A Remarkably Gracious Man   

It was the late 1960's and my parents were hosting a cocktail party at our home on Long Island for James Buckley, who was running for the State Senate of New York.  Brother Bill was running late and everyone was abuzz with the anticipation of his arrival,  which I caught on camera as he came dashing breathlessly down our driveway, scooting in the front door, through our house, and out onto the back porch to deliver his words on behalf of his brother.  When the festivities were over, James Buckley had other promises to keep, but, wonder of wonders, Bill Buckley cheerily agreed to join us and several of my parents' friends at dinner.  I was in my early 20's and thoroughly star-struck, having idolized William F. Buckley, Jr. since my high school days as a member of YAF.  I never expected him to actually SPEAK to me, after all I was just the daughter and surely of no possible interest to him.  I was fully prepared to hover somewhere in the background and  worship from afar.  And yet there he suddenly was, standing next to me, asking me about myself and about my fiancee who was in the Merchant Marine.  Not only that, he was actually interested, kind, and attentive.  I always wanted people to know that about him—that he was such a warm and friendly man, a man so gracious as to make me feel that, insignificant as I was, what I  had to say was of acute interest to him.

Godspeed!
Beverly M. Squires 

03/02 10:12 PM