In perhaps the only significant mistake in judgement he made in a half-century of writing, William F. Buckley once wrote a book defending Joe McCarthy and his communist witch-hunt. Perhaps we can cut him a little slack; he was only 30 years old at the time. It was his second book. His first, God and Man at Yale, was one of the few "first books" that gave a true insight into a nascent career that spanned half-a-century as this nation’s foremost conservative and controversialist. It also was leitmotif for a lifetime of philosophical thought and political commentary. Mr. Buckley died February 27, 2008 at the age of 82.

In one of those strange twists of life, Buckley was born with a silver spoon in his mouth (his father was a multimillionaire) but became the herald of a golden age of conservative (he would say he was a "libertarian") thought. In my experience, those born to wealth often assume a socialist bent in their early adulthood that may or may not persist as they grow older. Buckley, ever the exception to the rule, became a Don Quixote, charging - lance and steed - into the innumerable windmills of liberalism and socialism that doted the national landscape in the middle third of the 20^th century. He never stopped his attacks.

He began National Review magazine soon after the fireworks began to calm down after "Gamay" (his editor’s mnemonic for God and Man At Yale). His stated purpose was:

Middle-of-the-Road, qua Middle of the Road, is politically, intellectually, and morally repugnant. We shall recommend policies for the simple reason that we consider them right (rather than "non-controversial"); and we consider them right because they are based on principles we deem right (rather than on popularity polls)...The New Deal revolution, for instance, could hardly have happened save for the cumulative impact of The Nation and The New Republic [two liberal magazines, then and now], and a few other publications, on several American college generations during the twenties and thirties.

He vowed to stand "athwart history, yelling `Stop' at a time when no one is inclined to do so, or to have much patience with those who urge it." More importantly, his ideas and ideology brought conservative thought out of the wilderness and into the hearts and minds of the baby boomers. At a time when big government lurched forward, from Roosevelt to Eisenhower to Kennedy to LBJ, it was Buckley and the National Review that cried "enough!". He provided a weekly public forum for writers like Russell Kirk, Whittaker Chambers and Robert Bork who would otherwise have had more limited audiences. Over the first 30 years if the magazine, Buckley estimated that the business lost $25 million. He really didn’t care.

On Firing Line, he made his most significant impact. During its 1,504 episodes over 33 years (incidently, the longest-running public affairs show in television history with a single host), Buckley showed two generations of viewers what can be possible when a massive intellect is seasoned with a bit of showmanship, a teaspoon of humor and a dash of panache. Unlike the "hosts" of the current "issues" broadcasts (who speed talk in a loud voice simultaneously to the effect that no one is heard), Buckley wanted his guests to be heard. If he agreed with your ideas, he wanted to explore them and share them with his audience. If he (Heaven help you!) disagreed, he wanted to dissect, examine and expose the faulty logic or misinformation upon which your ideas were based. Bill O’Reilly bludgeons you over the head; Bill Buckley ran you through with a velvet rapier. You only realized you were wounded and bleeding to death when you saw the tape or asked a friend: "How did I do?".

For those nerds (like me) growing up in the 60s and 70s, his unrivaled command of the English language and honest curiosity for the opinions of others became something to aspire to. I found Buckley simply amazing. He would - always in a playful, even coy manner - challenge the ideas, facts and intelligence of anyone. From Norman Mailer to Ronald Reagan, from Richard Nixon to Hugh Hefner, he interviewed everyone who he found interesting. And he would debate - and usually defeat - all adversaries. He did not argue and never raised his voice (see Hardball or O’Reilly Factor). Practicing the lost art of Socratic inquiry, he would discard your fallacies and non sequiturs, layer by layer, until the basis of your argument was laid naked and bare. The program won an Emmy Award in 1969.

But, aside from his writing, commentary and public persona, Buckley was a bone fide Renaissance Man. He skippered his yacht across the Atlantic and performed Bach’s Concerto in F minor on the harpsichord with the Phoenix symphony orchestra. In 1987, he went to the wreck of the Titanic in a submarine called the Nautile and ran (unsuccessfully, probably to his great relief) for mayor of New York in 1965. His most famous quote was in response to a question as to what he would do if elected mayor of New York. Buckley’s reply: "Ask for a recount." He rubbed shoulders with royalty - political, literary and crowned. He was a friend to many. I wish I could have been one of those many.

Regardless, I will miss him no less. He was a remarkable man who made "nerd" (which, by the way, can be traced to Dr. Seuss’ If I Ran the Zoo, 1951; I always learned something when I read Buckley and, now, when I write about him) seem "cool". And that, dear reader, is not easy to do.