A second father.

AT about age 13 I became mesmerized by Bill Buckley's column in the St. Louis Globe-Democrat. His intellect and good humor literally created my desire to learn. But in my first year of college I flunked Speech 101 (I refused to outline). At age 20 I told my dad the worst news he could hear: "I'm quitting school." Having come through the Great Depression, he believed that without a college degree I had no chance of getting a good job.

"I want to be like Bill Buckley," I told him. "I want to be able to sit around and write and think."

My dad, perhaps the most brilliant man I ever knew intimately, gave me a two-hour lecture on how hard and time-consuming achievement is: "When you see someone's output but don't see what goes into it, you can make the mistake of assuming it comes easy to them, especially those who are great at what they do. They make it look so easy you think you can do it, too." My dad was right about that.

While a DJ in Pittsburgh, I started working on my vocabulary, trying to acquire as much knowledge as I could. I developed a halfway decent impersonation of Mr. Buckley, and, as he might say, "I was reading omnivorously and voluminously." Especially NATIONAL REVIEW.

When I started my radio show in New York in 1988, I profusely commented on Buckley and quoted him and NR. Not long after, I was invited to a gathering of NR's editors at Mr. Buckley's apartment, the maisonette on Park Avenue. When the day arrived, I had my driver circle the block four times while I mustered the courage to get out of the car and go in.

That night I was made to feel welcome in the "conservative movement" by its leader. Eventually he became a confidant and a friend and an adviser; it was just like having another father. In fact, I embarrassed him the first time I had him and some guests for dinner at my New York apartment in 1996. Over brandy and cigars, I stood and gave Bill a toast: "My father passed away in 1990, but my dad is still alive here with me; Bill, you're here." Embarrassed, he looked around, he looked at Pat, he got choked up. I said, "I see you tearing up, but it's true."

Despite all his genius, Bill Buckley was very humble, and I think he wasn't prepared for something like that. But the truth is, I consider him a Founding Father. I still marvel whenever I read anything he wrote. I always will.

Mr. Limbaugh hosts a syndicated talk-radio show.