I have always enjoyed listening to Dick Cavett and William F. Buckley speak.
I first wrote "enjoyed watching", but then I remembered just how painful it was, sometimes, to watch Mr. Buckley speak when he got bug-eyed and writhed his tongue like some hungry serpent.
But, then, that was what fascinated me.
Also, William F. Buckley spoke about ordinary matters in extraordinary ways.
I am trying to think of the right words to describe his speaking style.
He decorated ideas not just with a white and chocolate (or whatever flavor you choose) frosting, but he embellished them with colorful and imaginative verbal sprinkles that astonished mind and imagination.
I liked how he said something more than what he said.
Sometimes I said to myself,
"I don't know what the hell he just said, but it sure sounded good."
Then there were those captivating pauses and stutters of Mr. Buckley's which were just as fascinating as his words and facial gesticulations.
One year I subscribed to The National Review the same year that I subscribed to In These Times and, if I recall correctly, The New Yorker and The Nation, and a few others.
It was this same year that I was mailed ("out of the blue") information by the John Birch Society.
We have lost some very good wordsmiths.
William F. Buckley.
May they continue their colorful conversations wherever they find themselves.
IT'S THE OIL STUPID!