We are in the middle of a general election and baseball’s post-season. Therefore, it is prime time for George F. Will. I have done a podcast with him, a Q&A: here.
His classic book from 1990, Men at Work: The Craft of Baseball, “has sold more copies than my other 15 books combined,” he tells me, “which is a great sign of national health.”
In our conversation, we talk about a range of things, not excluding Ukraine, immigration, transgenderism, conservatism, Pete Rose, Calvin Coolidge, the movies, novels . . .
Here on the Corner, I would like to provide a few tastes.
“I think I’m like most Americans,” says Will.
I’m not angry. I’m of the mood of Governor Bill Lee of Tennessee, who says, “I’m a conservative, I’m just not angry about it.” I don’t think the country’s angry. I think it’s exhausted, and most of all it’s embarrassed. There’s a sense in which all presidential campaigns are a subtraction from national understanding and national dignity, but this year is just too much.
A long time ago, some friends and I would play a game: If we could appoint someone president, whom would we appoint? My guess is, George Will would appoint Mitch Daniels, of Indiana. And that guess is: correct.
Will and I spend some time on the craft of writing. Here is a portion:
If someone said, “What do you do, Mr. Will?,” I’d say, “I’m a writer,” but actually I’m a reader. I have to read four or five hours a day — journalism, books, etc. — to get the material.
And when he gets to writing, “the first thing I have to do is write the lead sentence, because there’s nothing in the world more optional than reading a syndicated column.” The opening sentence ought to catch interest. Will continues,
Most Americans don’t read newspapers, and most newspaper readers don’t read the op-ed page. That’s actually good news, because what it means is, we have a small but self-selected intellectually upscale audience, and you can assume a lot. You can assume that they have a fairly well-stocked mental pantry of ideas and information.
For many years, Will wrote by hand, with a fountain pen. Then, in 1995, he slipped on the ice and broke his arm. When he got home from the hospital, “I pointed to my wife’s computer and said, ‘Show me how to turn that on.’” He has not looked back.
Many of us have a homescreen image. When Will opens his computer, he sees “the rather stern image of my hero, James Madison.”
In recent weeks, I have been thinking about “the media” (see this column, for example) — “the media” as a phrase and as a concept. Does it make any sense anymore to speak of “the media,” as we used to? I don’t think so. Neither does Will.
In 1972, at the Democratic convention, George McGovern, the nominee, seriously considered making his running mate Walter Cronkite, who then was known as “the most trusted man in America.” Fifty-two years later, I do not know the name of the anchorman of the CBS Evening News. I have not watched an evening news broadcast on one of these networks for 15, 20 years.
Not long ago, I met a man in Alabama who said that, when he was a student in the 1960s, he watched a debate between William F. Buckley Jr. and George Wallace. He decided that he was a Buckley conservative, not like Wallace.
I said to him, ruefully, “Wallace has won, hasn’t he?” Ruefully, he agreed.
George Will agrees too — “but with a large asterisk,” he says: “There are no final victories in this business.” Some more:
Certainly Wallace was a populist. He said — I think it was in Oklahoma during the campaign in ’68 — that there was too much dignity in American politics. Well, we’ve certainly solved that problem.
On the subject of immigration, Will makes many points, of which here are a few:
The control of national borders is (a) an essential attribute of national sovereignty and (b) a prerequisite for having a civilized immigration debate.
The stark truth is, we need the immigrants as much as the immigrants need the United States. . . .
If Mr. Trump is going to build his big, beautiful wall, he’s going to build it with immigrant construction workers. These industries are desperate for help. . . .
Immigrants are really good for America, because they know why they’re here, and they know what they got away from, and they appreciate it.
And now, baseball — Shohei Ohtani, in particular:
He’s breathtaking. He’s fast. He has terrific judgment. He’s nice. He enjoys playing the game. He looks as though he’s having fun out there, and not all ballplayers give you that impression. It’s a wonderful moment to be a baseball fan.
More on that game:
For nine years, before he had the spate of injuries, the best player I ever saw was Mike Trout.
If I were starting a team, I’d pick Henry Aaron. When he retired, he held the record for the most records held. Someone asked him, “Which one are you most proud of?” He said, “Total bases.” That’s sort of what the game’s about, in 90-feet increments.
The player who gave me the most pleasure, probably, was Ricky Henderson. The highlight of my life is being hugged by him at spring training a couple of years ago.
About politics, Will says, “I think we are in a stage of post-liberalism, which is a tragedy.” What we need, he says, is “a defense of the Enlightenment legacy of limited government and the primacy of the individual.”
On his hero Madison:
He wasn’t a political philosopher, primarily, he was a politician. And if you look at Madison, you see the melding of the philosophic instinct with the craft of politics.
I happen to think politics is wonderful. It’s about how we live together.
The problem with the human race is that we’re egotistical and opinionated. Everyone thinks his opinions are best. So the question is, how do we get people — prickly human creatures, these featherless bipeds, as Plato called us — to live together?
That’s a real problem, and the answer is politics, so we better get it right. The stakes are really high.
Again, for my Q&A with George F. Will, go here. He is an unusual person. Though he has strong views, he is utterly independent-minded. He is not looking over his shoulder. Not cowering or cringing or trimming or tailoring. He is not worrying about what a tribe or party thinks. He is not wearing a jersey. He is trying to see reality, to the extent possible. A damn good trait in a writer. A gift to readers.