I was still an undergraduate when, in the summer of 1970, I first laid eyes on Spain, spending seven or so heady weeks in the bright shadow of San Lorenzo de El Escorial, an immense, intimidating pile built by Philip II in the shape of a huge gridiron on which its patron, St. Lawrence, had … Read more
I met Bill Buckley (d. Feb. 27, 2008) only once, over lunch, so long ago that I can scarcely remember what was said. Only that it was by invitation (his, obviously), issued as a result of a letter I’d sent him describing a Summer Institute in Spain, organized by his brother-in-law, L. Brent Bozell, with … Read more
An old and valued friend, who retired after a half-century cheerfully and productively spent in the classroom, used to tell me that it was silly to think anyone would remember him once he was gone. “Like a stone falling into a river,” he’d say, using one of several similes to which he was drawn, “I’ll … Read more
I first met Fritz Wilhelmsen (1923-1996) in the summer of 1970, falling at once under the spell of his magic. Such a long time ago it all was, too. Yet I remember it all as if it were but yesterday. There I was, this naïve and provincial American undergraduate, strangely catapulted by circumstance (and God) … Read more