The Greatest Journalist Of My Life
Twenty two years ago I was watching a late night television program, an alternative to the Tonight Show or Letterman dealing with serious issues of the day. On that program was a man I had seen before, but only rarely, on news commentary. The topic of the day was Ayatollah Khomenis fatwa against author Salmon Rushdie for his blasphemous book Satanic Versus. The guest on the program was principled, articulate and unyielding in his position, an opinion I shared regarding freedom of speech and the weakness of the west in our response to what amounted to a death contract from a religious fanatic.
That guest was Christopher Hitchens.
At the time, bookstores in America were pulling Satanic Versus from their shelves in fear of Islamic retribution. I recall the embarrassment I felt that our people were fearful of a backwards cleric threatening to kill one man for his views and our reaction of giving up our first amendment rights. I could not buy this book. Hitchens articulated my feelings far better than I could.
In the two decades since that interview I've became a fan of Christopher Hitchens, by far the most influential atheist of my lifetime. Some will point to Richard Dawkins but I'm talking about MY lifetime, a person who affected how I see the world. I loved Hitch and his cantankerous ways. Dawkins never inspired me with the charisma Hitchens wields. I confess to be a sucker for his shameless, snotty, intellectual charm. I'm a mere fruit fly compared to him .... and I'm okay with that.
Christopher Hitchens died last Thursday of complications from cancer. I started writing this blog post about his death and the genuine sadness I feel in the wake of his demise. It took days. I struggled. I searched the internet, read dozens of memorials, and viewed many Youtube videos hoping to find that 1989 interview without success, but I was rewarded with many more amazing moments in the life and career of man both beloved and hated. Christopher is my favorite scribe and speaker in the world of journalism.
In the last few days I've read essays on Slate, The Nation, and Vanity Fair written by the many journalists and writers who are fortunate to say Hitch was their friend. I oddly feel their sense of their loss as if I had shared conversation over whiskey with Hitch, and just learned I would never hear his voice again.
I sat quietly this evening wondering when the last time a 'celebrity' passed and made me feel I had lost a friend. Nothing came to mind. No one.
I only wish we could read one more piece written by C.H. ... I would like to know how he experienced his final act. I suspect his lack of faith was vindicated, but would like to hear his side of the story of death. I will have to wait for my own.
I raise a glass of whiskey to one of the few men in my life who spoke for me, in words I had to occasionally look up in the dictionary. He lived life on his terms, traveled the world, witnessed the best and worst of mankind, drank and smoked as if sustained by vice. We should be so lucky.
To Hitch.