As a child who grew up reading the light humor of S. J. Perelmam and James Thurber, I worshipped at the altar of Art Buchwald. I didn't know it at the time, but, looking back on it, he taught me a tremendous amount about the importance of voice. If the practice truly is treacherous, well, Buchwald certainly made it look easy.
Oh my gosh, how on earth did anybody ever manage to be so consistently funny on a twice a week deadline? When I was growing up, receiving Buchwald's annual collection of columns was as much a part of Christmas for me as getting the new Beatles album.
Buchwald died yesterday, but he was a teacher up to the end. Choosing death on his own terms, rather than endure the discomfort of dialysis, he checked into a hospice last February, where he gracefully held court to an endless stream of well-wishers and friends. He claimed he was having the time of his life..
Dave Barry, an heir if there ever was one, points us to this obituary in The Miami Herald.
What a guy; what a life.
Adam Sohmer kindly sent along this link to Buchwald's final column.
