I like this Garry Wills remembrance of William F. Buckley, which appears in the current issue of The Atlantic. Wills, as a young man, was a National Review golden boy, but as he moved to the left, he and Buckley became estranged. I was happy to read at the end of this piece that they made up before Bill died. Excerpt:
Hour by hour, day by day, Bill Buckley was just an exciting person to be around, especially when he was exhilarated by his love of sailing. He could turn any event into an adventure, a joke, a showdown. He loved risk. I saw him time after time rush his boat toward a harbor, sails flying, only to swerve and drop sail at the last moment. For some on the pier, looking up to see this large yacht bearing down on them, it was a heart-stopping moment. To add to the excitement, Bill was often standing on the helmsman's seat, his hands clutching the shrouds above his head, turning the wheel with his foot, in a swashbuckling pose. (He claimed he saw the berth better from up there.)I once saw the importance of his swift reflexes on the boat. We had set out for a night sail on the ocean, and Bill's Yale friend Van Galbraith--later President Reagan's ambassador to France--had got tipsy from repeated shots of Tia Maria in his coffee. He fell overboard while the boat was under full sail. In a flash, Bill threw overboard a life preserver with a bright light on it, and called for us to bring the boat about. We circled back toward Galbraith, found him in the darkness, and fished him out. It was a scary moment, one that only Bill's cool rapidity kept from being a tragic one.
Bill wrote the way he sailed, taking chances. Once, he called me up to ask about some new papal pronouncement. He had got into trouble with fellow Catholics by criticizing papal encyclicals, and I had become a kind of informal adviser on Catholic matters. The statement at issue that day was obscure.
He wanted to launch an immediate attack on it. I asked why he did not wait to see what impact it would have. "Why not wait? Because I don't have falsos testes." He was referring to an earlier discussion, in which he asked whether even papal defenders admit the pontiff can err. I said that medieval commentators claimed that such an error could happen if the pope was given imperfect evidence (propter falsos testes). He asked, "Isn't testis [testifier] the same word in Latin as testicle?" Yes. That was all the warrant he needed.

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In the old world, men didn't swear on a sacred book when they took an oath, they used something nearer at hand. It wasn't just the Romans...I think that's what it means in the O.T. when Abraham or Isaac tells his son to "lay your hand on my thigh" and swear...
Yes . . . "I swear by the most sacred thing in the entire world--MY BALLS! Put your hand right here and swear!" Oh yeah. But we're not living in a patriarchy or anything. . . .
It's appropriate, I guess, for Wills, who was once both protege and friend, to put the best construction on Buckley's life. But I think this would be a better world and Buckley might have been a better man if he'd been less worried about his testes. Gloss over it how you will, it's not cute to drive a yacht with your foot just to show off. It's not cute, or a sign of manhood, to fall asleep while piloting a plane. Having bosom friends who get so drunk they fall off the boat is not cute, either, even if you do manage to pick them up before they drown. To the extent that this kind of thing was emblematic of Buckley's larger worldview, it was a destructive element in his life, not a praiseworthy feature.
http://www.newsweek.com/id/202620
This question of class plays a crucial part in Fairlie's contempt for American conservatism. Though he wasn't an aristocrat (his father had been a hard-drinking Fleet Street prodigy before him) and genuinely relished spending time with people far removed from the Washington media overclass, he was repelled by the GOP's pandering to the common man. It struck him as vulgar. And it led to his most notorious feud.
During the 1980 Republican convention, he wrote a column for The Washington Post describing the delegates as members of the "booboisie" once mocked by H. L. Mencken, by which Fairlie meant they were: "Narrow minded, book banning, truth censoring, mean spirited; ungenerous, envious, intolerant, afraid; chicken, bullying; trivially moral, falsely patriotic; family cheapening, flag cheapening, God cheapening; the common man, shallow, small, sanctimonious." William F. Buckley replied with a column attacking Fairlie for being an English interloper, a bad grammarian and a snob. When Buckley included the column in an essay collection five years later, Fairlie panned the book in The New Republic, dissing Buckley as unconservative, overexposed and "the quintessential Common Man of our time." This so incensed Buckley that he bought a full-page ad in a subsequent issue of the magazine to reprint his original attack on Fairlie.
When I first read Fairlie's column about the convention, it seemed overheated. Then I watched Sarah Palin speak. Fairlie's disgust at the GOP's impulse toward small-minded demagoguery anticipated the day when it would reach its fullest expression—when the movement would have no farther to fall.
if you read bill sailing books he was actually quite careful. bringing a sailboat into dock under sail is only dangerous if you haven't sailed or don't know how to manuever a boat. you are only going two or three knots...and turning into the wind brings the boat to a quick standstill.
I went to college with people like Buckley, so rich there was never a question of consequences.
He has always reminded me of Fitzgerald's Tom Buchanan.
Of coure, you can be a blithe spirit when you know the chickens will never come home to roost, and you will never be forced to pay the piper.
For myself, I will always despise such men, and as for Garry Wills and his praises of this moral midget Buckley--I had thought better of Wills.
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