Memorandum.

TO: William F. Buckley Jr.

FROM: Management/St. Peter &c.

RE: Recent Complaints

Dear Mr. Buckley:

While we are all, of course, pleased to have you here with us, and to see you again joined with your beloved Pat, your arrival has not come without a certain amount of adjustment.

When people finally arrive here to their Heavenly Reward, they very often take a moment to "catch their breath" and relax a bit. We operate--and we encourage our residents to operate--at a slower, more leisurely pace. This advice, obviously, you have chosen to ignore. I believe your words to your intake counselor were something along the lines of, "That I should take the Almighty's gift of eternity as an invitation to dilatory introversion is impracticable."

Yes, well. Mr. Karl Marx has registered several formal complaints with the Administration about your repeated pranks--I believe, but cannot prove, that you and Milton Friedman were responsible for what we're going to call the "jello incident"--and really, sir, if the gentleman doesn't want to appear in a debate you've arranged on the topic "Resolved: This house believes that Marxism is an esophoric condition," then please, do not keep asking him. Mr. Marx is here on a rather tenuous basis, and wishes to keep a low profile.

[ILLUSTRATION OMITTED]

The same goes for Mr. Franklin Delano Roosevelt.

In addition, some of the residents are complaining that you are monopolizing J. S. Bach. The two of you are seen together quite often, and it's making some of the lesser-known residents feel left out.

Also: There have been complaints about loud late-night discussions between you, Pope John Paul II, and Mr. David Niven.

With all due respect, sir, you seem to be under the impression that there's some need to "hurry up"--a condition that I must admit was evident in your behavior below--when in fact you have, quite literally, an eternity to enjoy and nothing whatsoever to "do." This is Heaven, Mr. Buckley, and we've done our very best to arrange it in as "heavenly" a fashion as possible. It is baffling to us, frankly speaking, that anyone would feel a need to "do" all the things you've insisted on doing since your arrival.

For instance, Heaven does not need a fortnightly journal of political and cultural thought. We've gotten along quite well for a long, long time without such things and see no reason why you arrive and then--bang!--suddenly one starts appearing. And your recent cover, a photograph of former Connecticut governor Lowell Weicker under the words "We're Waiting for You," does not conduce to the gentle, soothing, spa-like atmosphere we're trying to create here.

There is no need, either, for a heavenly version of Firing Line. You weren't here for a day before my inbox was filled with complaints from several former heads of state--mostly the Hapsburgs--and some of the later Caesars, all of whom felt insulted upon discovering that they weren't even considered as possible guests on your show. Your response, that you weren't interested in listening to an "antediluvian gasconade," sent me and the various former crowned heads of Europe straight to the OED Online for a definition. Shame on you!

And may I remind you, Mr. Buckley, that Heaven doesn't even have television! This, for many of us, is what makes it Heaven. While it's true that we do have a closed-circuit system, mostly for communicating important bulletins, having it commandeered so quickly by you and your "group" was disconcerting, to say the least. Imagine my shock, following a restful nap, at seeing you on the screen in a swivel-chair, with Mr. Edmund Burke to your left and Pres. James Buchanan--in tears--to your right.

And where did you get that clipboard? I left explicit instructions that you were not to be issued a clipboard under any circumstances.

Finally, it has come to our attention that you have already finished another Blackford Oakes novel. (Already! You've been here seven days, Mr. Buckley! Why are you behaving like this?) Queen Victoria has seen the galleys. Apparently, there is an erotic interlude described in the manuscript between Her Majesty and your fictional hero. Although she seems quite pleased by it, I know you'll do the right thing and excise it before the publication date. Which raises another question: Since when does Heaven have a publisher? Is this another one of your "improvements"?

Honestly, sir, you are trying our patience. Why can't you just sit still for, oh, a century or two? Ease into things, instead of all of this race race race, do do do?

This is the first time that anyone in management has needed to send a memo like this. Let's hope it's the last.

Sincerely, Peter

P.S. Some wine is missing from the wine cellar. Some of the good stuff. I'm sure you'll understand why I immediately thought of you.

P.P.S. And you've been a terrible influence on President Reagan. We may have to separate you two.