Remembering Bill Safire

Alex Wong / Getty Images Literary agent and lifelong friend Morton Janklow on the role Safire played in his own career and how he changed political thought over two generations.

The nation has lost its most independent and thoughtful voice, a man unique in his influence on the American scene for more than four decades.

I speak, of course, of my dear friend Bill Safire, known to the world as a Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist for The New York Times; the high priest—or, as he would say because he hated pretension, the maven—of language usage, author of the definitive dictionary of political language, a lifelong effort; the author of several novels, including a respected historical novel based on the life of Lincoln; a much-sought-after television commentator; and senior aide and speechwriter for President Richard Nixon.

Bill brought a surprising contrarian perspective, grounded in conservatism in the true sense of that word.

To all of these roles Bill brought a surprising contrarian perspective, grounded in conservatism in the true sense of that word. A civil-rights advocate, a staunch defender of the right of privacy and human rights around the world, and an outspoken critic of governmental efforts to infringe upon those rights, Bill was, at the same time, cautious about political and social change and hawkish in his attitude about America’s role, including its military role, in the post-World War II era. He wrote with clarity, insight, and elegance.

This is a man who was at the center of the American dialogue for almost half a century, a position he occupied with grace, dignity, understanding, and a rare and self-deprecating sense of humor.

For me personally, and for a few of the close friends of the same vintage, this moment is not only a terrible personal blow but a clear indication of the end of a wonderful era. Bill and I met in 1947 and have been steadfast friends ever since. In myriad ways, both straightforward and subtle, he proved his loyalty and love for his pals. My own life was irrevocably altered by his faith and confidence.

In 1972, shortly after Nixon’s landslide victory over McGovern, Bill called and asked me to come to Washington to spend some quiet time discussing what he might do if he chose to leave government service. We had lunch at the White House and talked about his life. He had no desire to return to the world of public relations, where he had risen to head his own eponymous firm and to represent many of America’s great corporations. When he left to go to work for President Nixon, he had left me a power of attorney and the unenviable job of selling Safire Public Relations, without Safire. Miraculously, we found a buyer, which helped fund his government service.

I asked him what, if the world was perfect, he would like to do. He replied that he would love to have a newspaper column that would allow him to range over everything that interested him. The second thing he felt would make him professionally content would be to do a book about Nixon, whom he had known well since the Kennedy campaign and through the disastrous race for governor of California, which he had lost to Pat Brown. This would be an important book, Bill felt, because it would involve a senior aide writing about a sitting president.