest asked, “How old are you?”
“Fifty,” you said.
“He’s getting up there,” I said to stoned friends, convinced we’d always be twenty-two.
Yesterday, unaware of the tenth anniversary of your passing I would read about today in your National Review online, I recalled that innocent evening, and reminded myself, “I’m now fifteen years older than Buckley was then.”
And daily I try to convince myself I’ll age no more.
I should like to close with a more realistic fantasy: you’ll be backing Mitt Romney in 2020.
Wishing you the best,