Arnold Beichman, also a fellow at the Hoover Institution, an
author and public intellectual -- and nonagenarian -- had known
the deceased as long as anyone present, and did not attempt to
hide his tears. Jay Nordlinger, music critic and managing editor
of National Review, presided, weaving together for the benefit of
the 400 guests the highlights of the life so mourned.
This author and friend had been struck down by an overnight
illness. Had I spoken, I'd have stressed Milton's capacity for
friendship and fine company. We met, along with another friend,
every year for 19 years for a long weekend of skiing and
conviviality, interrupted, finally, by illness.
"When I undertook the operation," he wrote me in 1994, "I did
it very much in the hope that it would enable me to go skiing in
January, but I am afraid the recovery isn't going to be fast
enough for me to do so. I have already told Lawry (Chickering)
about it. I cannot tell you how much I regret having to do this.
With all my love, Milton."
A year later: "I do not believe in miracles, and that is what
I believe it would take to enable me to be on skis in six months'
time." A year later: "Those many years we spent three days
together at Alta are among my happiest memories." And after I
published a piece about our skiing life, "You captured
beautifully our joint satisfaction with our sessions at Alta. The
fluency and sensitivity of your writing always astound me. Your
generosity of spirit is remarkable, and I am most grateful for
having been a major beneficiary."
That is how true friends can address each other, and it was
the impact of an end to the expression of such sentiments that
struck me so hard on learning of the death of this Nobel Prize
winner, the dominant economic and libertarian voice of the 20th
century, my sometime skiing buddy.