In January of 2006, Charles Krauthammer wrote an appreciation of his older brother, Marcel, who had died shortly after the New Year. It was a far more personal offering than most of his written work and, despite a full catalogue of essays and columns that influenced the thinking of world leaders, it was one of the most memorable pieces in a long and distinguished career. It was a favorite of Charles’ most devoted readers and, in fact, of Charles himself.
When they were children, Marcel, four years older, looked out for his kid brother and insisted that he be included. Charles recalled:
Each year, the Krauthammers decamped to the beaches of Long Island, even before school in Charles’ native Canada let out, for what Charles described as an “endless summer” of fun.
Charles ended the column recalling a photograph taken when he and Marcel were young boys, tanned and relaxed and best friends in the way that only brothers can be.
My brother Marcel died on Tuesday, Jan. 17. It was winter. He was 59.
Charles Krauthammer died on Thursday, June 21. It was the first day of summer.
Ever summer.
