Notes & Asides - Brief Article - Column - Obituary

National Review, Feb 25, 2002

--Robin Wu, R.I.P.

At the National Review staff Christmas party, we were surprised to see Robin Wu. Of course he had been invited, as a close former associate, but in recent years he had appeared infrequently at our Christmas affair -- he was married, had a child, and spent all of his time in his law office in Chinatown. And then too, he was sick.

Robin Wu, born in 1941, arriving in America as a teenage refugee, was the most upwardly mobile phenomenon in the experience of National Review. He was hired as NR librarian late in 1970 and promoted to research director in 1974. He earned a master's in library science and then another degree, in law.

For ten years he accepted any assignment we gave him, and performed his work masterfully. Then one day he left his tearful dependents and began his law practice.

His widow passed the word that, because of his illness, he had turned down the invitation, but that when the day came he appeared rather agitated at home. She realized that he wanted to see his friends at National Review one more time.

So she drove him and their little boy into the city and gave us the pleasure of his company, and heightened the sense of loss on hearing of his death.

WFB

-- Dear Bill: If you didn't see the N.Y. Times mini-obit on Aaron Horwitz, part of their splendid series on the victims of 9/11, I think you'd want to look: a perfect mini-portrait-obit-eulogy. And look at the kid's face!

Love,

Priscilla [Buckley]

Finding Good in a Bad Day

Once, Aaron Horwitz had what most people would consider a supremely lousy day. A friend asked him how he would rate it, from 1 to 10, with 1 the worst.

"Eight," he replied.

You could get a contact high from Mr. Horwitz, 24, a bond broker at Cantor Fitzgerald with the almost laughable responsibility of entertaining clients and making them feel like the most important people in the world.

As if anyone had to pay him. For he was not just a showman, who did the Michael Jackson moonwalk on bar tops and who, at a museum, drew his own masterpiece on a mist-coated window next to a Rembrandt.

He seized souls, not letting go until he made them merry. He met a guy in a toy store and, moments later, the two were having a hula-hoop contest. He insisted a concierge stop weeping over a bad breakup, then called her at 2:30 a.m. to make sure. He sweet-talked hostesses at four-star restaurants into producing tables for eight (and their phone numbers for dates) and persuaded a street masseur to let Mr. Horwitz give him a massage.

"You could talk to a brick wall," his father told him. Yes, allowed the son, but he preferred chatting with a mirror. He often did so, then fell over, laughing.

Pitts: Many thanks. Will reproduce in Notes & Asides, and maybe even the photo can come through.

XXB

-- Dear Mr. Buckley: The word that Mr. Kilpatrick's reader is looking for (N&A, Nov. 5) may be pleonasm. It is most often used to mean the use of superfluous words, but it is also used to indicate the use of excessive punctuation.

Sincerely,

J. Walter Lynch

Athens, Ga.

Dear Mr. Lynch: Gee! Thanks! You saved my life! And happy New Year!

Cordially,

-- WFB