THE WORLD has no need for another contribution to the fitting stream of tributes to Daniel Patrick Moynihan’s extraordinary life and work. But I hope a brief personal reminiscence will not be amiss.
Everyone knows about Pat Moynihan’s political and intellectual accomplishments. What is perhaps less well known is Pat’s humanity. The last time I spoke with him was in early November 2002. My father had recently had a major operation, and was home from the hospital. Pat had been in touch throughout with my mother, and had spoken with my father since the operation–but he didn’t want to bother them at their apartment by calling when they might be resting or busy. So he called me at home on a Saturday afternoon to ask how my father was doing, and to pass on his and Liz’s best wishes and love.
The call was characteristic of Pat in a couple of ways. It was kind and thoughtful in its intention with respect to my parents. It was also unusual in its execution. Pat called, and our 15-year-old son answered the phone. Rather than simply ask for Susan or me, Pat engaged Joe in a discussion of his school and other activities.
Joe was a bit awed to be speaking to the famous Mr. Moynihan; he also had some difficulty understanding Pat, whose speech patterns were, one recalls, a bit unusual. And the phone connection, for some reason, wasn’t very good. So by the end of their exchange, Joe was a little rattled, though proud to have had a real conversation with a world-historical figure–a kindness Pat knew he was performing, but performed naturally. (Susan reminded me, as we reminisced about this incident after hearing of Pat’s death, that Joe was the child who was in utero when Pat exclaimed to her, “I love pregnant women. They look as if, if you dropped them from a tall building, they would bounce.”)
That day, after I got on the phone and reassured Pat about my father, we had a longish conversation about The Weekly Standard. Pat had particularly enjoyed one piece in the most recent issue, he said. What was that? I asked, assuming he would praise David Brooks on “Saddam’s Brain” or Max Boot on deterrence, or perhaps even Gary Anderson on Norman Podhoretz’s book on the Prophets. No. Pat wanted to praise, at some length, Joe Epstein’s review of the new biography of Max Beerbohm.
It turned out Pat Moynihan was a great fan of Max Beerbohm. As a young man studying in London in the early 1950s, it seems, Pat had made a pilgrimage to visit the elderly Beerbohm. But, if I recall the story accurately, after taking trains and buses to arrive at Beerbohm’s house, Pat had approached the gate, felt suddenly intimidated at the thought of meeting the great man, and returned to London.
Having myself been intimidated (through no fault of his) by Pat Moynihan for the almost forty years I’d known him, I was amused at the idea of Pat’s being intimidated by anyone. But I was reminded, as he dilated brilliantly on Beerbohm’s works and his meaning to the young readers and writers of Pat’s generation, how unusual–how unique–was the range of Moynihan’s interests, knowledge, and enthusiasm.
The Weekly Standard had the honor to publish Pat Moynihan once. He reviewed–generously and enthusiastically–Norman Podhoretz’s memoir, “Ex-Friends,” in February 1999. He offered only what he called “one quiet reservation” about Norman’s “thrilling” book. Surely, Pat wrote, “Lionel Trilling and his wife Diana were never truly ex-friends. Indeed in the closing paragraph of the chapter on Trilling, [Podhoretz] records, ‘I think about him a lot, always with admiration, gratitude, and indeed love.’ That is as it should be.” It was characteristic of Pat that even in a book review, he would want to soften a rupture, to heal a break.
I first met Pat when, as a 12-year-old, I did a bit of volunteer work in his campaign for New York City Council president in 1965. I then worked for him in the summer of 1970 in the Nixon White House, and in his 1976 Senate primary race against Bella Abzug. While we subsequently drifted apart politically, I always remained proud to claim some relationship of debt and obligation to him. He was a kind benefactor and a gentle instructor, who put friendship ahead of partisanship, generosity ahead of ideology. I will think about him a lot, always with admiration, gratitude, and indeed love.
–William Kristol
