NR Webathon

Calling Minnie, and All Other Moochers

Cab Calloway in a lobby card for the 1943 film Stormy Weather (via Wikimedia)
If you’re grateful for what NR has done for you without asking you to pay, now’s your chance to show your gratitude.

Legend has it she was a red-hot hootchie-coocher, but, according to Mr. Calloway, Minnie was also a moocher. Which pertains to our 2020 Summer Webathon — now in its final days, and for which we seek support from any and all of our readers, based on the vital importance of our relentless content. Such as our full-out battle against the Culture Cancelers, the threats from Red China, the 1619 baloney, the madness in our streets from leftist America-haters, their aiding and abetting by Big-City Democrats who are content to see the economy stall and crash in order to reap a political payoff in November, and plenty more that has made this one of the notorious “interesting times” in which to live.

And then there is part of this effort, admittedly less highbrow, a bit nuts-and-bolty, that requires a conscience call, directed to NRO’s plentiful frequent flyers and squatters. The moochers, if you will. Which reminds me . . .

There was this bar on McLean Avenue (The Rusty Nail; alas, gone) that we haunted, as they say, back in the day, and where, as was the custom, each and every in our pack of paisans took turns buying rounds (the fourth round was a buy back; we tipped generously). But: On more than one occasion, when it was the turn of one particular comrade to spring for drinks, he was nowhere to be found. Houdini had nothing on this guy.

It wasn’t because our pal was broke. Fact is, if he fell on his wallet, he would not get hurt. No doubt though — a few moths would be crushed.

There have been a lot of friends of NR, God bless them, who have been buying rounds, some quite regularly, for the rest of the readership. Yep, their generosity is a gift to others: It keeps the lights on, the bayonets sharpened, the ammunition passing, the keyboards spewing. It keeps NR publishing 24/7 conservatism that is brilliant and consequential and, indeed, always necessary. Especially now — now, in this hand-to-hand fight for the American civilization that has come under vicious and sustained attack by determined leftists.

And that is why the squatters squat here, the moochers mooch here. The milk and honey is plentiful and free.

Except it is not free. Nothing is — a fact every conservative knows. And many ignore.

Somewhere in the file cabinet is the WFB memo from the late ’90s in which he stated emphatically that he owned NR (and he did, stock-wise) on behalf of the donors. He could not deny nor would he even contemplate denying the fact that, without continuing selfless support of a goodly amount of good people, NR’s doors would have been closed long ago.

Unlike Your Humble Correspondent, Bill had too much dignity to address that uncomfortable, related point: There are those of means who can and do revel in and benefit from the output of NR — day in and out, and sometimes, all the livelong day — without ever admitting that they are able to luxuriate precisely because of this generosity from fellow readers whose names they know not, but whose kindness they enjoy. To some, this fact just doesn’t dawn on them. To others, it dawns, but they ignore sincere appeals for support. Others genuinely intend to respond . . . and as happens to all of us, life gets in the way, getting to it later is not gotten, tomorrow fails to come.

Tomorrow has to come for NR. And for you. Because? Because of what we represent, because of what we accomplish, because of the need for America to have a sane and reliable and conservative voice that bellows without fear while it stands athwart history: Stop!

If you find that you are always here, always gaining knowledge and perspective and inspiration from NRO’s exceptional writers, if you know that this is a cause that needs sustaining, if it has been your intention to help, to buy your round as others have bought them for you, then please donate. Do you have to? No. Should you? Well, what does your conscience tell you? We’ll assume it says: Do it. You can do that “it” here.

Back to Minnie: She had a dream that the King of Sweden gave her a diamond car with a platinum wheel. So sang Mr. Calloway. Our dream is far more reasonable: that you might donate to NR $25, or $50. Maybe $100 or $250. Or how about somewhere in the middle of that, somewhat symbolic? Say . . . $169.10. Hi-dee hi-dee hi-dee hi! That’ll show ’em!

Whatever you are willing to give, whether it is to make up for lost time or because you indeed are thrilled by the relentless, exceptional content we produce at NR, know that it is received with deep appreciation and gratitude.

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