Historical regret is like a phantom limb or an aching joint; it's ever-present, but recedes into the background because immediate matters are more demanding of attention, but every once in a while it twinges or throbs on a cold morning or in a sudden rainstorm. If only Safire's talent could have been directed to a worthy cause, say, ridiculing the opponents of liberal politicians, or libeling the architects of the Vietnam war instead of its critics... ah, well, I suppose that's the crux of why I became an artist instead of an historian. Too many things have gone the wrong way, and I don't think I have the fortitude to report it all accurately, without giving in to the temptation to improve it by rewriting.
R.I.P., William Safire, right-wing writer of withering witticisms. My grudging respects to perhaps the last man I can remember who made political invective worth listening to.
