The pleasure of your company
By Mahir Ali
‘You can go on stilts.
You can go by fish.
You can go in a Crunk-Car
If you wish.
If you wish
You may go
By lion’s tail.
Or stamp yourself
And go by mail.
Richard M. Nixon
Don’t you know
The time has come
To go, go, GO!’
NINE days after the above words — and a lot more in the same vein — appeared in print in hundreds of newspapers, Richard Milhous Nixon did indeed go, becoming the first president of the United States to do so.
For the record, he ignored all of the bizarre options on offer. He left by helicopter. The exhortation appeared in a widely syndicated column, but it wasn’t the columnist who had thought up the words. Sometime earlier, Art Buchwald had chided his friend Theodor Geisel — an extraordinarily innovative children’s writer better known by his nom de plume, Dr Seuss — for having failed to write anything about the dominant political issue of the day, the Watergate scandal. Geisel responded by sending him a copy of ‘Marvin K. Mooney Will You Please Go Now!’, a book he had published two years earlier, with every reference to the title character crossed out and replaced with Richard M. Nixon.
Buchwald was so amused that he obtained Geisel’s permission to reproduce the text in place of his column. The rest, as they say, is history.
Of course, Buchwald didn’t usually require such assistance: he was pretty good himself at coming up with amusing little tales that mocked the foibles and follies of the high and mighty. So good, in fact, that he made a living out of it for more than 50 years.
Buchwald died a week ago at the age of 81, after what was arguably the most unexpected year of his life. After kidney and vascular ailments compelled doctors to amputate one of his legs, they told him he would need regular dialysis to cling on to life. Buchwald decided against it. About 12 months ago, he submitted his last column, requesting that it be published posthumously (as it finally was last week), and entered a hospice, describing it as “a place where you go when you want to go”.
He had been led to believe that two or three weeks were the most he could hope for, and he planned to make the most of it. He feasted at will on the unhealthiest foods — often from McDonald’s — and played host to all manner of celebrities who came to bid farewell.
Then, a funny thing happened. His kidneys kept functioning. He resumed his column. “I hold court in the big living room,” he reported to his readers in a column published on March 8 last year. “We sit here talking about the past, and since it’s my show, we talk about anything I want. It’s a wonderful place to be ... How long they allow me to stay here is another problem. I don’t know where I’d go now, or if people would still want to see me if I wasn’t in a hospice. But in case you’re wondering, I’m having a swell time — the best time of my life.”
Somehow, it’s not hard to believe him. Eventually he checked out and returned to his home in Martha’s Vineyard. According to friends, he retained his sense of humour to the last. One of Buchwald’s final wishes was not to die on the same day as Fidel Castro, as that would adversely affect the news coverage he received. As far as anyone can tell, it was fulfilled.
His columns in recent months reflected his diversity of interests and underlined his penchant for making unexpected connections between seemingly disparate events. Last October, for instance, he pictured himself at Dulles Airport, unable for months on end to catch a flight to Heaven. The lady at the counter explains why the planes are so full: “Heaven is still one of the most popular places to go ... For many, it’s a religious experience ... All the big religions — Christianity, Islam, Judaism — are booking flights. Atheists are in our data bank too. They’re on the no-fly list.” Eventually the woman starts summoning standby passengers by name. “Who knows when she’ll get to me,” wonders Buchwald.
Earlier the same month, inspired by General Pervez Musharraf’s appearance on Jon Stewart’s comedy show, Buchwald imagined hosting Saddam Hussein in a similar setting. The deposed Iraqi leader tells him: “I was tried for violating human rights. Everyone knows we never had any human rights in Iraq.” Buchwald tells him, “They say you gassed 180,000 Kurds.” Saddam responds: “I proved it was a crime of passion. It’s the best chapter in my book.”
In another recent column, he envisaged Colonel Cruncher and Major Numbers trying to come up with a credible official figure after it was reported that more than 650,000 Iraqis had died since the American invasion. After agonising for a while, Colonel Cruncher comes up with: “Let’s tell them (the White House) to use 30,000 — the same figure we had three years ago.” Then, on reflection, he decides to arbitrarily double it.
It is hardly surprising that the Bush administration provided Buchwald with rich pickings. So, for that matter, did the Clinton and Reagan administrations. It has always been my impression, though, that he particularly relished the Nixon years. That may be a subjective assessment, given that my acquaintance with Buchwald — in print, that is — dates back to the early 1970s. On Watergate as well as Vietnam, he could be excoriating. To his lasting regret, he never made it onto the president’s infamous Enemies List, but that didn’t deter Buchwald from adopting Nixon as his favourite president, quipping at one point: “I worship the quicksand he walks on.”
Nixon wasn’t, by a long stretch, Buchwald’s earliest target. In fact, his humorous barbs date back to the days when Nixon was no more than an unpopular vice-president. The budding columnist was based in Paris at the time. How he got there is an intriguing story. The young Art, of Austro-Hungarian descent, endured an unhappy childhood that entailed deprivation and sojourns in orphanages. At an early age, he learnt to make others laugh. When the Second World War broke out, he joined the Marines — and that proved to be his salvation in more ways than one.
After the war, he enrolled himself in a writing course at university, but then realised that the GI Bill entitled him to study in France at government expense. So off he went. Once there, he conned his way into a job with the New York Herald Tribune, which published an international edition in Paris, as a food and entertainment reporter. Before long he realised his true vocation lay not in straight reporting or gossip columns, but in humour. It proved popular enough for the Tribune to syndicate.
Buchwald never did learn much French, but his rudimentary knowledge of the language enabled him to come up with a perennial favourite: a column explaining the North American harvest festival Thanksgiving Day — or “le Jour de Merci Donnant” — to the French. Since the mid-1950s, it has been published every year on the fourth Thursday in November. And in all these years, it hasn’t grown stale. That’s quite an achievement.
After 10 years in Paris, Buchwald found himself stagnating, so he relocated to the US capital in 1962. Ever afterwards, he held up a mildly distorting mirror to Washington and won the admiration of millions — including many of his victims. “If you attack the establishment long enough and hard enough,” he noted, “they will make you a member of it.” That’s not entirely true. It depends on how you do it. There are innumerable critics of the US establishment who suffered for their dissidence and were never invited into its ranks. Buchwald was, in a sense, embedded from the start. His lambastings were not only humorous but generally gentle and, at best, only mildly subversive. He posed no threat to the established order but merely offered a safety valve.
None of that detracts, however, from his brilliance as a master of brevity and wit. His broadly liberal leanings notwithstanding, Buchwald wasn’t really a political being: he appears to have had no agenda other than to point people towards the funny side of politics in particular and life in general. He didn’t have a problem with exposing hypocrisy and lies, even though he may have had an interest, at least subconsciously, in perpetuating the status quo. And although it could be argued that innocuous humour can diminish the unpalatability of those who deserve to be disdained, it must be acknowledged that Buchwald was reasonably indiscriminate in his choice of targets.
He will be missed. His wry observations and meaningful flights of fancy tended to produce smiles rather than belly-laughs. And the smiles will linger, not least because they were evoked by a man who himself suffered from bouts of depression that verged on the suicidal.
In his premature final column, Buchwald noted: “I would just like to say what a great pleasure it has been knowing all of you and being a part of your lives.”
To which one can only respond: Thank you, Mr Buchwald. The pleasure was all ours.
email: mahir.worldview@gmail.com


