William F. Buckley Jr. moved on last week.

Deservedly called the “Father of American Conservatism,” he was a son of the founding fathers, and indeed, a great American patriot.

Like so many of us, I first discovered Buckley while in college during the ‘60s. 

Politics was at the time, as it is now, a favorite topic for discussion; and, that was particularly so on campus and in many college classrooms. 

Back then, my thoughts and interactive expressions, while organically my own, were initially somewhat diffused given that my developing interests had to revolve around all things “jock.”

I picked up my first copy of National Review at ROTC headquarters. I read it from cover to cover and returned searching for back issues — and more.

William F. Buckley and his band were “right on.” The lyrics reflected core thoughts and their expression was music to my visual ears as I read subsequent issues.

Next, I would get better acquainted with him through his wonderful books beginning with God and Man at Yale.

Then Buckley started a weekly television program. Every Sunday back then, we would always seem to find the time to watch “Firing Line.” 

That was the case even during football season when manually switching back and forth between stations was just inconvenient (the TV remote control was yet-to-be-invented), or more challenging with the presence of doctrinaire liberals and sports fans disinterested in anything save football. Yet it was always worth the fuss.

If those who didn’t want the channel changed were not football fans, it was likely due to the Buckley observations, such as, “Liberals, it has been said, are generous with other peoples’ money, except when it comes to questions of national survival when they prefer to be generous with other people’s freedom and security.”

Watching “Firing Line” was insightfully educational and always, in a word, fun. 

Slouched back in his chair, wearing a frowsy rumpled suit, a constant gleeful smile, with an arching eyebrow at the ready, William F. Buckley would use his quick wit and keen intelligence to make a point and establish a principle that viewers would remember. Like this one, “There is an inverse relationship between reliance on the state and self-reliance.”

He understood language and would draw from his expansive vocabulary as part of the repartee with honored guests. Buckley used the spoken word like a maestro to create interest and to convey his message. Sometimes, when an opponent was full more of himself and political dogma than substance, he would use his backbone and faculties with laser like precision to deflate with a memorable quip such as, “I won’t insult your intelligence by suggesting that you really believe what you just said.” Still, he always conveyed a civility and manner respectful of everyone. 

In retrospect, I wonder what fun it would be to re-watch every “Firing Line” episode. 

Here’s an idea: Let’s give every American youth the same opportunity we had for 33 years. Let’s infuse into the required curriculum for every student in every high school in the United States a “Firing Line” course so our children can watch, listen, learn, discuss and debate the issues covered in each episode. This would be part of an American history course or an American civics course, and would also support core courses and lessons such as English, public speaking, non-verbal body language and more.

As taxpaying citizens — and private donors — we should expect that PBS, as a publicly funded organization, would absolutely cooperate. And one only need look at the roster of guests who appeared on the show to see that it was an open forum for many cultural and political views.

The last time I spoke with Bill Buckley was a few years ago in Chicago. His sparkling blue eyes and infectious grin, ever present during our chat, belied his years. His infirmities not realized but for his gait as he departed. Now, as he departs our world fully, we remember the indelible mark he left on the course of history, and rest assured that he will be welcomed into heaven where he’ll finally meet his maker — and his master.