In 1999 I was walking through the NATO base at Sarajevo airport, a copy of my latest National Review visible through the mesh of my laundry bag. Halfway across the motor pool a Marine Captain shouted at me to hold up. He wanted to know where I had gotten the latest NR (mailed from home) and what I thought of "Mr Buckley's magazine ."  We had a brief but pleasant conversation about what Buckley and NR meant to our intellectual lives and then duty called us both away. I never saw him again but I often pause to remember that even in that far-flung city, two of WFB's fans could cross paths.

God Bless you Mr. Buckley and may Our Lady extend her hand to you.
Timothy Ahonen