RIP, Art Buchwald

Ummm... yes. (And Benny Parsons, too.)

 

I don't have anything cosmic to add here.

The dude made me laugh, and he was one of those guys I'd look for in the Post.

 

My high school journalism teacher was really good. The year before I took his class he had each student pick a newspaper columnist to clip and critique over a few months. The girl who picked Buchwald got a C on her paper. A while later, Buchwald was speaking at a nearby college. The teacher arranged for his students to be able to go. After Buchwald was done talking, the girl brought the paper she had written so Buchwald could autograph it. Buchwald read the thing, autographed it and crossed out the C and wrote A+. The teacher told us the story the next year. "I changed the grade," he said. "I wasn't gonna argue with Art Buchwald."

 

It was free this afternoon. His first appearance is "I'm Art Buchwald, and I just died." Pretty funny stuff.

 

I was in the doctor's office on Monday and I read his latest story in Reader's Digest that was about several months ago.

Art had a hell of a gift for words and for that, I will miss him.

 

Found this in the Sac Bee:

Goodbye to his friends

EDITOR'S NOTE: Art Buchwald asked that this column be distributed following his death, which came Wednesday at his home in Washington, D.C. Buchwald had written the column on Feb. 8, 2006, after deciding to check into a hospice, suffering from kidney failure. He had discontinued dialysis and also had one of his legs amputated below the knee. He subsequently was released from the hospice, wrote a book about his experience and also resumed writing his syndicated newspaper column. He died surrounded by family members.
* * *

Several of my friends have persuaded me to write this final column, which is something they claim I shouldn't leave without doing.

There comes a time when you start adding up all the pluses and minuses of your life. In my case I'd like to add up all the great tennis games I played and all of the great players I overcame with my now famous "lob." I will always believe that my tennis game was one of the greatest of all time. Even Kay Graham, who couldn't stand being on the other side of the net from me, in the end forgave me.

I can't cover all the subjects I want to in one final column, but I would just like to say what a great pleasure it has been knowing all of you and being a part of your lives. Each of you has, in your own way, contributed to my life.

Now, to get down to the business at hand, I have had many choices concerning how I wanted to go. Most of them are very civilized, particularly hospice care. A hospice makes it very easy for you when you decide to go.

What's interesting is that everybody has his or her own opinion as to how you should go out. All my loved ones became very upset because they thought I should brave it out -- which meant more dialysis.

But here is the most important thing: This has been my decision. And it's a healthy one.

The person who was the most supportive at the end was my doctor, Mike Newman. Members of my family, while they didn't want me to go, were supportive, too.

But I'm putting it down on paper, so there should be no question the decision was mine. I chose to spend my final days in a hospice because it sounded like the most painless way to go, and you don't have to take a lot of stuff with you.

For some reason my mind keeps turning to food. I know I have not eaten all the eclairs I always wanted. In recent months, I have found it hard to go past the Cheesecake Factory without at least having one profiterole and a banana split.

I know it's a rather silly thing at this stage of the game to spend so much time on food. But then again, as life went on and there were fewer and fewer things I could eat, I am now punishing myself for having passed up so many good things earlier in the trip.

I think of a song lyric, "What's it all about, Alfie?" I don't know how well I've done while I was here, but I'd like to think some of my printed works will persevere -- at least for three years.

I know it's very egocentric to believe that someone is put on Earth for a reason. In my case, I like to think I was. And after this column appears in the paper following my passing, I would like to think it will either wind up on a cereal box top or be repeated every Thanksgiving Day.

So, "What's it all about, Alfie?" is my way of saying goodbye.

 

http://graphics8.nytimes.com/packages/khtml/2007/01/18/obituaries/20070118_BUCHWALD_FEATURE.html

 

If he came along today, Buchwald would end up working 10 years at one of the Post's suburban bureaus, praying for a break.

 

After USC he moved to Paris without a job and freelanced for Variety before catching on with the International Herald Tribune. So, while his dues-paying was brief, he took a risk that many people wouldn't have.