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Art Buchwald
Jan. 18th, 2007 08:45 pmI found out that Art Buchwald died today.
He wasn't a great writer though he was a good one. But I find myself unaccountably sad because his column was such a large part of my life for so long.
The first time I read a newspaper was when we lived in London. I was 7 and wanted to know "why the man in the picture had such a funny expression." It was Robert Kennedy, and he'd just been shot. At that point, I didn't make a habit of reading the paper, but I would look at it most days.
About a eighteen months later, we moved to Virginia Beach and I made a marvellous discovery: the comics ran every day, not just on Sundays. Later that year we moved to Washington D.C., and I discovered Doonesbury. (Zonker and I joined the strip the same day. *G*)
Watergate hadn't happened quite yet, but I was noticing politics. Just before we moved to Virginia Beach, I remember asking my Dad why people were so worried about the Communists in the Italian election. He took the question seriously and told me. Forty-five minutes later, Mom was begging us to stop talking and come have dessert.
The comics were usually in the Style section of the Washington Post, and twice a week that's where Art Buchwald was as well. His column also appeared on Sundays, but it was years before I found that out because it was in another part of the paper.
I read the Tuesday and Thursday offerings religiously. If I didn't understand why they were funny, I'd ask someone -- or read another part of the paper to find out what he was referring to.
Thanks to Art Buchwald, I started to read the editorials every day. I began to seriously look at the front page and the Local section. And, of course, I read the Style section cover to cover. In the 1970s that included the ads for porn films, by the way. (I still remember the one for the XXX Pinocchio: It's not his nose that grows! It was nearly a decade later that I finally understood that one.)
In a very real sense, I wouldn't be who I am if not for Art Buchwald. His humor led me to so many other things that I can't count all the branches from that tree.
I'll miss his take on things. I'll miss the fractured French (well, maybe not that). I'll miss that absurd voice of his. I will absolutely miss the feeling that I know what's really going on in Washington.
R.I.P. Art.
He wasn't a great writer though he was a good one. But I find myself unaccountably sad because his column was such a large part of my life for so long.
The first time I read a newspaper was when we lived in London. I was 7 and wanted to know "why the man in the picture had such a funny expression." It was Robert Kennedy, and he'd just been shot. At that point, I didn't make a habit of reading the paper, but I would look at it most days.
About a eighteen months later, we moved to Virginia Beach and I made a marvellous discovery: the comics ran every day, not just on Sundays. Later that year we moved to Washington D.C., and I discovered Doonesbury. (Zonker and I joined the strip the same day. *G*)
Watergate hadn't happened quite yet, but I was noticing politics. Just before we moved to Virginia Beach, I remember asking my Dad why people were so worried about the Communists in the Italian election. He took the question seriously and told me. Forty-five minutes later, Mom was begging us to stop talking and come have dessert.
The comics were usually in the Style section of the Washington Post, and twice a week that's where Art Buchwald was as well. His column also appeared on Sundays, but it was years before I found that out because it was in another part of the paper.
I read the Tuesday and Thursday offerings religiously. If I didn't understand why they were funny, I'd ask someone -- or read another part of the paper to find out what he was referring to.
Thanks to Art Buchwald, I started to read the editorials every day. I began to seriously look at the front page and the Local section. And, of course, I read the Style section cover to cover. In the 1970s that included the ads for porn films, by the way. (I still remember the one for the XXX Pinocchio: It's not his nose that grows! It was nearly a decade later that I finally understood that one.)
In a very real sense, I wouldn't be who I am if not for Art Buchwald. His humor led me to so many other things that I can't count all the branches from that tree.
I'll miss his take on things. I'll miss the fractured French (well, maybe not that). I'll miss that absurd voice of his. I will absolutely miss the feeling that I know what's really going on in Washington.
R.I.P. Art.
