A Caricature

I met P. J. O'Rourke when he came into Stacey's Bookstore to sign. This was San Francisco in the late eighties -- not exactly O'Rourke's demographic as a Republican satirist. I recognized him immediately. He was an attractive man; tall, preppy, with a shock of auburn hair and a ready grin. I was and remain -- with some obvious reservations -- an admirer. I was young then and without the sense to not say things. I quickly told him I was a fan despite the fact that he was wrong about nearly everything. He chuckled. He even personalized some books for me. We had a bit of banter while he signed stock. He jokingly said he was surprised to find a fellow Republican in San Francisco -- or in a bookstore. I told him the only Republicans he was likely to meet in SF would be in the backrooms of leather clubs, calling Mexican boys half their age, "Daddy." He loved that. (The publisher's representative accompanying him? Not so much I think.) All told I probably spent twenty minutes with P. J. O'Rourke. He made me laugh out loud and then looked pretty pleased with himself. There was I remember more of Toledo, Ohio about him than New Haven or New York.  We talked a little about H. L. Mencken and Paul Johnson. And then we were done. He said he wished he had more time so I could take him out to the clubs. I told him they wouldn't let him in wearing chinos and boat shoes. When he went out the door I shouted after him, "And get a haircut, hippy!" And then he laughed a little and waved. I am still proud of that moment. 

Mencken is long dead. Bob Dole is dead. And now Patrick Jake O'Rourke. The last intentionally funny Republican has died.* I will miss him. We will not see his like again.

 *There is my childhood friend, now the conservative Presbyterian Minister. He's funny. I promise not to tell anyone though, in case he should be accused of frivolity and it should get him in trouble with the church elders or, you know, his Boss.