I was reading an article on William Buckley in Vanity Fair today. He married a woman named Pat Taylor whose father was Austin Taylor. The name Austin Taylor twigged something in my mind and I seemed to recall that my parents had mentioned him before. In the article it said that William Buckley and Pat Taylor were "married... in Vancouver, where the home of Pat's parents, Austin and Kathleen "Babe" Taylor, occupied an entire city block".
So I call my mom and say "who's Austin Taylor?" and she says that he was the guy that had this sprawling estate on Granville and 57th. No shit, think I. Michael and I actually went into the estate on a lark because it has since been converted into rentals. It was beautiful: you could rent a room in this opulent, wood paneled mansion, or take one of the carriage houses. I do believe it was beyond our price range so we simply enjoyed the opportunity to look at a beautiful piece of property and left.
I guess a few decades before Michael and I were on the scene, so were my folks. After the compound was no longer occupied my parents (I'm guessing late teens, early twenties) decided to scale the brick wall and check it out. Up and over they go. And meet a German Shepherd guard dog. So I say, "uh, and then what?" and my mom laughs and says "it was a really friendly guard dog". Thank god for that. But, not wanting to tempt their luck they didn't explore too much and hopped back over the fence.
And to close the loop entirely? Here is Buckley debating my hero (and who was quite dashing in his youth, I must admit): Noam Chomsky. What a class act. I do not agree with Buckley in the least, but I appreciate the civilized debate and I wonder how did we go from that to fucking Fox News? I can somewhat tolerate right wing rhetoric if said contributor is somewhat well informed, articulate and respectful.
But Noam so outclasses him while poking holes in his logic. "They? Who's they?". Ah.
Has everyone picked up "Hegemony or Survival" yet?
3 comments:
It was always hard for me to listen to William F Buckley. He was always on the news back in the day when I was growing up. I remember him rambling on TV and my dad getting angry and wanting to throw something at him. And of course I was a pre-teen so I wasn't paying any attention to what he was saying, I just thought that he really liked to listen to himself talk.
I agree, he seems to like to hear his own voice.
I did find the debate between he and Chomsky fascinating in that Chomsky was so calm and made careful and articulate points and refuted Buckley over and over, but Buckley already had his mind up that he was right.
Get it? Right?
Thanks, I'm here all week.
I loved that Chomsky would just sit there and let him ramble and then give him a short to the point comment. It made Buckley look like some sort of dolt. It was almost comical. I just wanted to throw my slipper at the TV in Dad's honor... even though the morning news was on the TV and I was on the computer.
Ba dum dum (that was my drums) you are funny. Hey when I nod my head slightly it looks like you're nodding in you picture. No... really I've only had one glass of wine tonite. Brother-in-laws is here, I may end up finishing this bottle and starting another. Then I'll crawl down the hall and lay on the floor beside the bed... it's a really tall bed. I'm not going to risk it.
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