11:20am UPDATE: We'd forgotten that William F. Buckley Jr.'s only run for elective office came in 1965, when he ran for mayor of New York City against Republican John Lindsay and Democrat Abe Beame.

Here's a marvelous tribute to Buckley's eloquence and political self-effacement from none other than John Nichols in The Nation online:

"Heading the metropolitan ticket of New York State's Conservative Party, which had been created three years earlier to challenge the liberal Republicanism of New York Governor Nelson Rockefeller and Congressman Lindsay, Buckley mounted his unlikely campaign as a no-hoper. He acknowledged as much at the time of his announcement – which roughly paralleled his relocation from his home in suburban Connecticut to a proper voting residence in the city he sought to lead – when the conservative commentator was asked what he would do if he was elected to lead the liberal city. 'I'd demand a recount.'"

Read the whole thing. 

It was the only time we ever saw William F. Buckley Jr. (the father of modern conservatism who died Wednesday at the age at the age of 82) in person.

Back in the early to mid Sixties, when we were well to the left of center on most issues, we decided to take in a Buckley lecture at a local Catholic college, mostly in the spirit of knowing the enemy. And there was no question in our mind that Buckley was THE enemy -- a supercilious, mean-spirited elitist. Or so we thought.

The college gymnasium was packed to the rafters with noisy, rambunctious rightists, ready to consign long-haired hippie war protesters and civil-rights activists to the flames, we were convinced.

Especially scary was a burly, bearded man in sandals and the brown robes of a Franciscan monk who was roaring with denunciations of latter-day Reds during the runup to Buckley's talk -- the kind of person we didn't want to meet in any kind of alley, dark or light.

Then Buckley walked out on stage and talked. It was the kind of talk that sent you to your dictionary (if you happened to have one with you), full of sentence and a bit obtuse. But there were unmistakable flashes of brilliance and wit, even (to this unwilling listener) common sense.

But what was most impressive is that he didn't stoke any fires of intolerance and hate. He didn't give the audience any of the red meat they clearly craved. There was a polite smattering of applause, and he left.

It was our first first-hand experience with an anti-demagogue in the flesh.

We had a similar experience a few years later, attending a campaign rally for then-Democratic presidential candidate Eugene McCarthy at Madison Square Garden in New York.

It was a rollicking, rowdy crowd, warmed up by superstars like Aretha Franklin, ready to proclaim McCarthy King of the World -- even Messiah -- had he wished.

But McCarthy walked out on the stage and disappeared in a cloud of sharp asides and self-deprecating wit.

Now, that's the kind of president this country needs, we thought. No cult of personality here.

It was a Buckleyesque demonstration of how that government is best that governs least.

Our next favorite Buckley moment came when the patrician conservative came down off his Olympian roost and threatened to punch out the supercilious, mean-spirited elitist Gore Vidal on live television.

That strange unscripted moment (which we happened to be watching) occurred on ABC during the tumultuous Democratic Convention in Chicago in August 1968 with Buckley and Vidal as color commentators.

Well, there was color (and some off-color) galore.

If you missed it the first time around, here it is on YouTube (parental guidance suggested). 

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