As those close to me know, my list of “loves” is pretty short: America, baseball (especially my Yankees), Iowa, James Madison (his portrait is my phone’s lock screen), and the enduring constitutional architecture that he devised. Beyond those things, I try not to use the word lightly. But as my summer internship ends today, I have to add one more item to the list: I love National Review.
This website has counted me among its subscribers since I was 16 years old. Before long, I subscribed to the print magazine as well. A copy of every issue that NR has published since the beginning of 2021 is stored either in my childhood bedroom, a college storage unit for the summer, or the house where I am currently staying. I’ve never thrown out a single one of them, and I don’t plan to. Ramesh Ponnuru & Co. truly do meticulous, exceptional work month after month, and I am thrilled to have contributed to their publication in the smallest of ways.
The history of this journal — its importance in molding a great American political philosophy and tradition — is incomparable. That is why, in an absurdly broad history course I took last quarter titled “The United States in the Twentieth Century,” one of the terms we had to study for our final exam was “National Review.” As I try to explain to my contemporaries, the word “conservative” would not mean what it means today had William F. Buckley Jr. never cobbled together that first issue of NR in 1955.
Speaking of the significance of NR’s founder on his centennial, here’s an appropriate word from the man who, when Buckley died in 2008, became America’s greatest living political writer — George F. Will, who also began his journalistic career at NR: “Without Bill Buckley, no National Review. Without National Review, no Goldwater nomination. Without the Goldwater nomination, no conservative takeover of the Republican Party. Without that, no Reagan. Without Reagan, no victory in the Cold War. Therefore, Bill Buckley won the Cold War.” Damn straight.
I have worked at NR’s office in Arlington, Va., throughout my internship, but last month, I had the pleasure of visiting the headquarters in New York for the first time. In that office sits what I could argue is the finest single bookshelf in the country. It contains every print issue of National Review from 1955 to the present bound up by volume, as well as special anniversary editions bound individually. I spent hours working through those pages of history, perusing the theories of Frank Meyer and the musings of Russell Kirk. I could have spent weeks.
The current state of NR is just as vibrant as its past, and that is thanks to the people now carrying its mantle. Getting to know so many writers I have taken inspiration from for years has been incredible. All of them are exactly as they present themselves to readers. I love how a “light day” for Noah Rothman is when he composes only 3,000 words for the website while finishing up a magazine piece on the side. I love that Jeff Blehar is as hilarious off the cuff as he is in writing. I love how Dan McLaughlin carries a library’s worth of court cases and baseball statistics around in his head. I love that Dominic Pino can coldly point out the economic rationality of my lunch choices. I love how Charlie Cook is always right, even when he’s wrong.
A few more appreciations out of many: My greatest thanks go to the enigmatic Jack Butler for inviting me here. Judd Berger and Phil Klein are the best editors this website could ask for. Jack Crowe made a news writer out of me, which I did not think was possible. My first week, when she was on vacation, my fellow interns told me just how wonderful Haley Strack was — and they were right. Audrey Fahlberg made the U.S. Capitol feel familiar. Luther Ray Abel gave me very helpful guidance. And I think Rich Lowry knows my name, which is pretty neat.
My time at NR has now come to an end, but I will continue to love this journal and everything about it. If there is any path for me to return here after graduation, I will surely take it. Farewell for now.