NEWS AND VIEWS: Dinner at the Buckleys' (06/19/05)

NEWS AND VIEWS

Dinner at the Buckleys'

by Karen Chelak

Back in the fall of 1971 I was a commuting college freshman in New Jersey. My future husband, Yaroslaw "Russ" Chelak, was a sophomore studying political science and philosophy at a college in Pennsylvania. For my October birthday he gave me a gift every 18-year-old girl dreams of receiving: a subscription to William F. Buckley's magazine, National Review, a lonely voice in an insane world.

Russ's parents had related stories of the growing horrors of communism and Stalinism before they emigrated to the United States from the Lemko region of southeast Poland in the mid 1930s: a few families lucky enough to escape from eastern and central Ukraine, skin and bones, desperate and starving, willing to do anything for food.

It was a scant 10 years since my brother and I and all of our cousins practiced hiding under our desks at the Polish Catholic school we attended during the Cuban missile crisis. National Review was the only national news outlet that made sure the world did not forget.

Thirty-four years have passed since I received that first issue of NR. In the meantime, Russ and I were married at a beautiful three-day wedding at the Lemko Resort, God blessed us with two beautiful daughters, who have grown up at Soyuzivka.

All through this time, Mr. Buckley and National Review worked for Holodomor recognition. Mr. Buckley was instrumental in getting "Harvest of Despair" televised after it was apparently snubbed by the media. And when the confluence developed between the Duranty campaign and the Blair scandal at The New York Times, National Review was instrumental in promoting the story of a real hero of Ukraine, Gareth Jones. As readers of The Ukrainian Weekly know, Gareth Jones sneaked into Stalin's "death zone" to document the Holodomor and contradict Duranty's lies in public.

Right after the holidays, Russ was contacted by National Review and invited to a 50th anniversary fund-raiser for the magazine to be held at the home of Mr. and Mrs. William F. Buckley Jr., in Manhattan. He told me about it in a very offhand way, saying as he walked out the door one morning on his way to work: "Oh, by the way, honey, make sure you arrange to get the girls to dance practice on Thursday, February 24. We're going to dinner at the Buckley's." I stood there with mouth agape and he said he would call me when he got to our office.

The morning of the 24th arrived with a winter storm warning in effect for the tri-state area. It made no difference to us: we had the company truck with four wheel drive and we were going even if there was a blizzard! Surprisingly, we made it into the city without incident.

Upon arriving, we were escorted into a sitting room where the Buckleys were receiving their guests. I had always been aware of Mr. Buckley's twinkling eyes from watching "Firing Line," but the effect is overwhelming in person. Both he and his wife are two of the most down-to-earth, charming people I will ever meet in my lifetime. He made us feel like we were old friends there for some great fellowship and delicious food and drink.

Our Slavic upbringing decrees that you never go as an invited guest to a home empty-handed. Thinking that a cake just wouldn't cut it (although Russ and I did discuss bringing a babka, but I didn't have time to bake), we decided to give the Buckleys a pysanka. We chose an ostrich egg we had purchased at Soyuzivka this summer - a beautiful piece with lots of red, yellow and, of course, orange, to present to them.

I must admit that I choked up a little when we presented it to our hosts in appreciation for a lifetime of battling communism and being a special friend to the Ukrainian community.

The Buckleys were fascinated by its beauty and the process involved in creating it. Mrs. Buckley said she already had a place in mind to display it. Their home is filled with priceless, beautiful objects d'art and now a pysanka will join this magnificent collection.

There were about 45 people at the buffet dinner, many of them editors, the balance of them fans, like us. There were about 10 minutes' worth of speeches from Mr. Buckley; Rich Lowry, NR's young, passionate editor; Rick Brookheiser, senior editor, (we discovered Rick and his wife have a summer home in Kerhonkson, N.Y, and invited them to a pig roast at Soyuzivka this summer); Ed Campano, the publisher; Kate O'Beirne, Washington editor; and Jonah Goldberg and Kathryn Lopez, editors of National Review Online.

Most of the delightful evening was spent joking, chatting and relaying stories about connections to National Review. Mr. Buckley showed us his beloved harpsichord and an ancient Bible laying on top of the instrument, which had his name on it. When he speaks to you, you feel like you are the only person in the room, commanding his entire attention. Few people on earth have this amazing quality.

The evening ended at 10 p.m. with Mr. Buckley walking us to the door and asking if we needed his butler to get us a taxi since there were about 4 inches of snow on the ground. We politely declined and explained about the truck. He said they were excellent vehicles in the snow.

We made it home safely, figuratively floating on air, almost speechless about meeting one of our intellectual heroes, let alone dining in his home. It was one of the most exciting nights of our lives.

However, I went home with the biggest hero of the night: my husband, a great father, provider, friend who has a passion about Ukraine.

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