June 2, 2025 Issue

Louis Menand, in his absorbing “Strong Opinions,” in this week’s issue, gets a lot of things right about William F. Buckley, Jr. He calls him an “overgrown preppie.” I’d go further – he was a snob. He says, “Debate was his preferred medium of exposition, and he would take on anyone who could talk back to him.” This is true; it’s what drew me to his writing back when I was in my early twenties. Menand’s description of Buckley – “And the rumpled, rubber-faced manner, the popping eyes, the languorous drawl, the charmingly wicked grin he flashed when he thought he had scored a kill—Buckley was a show unto himself” – is bang on; it made me smile in recognition. But Menand seems to underestimate Buckley as a writer. Granted, he says of Overdrive (published in The New Yorker, in 1983), “Still, Buckley knew how to turn a phrase, and Overdrive is written with panache.” But overall, he appears to view Buckley more as an entertainer than a writer – “a show unto himself.” 

My view is that Buckley was an excellent writer. My best evidence is his brilliant essay “On Experiencing Gore Vidal,” which originally appeared in the August, 1969, Esquire, and was later included in his 1970 collection The Governor Listeth. It’s a fascinating account of what Menand calls “the Buckley-Vidal fiasco” that occurred live on ABC TV during the 1968 Democratic National Convention in Chicago. Menand describes what happened:

The 1968 Convention was, of course, the scene of the Chicago police clash with antiwar protesters, and the riots became a subject for Vidal and Buckley’s debate. At one point, Vidal called Buckley a “crypto-Nazi,” and got the reaction he hoped for. “Now listen, you queer,” Buckley shouted. “Stop calling me a crypto-Nazi or I’ll sock you in your goddam face and you’ll stay plastered.” Vidal stared at Buckley during this outburst with the expression of a cat that has just swallowed a very large canary. He could barely believe his luck. They were contracted to do one more night on the air; ABC separated them with a curtain.

I didn’t see this broadcast. But, as a result of reading Buckley’s riveting piece, I feel as if I have. Buckley details the history leading up to the confrontation. Near the beginning, he says,

At this point my mind moved to Gore Vidal, and the dismal events of the summer of 1968, when he and I confronted each other a dozen times on network television, leading to an emotional explosion which, it is said, rocked television. Certainly it rocked me, and I am impelled to write about it; to discover its general implications, which are undeniable and profound; to probe the question whether what was said – under the circumstances in which it was said – has any meaning at all beyond that which is most generally ascribed to it, namely, excessive bitchery can get out of hand. But first the narrative.

I am impelled to write about it – right there, I think, is the sign of a true writer. The piece is extraordinary – piquant, detailed, analytical. The use of “faggot” and “faggotry” is offensive and unforgiveable. But in the end, the piece surprises. Buckley apologizes.

But now I’m having second thoughts. Having just finished re-reading “On Experiencing Gore Vidal,” I’m appalled by Buckley’s prejudice against gays. He had a distinctive style – provocative, needling, venomous. Too bad he used it to express such rotten views. 

Henry Louis Gates, Jr.'s "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Black Man" Revisited

O. J. Simpson (Photo by Vince Bucci)

“If the glove don’t fit, you must acquit,” Johnnie Cochran told the jury, in O. J. Simpson’s 1995 murder trial. And that’s what they did – they acquitted. It’s one of the most breathtaking verdicts in the history of criminal law, flying in the face of what appeared to be overwhelming evidence of guilt. Simpson’s death this week brought back memories of that riveting trial. It also reminded me of Henry Louis Gates, Jr.’s New Yorker essay on the case – “Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Black Man” (October 23, 1995). Last night, I reread it. What an extraordinary piece of writing! It begins brilliantly:

“Every day, in every way, we are getting meta and meta,” the philosopher John Wisdom used to say, venturing a cultural counterpart to Émile Coué’s famous mantra of self-improvement. So it makes sense that in the aftermath of the Simpson trial the focus of attention has been swiftly displaced from the verdict to the reaction to the verdict, and then to the reaction to the reaction to the verdict, and, finally, to the reaction to the reaction to the reaction to the verdict—which is to say, black indignation at white anger at black jubilation at Simpson’s acquittal. It’s a spiral made possible by the relay circuit of race. Only in America.

Gates looks at the case from many angles. He sees it as counternarrative: “To believe that Simpson is innocent is to believe that a terrible injustice has been averted, and this is precisely what many black Americans, including many prominent ones, do believe.” He sees it as blacks’ distrust of the justice system: “Wynton Marsalis says, ‘My worst fear is to have to go before the criminal justice system.’ Absurdly enough, it’s mine, too.” He sees it as soap opera: “So there you have it: the Simpson trial – black entertainment television at its finest.” He sees it as black prowess in the courtroom: “By the same token, the display of black prowess in the courtroom was heartening for many black viewers.” I found it heartening, too. And inspiring. Johnnie Cochran became one of my heroes. 

Most compellingly, Gates sees it as “racial reduction” and argues strongly against it. He says,

Yet to accept the racial reduction (“WHITES V. BLACKS,” as last week’s Newsweek headline had it) is to miss the fact that the black community itself is riven, and in ways invisible to most whites.

He goes on to say that he himself was convinced of Simpson’s guilt and was “stunned” by the verdict. 

I think it’s fair to say that many people reacted the same way. I remember being at the Merchantman Pub, in Charlottetown, when the verdict came down. The place was packed. All eyes were on the TV screen above the bar. There were four other lawyers at my table. We took bets on whether the verdict would be guilty or not guilty. I was the only one who bet not guilty. Why? It had nothing to do with race. I’d been following the trial and I was impressed with the way Simpson’s defence team had shredded the prosecution’s case – no search warrant, improperly stored DNA, and so on, not to mention that bloody glove found at the murder scene that didn’t fit Simpson’s hand. I felt there was a good chance the jury would throw the case out. 

One aspect of the trial that Gates doesn’t discuss is Simpson’s wealth, which enabled him to hire some of the best defence attorneys in America. That’s an advantage most of us don’t have. I’m not downplaying the so-called “race divide.” It was surely a major factor in Simpson’s case. But his trial also illustrates a wealth divide. People who can afford to hire top notch lawyers to defend them are more likely to avoid being found guilty than people who can’t.

Gates concludes his piece by likening OJ’s trial to an “empty vessel” into which each of us pours our own meanings. I agree. The verdict is endlessly interpretable.