William F. Buckley Surrenders National Review

I was first introduced to William F. Buckley by comedian Robin Williams, whose killer impersonation included the words "Jewish Soul Food".

I was about 14.

Back then was the cold war, and in another five years I would serve the nation such as I could. Between there and then I adopted a black humor about nuclear Armageddon. Working at Wendy's one summer, I was tasked to make a simple sign that announced that a chicken sandwich would be available soon. My copy read "…coming in August barring fire, flood or nuclear holocaust!" I had to redo the sign.

At that time I had no idea that this man whose excruciatingly erudite elucidation mocked by Mork from Ork barely masked an intellectual powerhouse that would provide the stony principles upon which the Evil Empire and its consequent fears would be dashed. It would be another 20 odd years before I would actually crack open a copy of National Review, subscribing after reading articles from the online version.

I learned this week that Buckley is divesting himself of controlling interest of the magazine he founded when Elvis was novel. His intent then, as a conservative, was to "stand athwart history yelling STOP!"

Mr. Georke, my social studies teacher in high-school (and a man who voted for John Anderson) told me a progressive wanted things to move forward, and a conservative didn't. His assessment sounds spot on in view of Buckley's battle cry, but the real meaning is ill-resolved in such superficial light.

Conservatism isn't an impulse to halt to progress, it is an impulse to halt change for the sake of change. Better rendered, it is an impulse to not change things that need changing half-cocked (Doctor, should the tourniquet be around his neck?). Before one tears down a fence, one should inquire as to why a fence has been erected in the first place.

The preceding pithy encapsulations of conservatism are the wellspring of William F. Buckley and the circle of smart men and women he has tutored. I would argue that, at least in Buckley's case, Mr. Goerke was altogether wrong about conservatism. National Review is a fun, funny magazine. It is well-written, and suffused with a timeless hipness that can only come when a writer has one foot planted firmly in history, and one in the present. The writers can quip as easily about an ancient Chinese dynasty as easily as the Simpsons. The editors exhibit extravagant care in keeping the prose moving along to a point. The most mundane book review is a rewarding read.

The aforementioned accolades could only be heaped upon a man who was a true and proper conservative, a man who would tutor the next generation of magazine staff to navigate wisely, to eschew fad for the durable principle. The magazine, unlike any untold number of notions spawned in the 50's nestles comfortably into the generation upon whom he bequeaths. Sharp, funny, easy to read, current and timeless. That's what I call progress.

Tim McNabb