Swimming With Buckley

Perhaps you're WFB'd out, but if not the Atlantic has posted my own Buckley reminiscence, which is excerpted from Privilege.

And if you've never heard the story of how the Buckley Review and the National Buckley helped get David Brooks his first job, go read his column today.

Comments

Wow. That may be the most 19th-century homoerotic thing I've read in years.

Posted by Sam Hutcheson | February 29, 2008 7:53 AM

When I heard WFB had died, the first thing I thought about was this passage from your book. I was happy to re-read it here.

He was truly a great man.

Posted by PEG | February 29, 2008 8:48 AM

Weird. I think it's pretty well known that Buckley ruled out Brooks as a possible editor for National Review because Brooks is Jewish. In a memo to the NR board, Buckley reported that he had discussed Brooks with George Will: "I said that I thought it would be wrong for the next editor to be other than a believing Christian."

Posted by jw | February 29, 2008 8:53 AM

Well, mentally go through your collection of 19th century homoeroticism, Sam, and let us know whether or not this one in fact gets the top spot.

That David Brooks parody of WFB sounds like it was darn funny. I'm not surprised that Buckley responded the way he did; he was apparently a gracious man. I have heard the story that jw tells before, too, though. Maybe Brooks' "felt [liberty] must be constrained by the invisible bonds of the transcendent order" line is a delicate allusion to that.

Posted by Elvis Elvisberg | February 29, 2008 9:18 AM

That's Burke's line - not Brooks'.

Posted by berger | February 29, 2008 9:30 AM

I think Brooks should write parody more often -- that's good stuff.

Posted by right | February 29, 2008 10:27 AM

"We talked about the Red Sox, I think—our host was writing a book set around 1946, the year that Pesky held the ball—and Ayn Rand, with Jaime asking Buckley if he had been there on the night when I.udwig von Mises had famously reduced her to tears by calling her a “little Jew girl.” (Buckley hadn’t, to everyone’s regret.)"

Gosh! To be young and rich and Christian and making observations about "jaunty caps"!

Posted by TheBannedMoeLarryAndJesus | February 29, 2008 1:11 PM

right writes: "I think Brooks should write parody more often -- that's good stuff."

Brooks has been writing mostly parody over the past few years. He's just not aware that he's doing it.

Posted by TheBannedMoeLarryAndJesus | February 29, 2008 1:14 PM

Quoth Elvis:

Well, mentally go through your collection of 19th century homoeroticism, Sam...

Well, I mean, seriously:

