Close Encounters: William F. Buckley, Jr

February 27, 2008• (0) Comments

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Americans everywhere were saddened today to learn of the death of William F. Buckley, Jr., inspiration for a generation of young conservatives and one of my earliest heroes. Buckley’s erudition and his obvious glee upon encountering real mordancy or wit (he’d skewer either, equitably) is what first drew me to the conservative mindset after a dissolute youth. He didn’t shout-down bad ideas with talking points as so many of today’s radio pundits do. He simply undermined them with an insight so wicked and quick that his victims could only smile at the beauty of their undressing.

I had the good fortune to meet the Chairman a couple of times, most notably at the conclusion of the 1986 Newport-to-Bermuda Race, when I found him holding court in the Gentlemen’s Bar at the Royal Bermuda Yacht Club in Hamilton. The fleet had been trickling into port for more than a day and a raucous party was taking shape in a tent on the grounds above the host club’s docks. I couldn’t find elbow-room to freshen my glass, so I ducked indoors and encountered the Great Man and his shipmates, regaling the bartender with some salty story or another.

Just as I caught the bartender’s eye, all conversation stopped abruptly. 

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Close Encounters: Jerzy Kosinski

November 23, 2007• (0) Comments

A Thanksgiving Day investment board discussion at The Motley Fool turned up a literary reference to Chauncey (Chance) Gardiner, the character played by Peter Sellars in Hal Ashby’s 1979 film adaptation of Jerzy Kosinski’s novel, Being There. A poster in the thread quoted Chauncey to counsel patience during November’s rough patch in the markets.  Instead, I was reminded of a “chance” encounter of my own and dashed off this reply. At 2am in a dark bar in NYC, you’re liable to encounter anybody. More liable, perhaps, if your tastes run to famous authors and strenuous conversation.

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Chance is one of my favorite literary characters. Quite a few years ago as a dissolute youth, I found myself at 2am in an empty bar on the edge of NYC’s meatpacking district. It was a long time before that area became a happening place, but this bar was a notable warm spot on a dark street and my buddy and I simultaneously, impulsively ordered our cabby to pull over. The room was empty, but it smelled the way livelier places sometimes do and it had two significant things going for it: it was open and the bartender was a good-looking gal of about 26. There was a good chance she could use the company.

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