A light.

WHEN he wrote in appreciation of people, he liked to write about "the first time": the first time he met them. Well, I first met Bill at the Jefferson Hotel in Washington, over a long, long lunch. It was one of the most beautiful and rewarding experiences I can remember. I had just gotten engaged to be married; he had just lost a brother-in-law. We talked about marriage, family, the meaning of life ...

Afterward, he sent me one of the best letters I have ever received. Somehow, I lost it.

When I met Bill, it was not like I was really meeting him. He was meeting me; but I already knew him. Knew him through his books, all of which I had drunk in, and through his television program. And he was the same, pretty much, or better.

He was my friend long before I met him: because his books comforted me, educated me, thrilled me. I'd tell him this once in a while. He'd smile.

I have spoken of comfort: Bill was a fantastic consoler, as your friend. He was great when you were up, celebrating your triumphs; he was maybe better when you were down. His criticisms would sting--but that's only because you thought the world of him.

He had a smile that lit up several counties around it. When you were smiled at by Bill Buckley, you were well and truly smiled at. And his voice--despite Leontyne Price, Kathleen Ferrier, and some others--was my favorite.

I confess I liked stepping out with him--you were the recipient of reflected glory. You took him to a restaurant, and the maitre d' would look at you wide-eyed. I'd take him to concerts and operas. People regularly rushed up to him, to say he was their hero. He'd twinkle at them.

Once, he asked whether I thought his absence from some large gathering would be okay. I said, "Sure, the world has to get along without you, once in a while." He said, "But who will be clever?" And that is a question that now resounds.

The last time I saw him, he was suffering, of course--"enfeebled," as he said. But you could see through the enfeeblement to the real Bill Buckley: warm, vibrant, amusing, brilliant--loving and lovable. He had a new King Charles spaniel, whipping around. "He's all puppy," he said. I loved that remark: He's all puppy.

Couple days ago, someone close to him said, "A great light has gone out." He was like that: kind of a constant round of starbursts. But all the qualities he represented remain. And the light is inextinguishable.

Mr. Nordlinger is an NR senior editor.