I hear that what we now know about Pompeii is known because 'the dead speak'- a phenomenon of considerable importance to historians and one driven home in the wake of our losing Charles Krauthammer last week, (Born March 13, 1950-died-June 21, 20018, Charles was 69.)
While engrossed in a culinary video, savoring a favorite chapter, "Amazing Avocados", I was assaulted by a news alert announcing that this intellectual giant, Renaissance Man, liver of the life "he intended" and pillar of civility had been snatched from us by cancer.
Charles allowed as how his ‘date’ with learning and purposeful growth was to blossom into an exquisite, enduring marriage with an assist from his father, the penultimate matchmaker. "My father told us very early, 'You have learn everything. You don't have to do everything but you should learn everything.'".
Following a diving accident one year before he was to graduate from Harvard Medical School, which left him paralyzed, he asked to continue with his class. Had he not, Charles was certain he would devolve into a black abyss of despondency.
After his arduous recovery and 'on time' graduation (Our boy demonstrated adefining spirit characterized by his affinity and friendship with hard work.), he pursued psychiatry, finding it to be midway between pragmatism and philosophy. A need to affect change and leave his imprimatur on the world through honest discourse and his clear, succinct style of writing, he deserted medicine, embarking on a career in political journalism in Washington, DC. Why you may ask with hungry curiosity. "Because that's where they make laws."
With his cavalier attitude, his bride and an optimism that was de rigueur, he succeeded in landing an op ed spot with the Washington Post. One thing led (take your best shot. I cannt submit that hackneyed phrase to a piece about Charles. Although he did use it when describing his career change in casual chat! I'll go with 'destiny '.), he eventually joined Fox News as a much venerated, oft-quoted commentator. By the by, our 'hail fellow well met ' was awarded the Pulitzer prize for journalism en route. We last found him there-the pithy, polished pundit we came to know/strived to emulate (Thesaurus in hand). At his passing he also wrote a weekly column for the Post when not engaged with presidents and kings.
His positive affect and innate good grace and affability have been heralded by colleagues, friends, historians, world leaders and the entire Washington Nationals franchise over the decades, (He noted of latter, "With the world going to hell in a handbasket, God created baseball very late on the sixth day.") These same folks, true followers all, also confessed to episodes of white knuckled panic during merry forays with Charles driving his wheelchair-customized van. His propensity to speed dashed all chances of indoctrination into the Drivers' Hall of Fame.
Charles cruised through venues-social, political, sports-with the admirable ease found only in the man who incorporates truth, kindness and comfort with in his own skin. Like some opulent millionaire, squandering precious coins of personality, he whipped around in his metier now engaged in hearty debate, now cheering his beloved Nats, now sharing a room, a dinner, a tete-a-tete with a cohort/friend, or 'splitting a personality ' with stinging bon mots, with his personal ebullience and savoir faire,
always holding forth and fifth and sixth. And his audiences will recall and savor each 'Charles encounter ' as one of spirited inspiration. Thank you, Charles.
Weeks before leaving he wrote he was losing my his battle with cancer`. An army of collea gues have vindicated him admirably by airing his sage commentary vis a vis news topics of the day.
JUST last week, he joined his fellow panel members with his thoughts on immigration. It was wonderful to see and hear him - healthy,wiley and natty as ever wrapping it up for the gang.
As with Pompeii, he 'speaks '. While history herself is in mourning, eloquence has been silenced. Who among us would deny the value in perpetuity of this phenomenon? Who indeed. (Think about it. Take your time. I can wait.)
Later, Lorane. . .
