Fare thee well, Billy Pilgrim

In 1976 former California Governor Jerry Brown ran for the Democratic Nomination for President of the United States. I got involved in his campaign and eventually was elected as an alternate-Delegate to the National Convention, held in New York City. Jerry was competing with the Governor of a southern state (Georgia's James Earl "Jimmy" Carter).

Now it was 1992, and again Jerry Brown was running for the Presidential nomination. The Convention was again held in New York City. His competition was another southern Governor (Arkansas' William Jefferson "Bill" Clinton). It was deja vu all over again. This time I was elected as a full Delegate.

On the last night of the Convention, Clinton having won and picked Al Gore of Tennessee as his running mate, Jerry still had campaign money left over. So he threw a party for his 612 delegates and his campaign staff. The party started around 7:30, but as usual I was a little late getting there.

I arrived around 9, to a very large room filled almost to overflowing. The main crowd was milling about, slowly circling the room, engaged in conversation with newly made friends and political allies. Slowly circling around the center of the room where stood one lone old man, soft drink in hand, watching them circle. Everyone was aware of the old man in the middle, but seemed too awestruck to actually engage him in conversation.

Being the shy and retiring type that I am, I strode forward, offered my hand and spoke: "Some people seem to think I'm crazy when I tell them this" (he gave me a look that said he was prepared to find agreement with those people), "but I recall buying a book when I was a teenager. A book of short stories. And I could swear they were written by YOU. The book was titled 'Canary in a Cat House'."
"Oh, so YOU'RE the one." he replied, smiling and taking my hand with a firm shake.
(Obviously the book didn't sell well.)

And that is how I met Kurt Vonnegut Jr.
My all-time favorite author.
For the next three hours we conversed, uninterrupted by the remainder of the crowd. I don't recall what other specific words were spoken, but I remember the opening moment as if it happened minutes ago. And I always will. I can still feel the surprising firmness of his grip (he was almost 70 back then).

Eventually Governor Brown showed up, came over with his entourage and greeted us, and whisked Mr. Vonnegut away into the night. I interpreted the look and wave of the hand he gave me as they left as a small "thank you". Whether for rescuing him from his aloneness in the midst the crowd, or for engaging in conversation interesting enough to keep him from being bored or perhaps a little of both.

I am deeply saddened at his passing.

Fare thee well, Billy Pilgrim.
Good night, Mr. Rosewater.
Say "Hello" to Wanda June for me and wish her a Happy Birthday.
Good Luck on Tralfamadore.

Kurt Vonnegut Jr.
November 11, 1922 - April 11, 2007


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