P.J. O'Rourke

P.J. O'Rourke died on Tuesday.

He was 74. He died from lung cancer.

We were watching World News Tonight with David Muir. I hate that fucking program. I try to avoid it. And I hate David Muir, with his oversized hands and his nasal problem. And his over-the-top dramatics.

They serve up tiny bits of news, and follow each bit with torturously long commercial breaks. And they tease. They fucking tease, which I hate. That night Muir said "Next, we remember a writer and humorist" - then cut to commercial.

When they came back, P.J. O'Rourke's face flashed on the screen and I blurted out "Oh no!!" No conscious thought, just an immediate gut reaction over which I had no control. I was surprised at the intensity of it.

He was a writer. A political satirist. Ultra conservative. Intelligent. He had a wicked sense of humor. He sometimes appeared on Bill Maher's show.

I met him when I was assistant manager of the Peterborough liquor store. He lived close by, he used to stop in. He always bought two handles of Chivas. Don't judge - he only came in once in a while, it's not like he was guzzling the stuff.

The first time he walked in I was blown away. Nobody even knew who he was. He came to my register and I said "You're P.J. O'Rourke", for which he had an amusing response. We talked a bit. Humor and wit oozed out of him.

In 1978 he wrote an article titled "How to Drive Fast on Drugs While Getting Your Wing-Wang Squeezed and Not Spill Your Drink." Read it and you will get a feel for his sense of humor from one angle. But that is just one taste - he wrote 16 books - check them out. You won't be disappointed.

After that first visit, every time he came in we talked a bit. I once asked him how he felt about appearing on Bill Maher's show, assuming he would say it was rough because he and Bill have radically different opinions. Instead he told me he enjoyed it for the intelligent discussions/debates they had.

I have read a few of his books. After his first appearance in the store I kept one of them - The Baby Boom - in the store, waiting for the courage to ask for his autograph. A few visits later I asked and he effortlessly agreed. He asked how I wanted him to sign it - I said "Stop underachieving", which he got a kick out of. The autograph reads: "To Joe, Stop underachieving! P.J. O'Rourke, Peterborough NH 6/8/14."

The book is sitting to the left of my laptop right now. I took it off the bookshelf to touch it, to relive it.

Maybe he appreciated my low key approach - I never told anyone who he was, and he kept walking around anonymously. At times I wanted to scream "Do you fucking people know who this is?" I also talked to him respectfully, not like a brainless, gushing fan. We had short conversations.

I am telling you all this as a way of trying to understand my emotional reaction to his death. I am still shaky today.

I did not know P.J. O'Rourke. I just talked to him. Of course he was a writer, so that gave him free access to my soul. Which, in a way, he took advantage of - in a good way. He never made me feel like I was a pain in the ass - we actually had conversations, sometimes laughing together.

It was magic for me.

I guess that's where my sorrow comes from. He was in my life, just a little bit. He was a person I could respect and enjoy, and a person I envied for making a living doing what I should be doing.

Very smart, wickedly funny, famous and successful - but down to earth. A combination you rarely experience in another human being. It was a privilege to talk to him. He made my day every time I saw him.

Thanks, man - you made my life better. A rare and precious gift.

Requiescat in pace,

P.J. O'Rourke