New York
There was a disclaimer of sorts in the programme for William Buckley’s 80th birthday party and National Review’s 50th: ‘WFB guarantees never again to figure in any celebration in which he has a leading role.’ It is the kind of thing a pope or retiring president would announce, but then Bill Buckley is the pope of the conservative movement in America, one which has been hijacked, I might rudely add, by a physically disadvantaged group of gung-ho cheerleaders known as the neocons. Be that as it may, the party at the Pierre hotel was wonderful, poignant, in good taste, graceful and without the kind of hyperbole and mawkishness which have become the hallmark of anything American nowadays. I’ve often written about Bill, a very old friend who gave me my first job, something he’s been doing penance for ever since. But on this particular evening, I was whispered a story about him which I had not heard before. It took place a very long time ago, at the Yale political union, when the undergraduate Bill asked Eleanor Roosevelt whether she would ‘mate’ with Hitler, and the answer was no. Then he asked, what about Stalin? The answer was certainly. Perhaps the story is apocryphal but it sure makes sense.
Author of 47 books and counting, more than 4,000 columns and still going strong, and a public speaker giving as many as 70 lectures per year for close to 50 years, Buckley has obviously not done a Taki and wasted his life away. A review of his best lines as shown on his television programme — which lasted for 35 years — was the highlight of the evening, as was the wonderful music of Alex Donner’s orchestra and Christopher Buckley’s filial master-of-ceremonies interpositions. I sat between Pat Buckley and Nancy Kissinger, and had such a good time I failed to get drunk, which impressed my hosts awfully and rather disappointed the neocons crawling through the vents of the air-conditioners.
Never mind. National Review is an indispensable organ of the conservative movement in America, despite the efforts to hijack it by those short, hairy creatures I just mentioned. Bill was 30 when he started NR 50 years ago, which in a way makes me feel better. I was only 65 when I started the American Conservative, which proves one thing. I am only 35 years less wise than Bill Buckley is. Mind you, wisdom is a very good thing, but good manners are better as far as I’m concerned. This is a great time to be in the Big Bagel, with parties galore, but the rudeness of Noo Yawkers has surpassed civilised limits; if this is not animal house, I’m Monica Lewinsky. Not that London is any better, but at least over there one gets to meet the odd humourist in a taxi or a strip joint. Over here, it’s all about business and about kicking ass. And entitlement. Every single New Yorker feels entitled to let you in on their innermost secrets while they shout on their mobiles. Never in my life have I heard such utter crap, such inane banalities, such bullshit.
Out on the town the other night with my friend Michael Mailer, son of Norman and a very tough guy, I couldn’t take it any more and began to imitate some jerk talking on his phone. ‘Buy 50 million of IBM,’ I shouted, cupping my hand and pretending to hold a mobile. ‘Sell $200 million worth of Microsoft…’ — you get the picture. To my amazement and dismay, no one thought of telling me to shut up. Especially not the jerk who had inspired me to emulate him. He was probably impressed.
Soon something will have to be done about the mobile menace. But today’s entitlement mentality makes it impossible to enforce. Every jerk thinks he or she has the God-given right to do whatever is not prohibited by law, including boring the rest of us to death. One commentator wrote that a nation’s greatness is measured not only by obedience to laws, but also by obedience to the unenforceable. And speaking of rudeness, things are coming to a head at White’s this week. Yes, it’s the same old story, the fact that Osama bin Laden is a member and those who put him up are in some trouble with other members who were never told about him. Harry Laden, as we all call him, was originally sponsored by Sonny Marborough and David Metcalfe, not David Beaufort and Nicholas Soames as I wrote at the time. Metcalfe also sold Harry a life-insurance policy at a great premium. Although I am not in league with them, some new members want Harry suspended, but people like Lord Halifax say once a member always a member unless you go broke and can’t pay the fees. There is a meeting scheduled in the Kandahar room at White’s this Friday, but my guess is that Harry stays, as do Sonny and David.
And now for the good news. The powers that be have told me that I shall be named editor of The Spectator if Boris becomes a front bencher and resigns. This is only fair. I’ve been waiting for the top job for 28 years, seven proprietors and five editors. My first act will be to move Mary Wakefield’s desk next to mine, lock the door, and exercise my droit de seigneur. The next act will be to fire myself having exercised my rights. Well worth waiting for.
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