High life
Firing squad
Takt
New York In a country where television reigns supreme, and producers assiduously follow Mencken's motto that no one ever went broke underestimating the public's taste, William Buckley's Firing Line stands out like a democrat in the Kremlin. It is one of the longest-running television programmes, and among people who don't think Dallas is more inspiring than War and Peace, the greatest compliment is to be invited on Firing Line as a guest. The ultimate fantasy of the guest is to outwit his host. After 15 years, no one has yet managed it. Last week there was a birthday party for the show's 15th anniversary, and it was given by Senator Moynihan, Henry Kissinger, Ann Armstrong, William Simon and Alistair Cooke. The place chosen by the hosts, the New York Yacht Club, was fitting in view of the fact that Buckley, who is a member, has already twice crossed the Atlantic, both times as skipper, in sailing boats smaller than the tenders one finds on board a Greek shipowner's yacht.
• The format of the programme used to be quite rigid. One sat opposite Buckley and he fired away, but now it has expanded to include guests of the same ideological persuasion as the host. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn's warning to the West about its spiritual decline was aired there, as were the views of that sneaky Southern quack, a then as yet unknown flim-flam man by the name of Jimmy Carter. Many guests, like Malcolm Muggeridge and Jorge Louis Borges, have addressed the larger questions of history and morality, while others, like Norman Mailer, have simply gone on and been made fools of by Buckley for comparing themselves to people they have no business being in the same room with.
There have been so many memorable debates, and even more memorable victories by Buckley, that it would be unfair to try and list a few. But I cannot forget what Buckley did to Eldridge Cleaver on the programme, to Anthony Lewis, to Kenneth Galbraith, and to many others used to spreading left-wing ideas among the rich idiots they hang around with. Buckley's and the programme's strength is the more impressive because there is none of the bombast, shrillness and rhetoric so fashionable today when people are trying to get their point of view across.
, Like Firing Line, the party was resonant with passion, intellect, and good humour. It was full of old allies and foes, although some thought it wiser not to turn up. When I walked in the first person I saw was Edmund Brown, the guru of California. Typically, he was walking around the vast room shaking hands, working the crowd, and despite the fact that I followed him round trying to make him uncomfortable, his proverbial rhino hide came to his rescue.
My hero Dr Shockley was there, the man who has proved beyond a reasonable doubt that there are genetic differences between races, and that left-wingers have feebler brains than right-wingers. Allen Ginsberg, the foul-looking and fouler-smelling beat poet, was walking around the hallowed hall complaining about the presence of CIA agents, but no one paid him much attention.
Buckley was in great form. When Howard Hunt and Gordon Liddy both went up to greet him, just as the President was telephoning to congratulate him, Bill did not miss the cue: `Mr President, thank you, thank you very much,' he said, and then, `Ah,Mr President,1 have Howard Hunt and Gordon Liddy in front of me; do you have any instructions?' When someone asked why Teddy Kennedy had consistently refused to debate on the programme, Bill raised his eyebrows and asked rhetorically: `Does the ham like the knife?' I say it would be interesting to see the thug from Massachusetts appear if only to see how he gets along without the aid of a teleprompter.
After three hours of watching eggheads amuse themselves I had had enough. So I thanked Bill, the various hosts, my future father-in-law, and headed for the door. That is when the Governor of California caught up with me, grabbed my hand and shook it almost out of its socket. Thank God for karate.
Previous page
