My Impromptus today is literary, rather than political (or musical, athletic, etc.). I discuss Alberto Moravia and his novel La noia. See what you think, here.
A few weeks ago, I published a longish piece — a little memoir — about Bill Buckley. “WFB: Big, and Glorious,” it was called. The subtitle: “William F. Buckley Jr. was a man of parts.”
The below note is from a lady in New York who worked, for many years, in opera, ballet, and Broadway:
Hi, Jay,
Truly enjoyed reading your article. It brought back a lot of great memories. He certainly was a remarkable man!
I remember the very first time I saw him live (long before his TV show, Firing Line). I was a student in art school and attended a debate between him and David Susskind, somewhere in Midtown Manhattan. At the very start of the debate, Susskind said, “I don’t expect to win this debate!”
I also remember that Mr. Buckley and his wife often hosted salons in their Connecticut home and sometimes engaged young American opera singers to perform. I knew some of them — and their reports of the experience were always that it was “grand and gracious.”
Your article revealed a great deal more about him that I didn’t know. I doubt there will be another like him!
Writes another reader,
Good morning, Jay,
I just wanted to share how much I enjoyed your “man of parts” article regarding WFB. You are a conduit to a bygone era for me (a millennial), and in many ways I read your reminiscences with a nostalgia I feel I haven’t quite earned.
Quick story: When I was about twelve, my dad (a Sicilian immigrant) noticed my fondness for puzzles and enrolled me in a monthly “crossword club” — but these puzzles were so esoteric and abstruse that I don’t think I ever finished one.
I share this because your references to music, ballet, and the general midcentury culture remind me of those puzzles I did 30 years ago! You once told a story about a football player who had the same last name as a violinist (or something), and when the coach called the player by the violinist’s first name, everyone got the reference.
Alas . . .
Oh, yes. Herbert Orin Crisler arrived at the University of Chicago, where he was coached by Amos Alonso Stagg — who immediately nicknamed him “Fritz,” after the famous violinist Fritz Kreisler. Ever after, Crisler was “Fritz Crisler.”
Today, there are equivalents of Fritz Kreisler — great violinists. Very few know who they are. Kreisler appeared on the cover of Time magazine. Lots of musicians and other cultural figures did. There was a different appreciation.
By sheer coincidence, the next item relates to violinists. In an Impromptus last week, I spoke of the Piedmont Chamber Orchestra, which I heard in Spartanburg, S.C. I described it as a “point of light.” In this orchestra, high-school students sit next to professionals, to the enrichment of the students.
I wrote,
The PCO was founded by Mary Irwin and some colleagues of hers. Ms. Irwin serves as the concertmistress of the orchestra.
“Concertmistress” is a terribly old-fashioned word, and some people don’t like it. I think it is a beautiful word. I may wind up as the last user of it . . .
A reader writes,
The PCO sounds like point of light indeed! I agree with you about the word “concertmistress.” In the unlikely event I need to use it, I certainly will!
Glad to have the company.
In that Impromptus, I also discussed another word: “reticent.” So many people think it means “reluctant,” I think it may actually come to mean that someday, soon.
A reader writes,
Dear Mr. Nordlinger,
Thank you for your column today. I had never thought much about the word “reticent” and did indeed think it was a synonym for “reluctant.” So, I looked it up and was enlightened.
I like what you said: Language evolves, but this evolution should not shrink the language, leaving us with a smaller vocabulary.
Whew! Glad to hear. Thank you to one and all readers and correspondents.