We gawked, too, at Buckley himself, who swept down to greet us, his eyes bright and curious, his wit languid but mischievous, and his flesh slacking a bit with age but still held together by a lurking energy, a sense of coiled potency.
...
That night, which passed in a blur of wine and delicate meats and leisurely conversation, would be our only up-close glimpse of Buckley, or so we assumed at the time.
...
Inside, we were introduced to Buckley’s “boat boy,” Ben, a bearded Yale student hired for the summer to help out on the sailboat.
...
Afterward, we went to the docks, where the boat boy awaited us, and Buckley’s vessel Patito....Buckley and the boat boy had set the sails in order, the young man springing nimbly around the boat while the older man shouted orders, knotted ropes, and steered.
...
So Ben went belowdecks and emerged with champagne and salmon-spread crackers, prepared by the cook back on land. Some time later he mixed martinis, which was where his real skill lay. Buckley said loudly— in martinis, Ben, not sailing!
...
“Well, gentlemen’“‘—his sudden grin seemed to swallow his cheeks—“it seems to me that you should probably put those sweaters on now.
...
Buckley drank the most, but if it affected him, I never noticed, whereas Jaime and I fell into a drunkenness so deep I can barely remember our conversation. We talked about the Red Sox, I think—our host was writing a book set around 1946, the year that Pesky held the ball
...
“I generally take a swim after eating,” he said. “You’re all welcome to swim as well, of course.”
...
Now that he mentioned it, a swim seemed just the thing. (I imagine practically anything would have sounded like just the thing at that point in the evening.) But then I considered the matter more deeply and heaved a deep and regretful sigh.
...
“I’d swim, sir,” I said. “I would swim, I really would like to. But I’m afraid I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”
...
Buckley was just leaping from the bow, a flash of plummeting white flesh in the darkness. Jaime and I undressed quickly, then shouted and leaped in after him. In midflight, I saw Buckley already climbing the ladder, reaching for his towel—
...
“I’m drowning, Douthat!” someone shouted nearby, as I surfaced, spitting salt and floundering. It sounded vaguely like Jaime
...
“He writes books about sailing,” Jaime said. “Some of them are down below, I think, in the cabin. My father used to read them.”
...
“Yeah,” Ben said. “He had a bigger boat once, I think. He’d sail it to the Caribbean, to Europe, around the world, I don’t know where. Not anymore, or not the way he did once. But he isn’t close to quitting or anything. He still sails every weekend, March to September or October. He’ll still be taking the boat out when I’ve gone back to school, almost every Friday night.”
...
We slept on the cabin’s couch, Jaime and I, and woke with the dawn, having had very little sleep. The morning light felt refreshing nonetheless, and there were English muffins and jam for breakfast, and then we raised the anchor and turned north, for Stamford and home.
...
We docked the boat, piled into the Land Cruiser, drove back, and cleaned up in the cottage’s grotto-like basement, which was complete with a changing room, a sunken bath, and a warm-water pool where Buckley swam laps while Jaime and I showered and changed. There was an hour or so that we spent sprawled on the lawn near the ocean, while bees droned in the gardens nearby
...
“Take any of my books you like,” he said, so we each grabbed a handful and he autographed them, then drove us back through the Saturday glare to the Stamford station
...
“So tell me, did that really all just happen?” I asked as we collapsed into our seats and the train began to move.
...
“I still can’t believe you made us go swimming,” Jaime said, and then our giggles carried us off, and so did the train, running west toward the city, leaving Buckley and Pat, Ben the boat boy and Stamford behind.

Note that, for all we know, Ross has been the soul of verisimilitude. In which case entering the great man's orbit apparently just organically gave rise to no end of jaw-clenching wistful moments, to be remembered softly in private, again and again...

I'm a little more inclined to believe that Ross is making subtle fun of his own googly-eyed reaction to WFB. The opening paragraphs set in NR's offices aren't nearly so purple.

Posted by dgj | March 1, 2008 1:25 AM

douthatsgenerousdefender writes: "Note that, for all we know, Ross has been the soul of verisimilitude. In which case entering the great man's orbit apparently just organically gave rise to no end of jaw-clenching wistful moments, to be remembered softly in private, again and again...

I'm a little more inclined to believe that Ross is making subtle fun of his own googly-eyed reaction to WFB. The opening paragraphs set in NR's offices aren't nearly so purple."

They hardly could be, but then I don't suppose time sent with Jonah Goldberg sets off the same vibes as time spent with Caligula himself. But I think the main problem with the piece is how terrible the writing is - all of that "gracious, gracious, angular, jaunty, clipped, gracious," and the bit about "Pat" being "draped with designer clothes." Hell, what else would a non-welfare duchess wear?

The piece is obsequiousness of the highest order. It does make interesting reading on that level and on that level alone. Plus it's unintentionally funny. I'll bet even the "little Jew girl" would think so, if she'd been into Buckley's liquor cabinet as long as the two gigglers.

Posted by TheBannedMoeLarryAndJesus | March 1, 2008 1:43 AM

The full Brooks student parody, posted online for Buckley's 80th birthday, is a hoot (http://sean.gleeson.us/2005/11/18/brooks-buckley-bio). I'm tempted to think Buckley would have enjoyed having it read alongside the serious eulogy.

Posted by Jeff Peterson | March 1, 2008 6:57 PM