PAT BUCHANAN NOTE

                  Faithful readers know my mom passed away 6 weeks ago at 102 and six months, so we're doing the normal going through things.  Drawers, files, personal effects. 

                  Since my dad passed away in 1988, I never went through his stuff like this because it was in Mom's house and she just carried on.  Everything stayed where it was.  With Mom's passing, however, we're going through the whole shebang.

                  Last night we found a handwritten note dated July 7, 1994 from radio commentator and presidential candidate Patrick J. Buchanan.  It shows a side of someone many folks thought acrimonious and shows a side of Mom I didn't know existed. 

                  Some context.  My first book, PASTURED POULTRY PROFIT$ came out in 1993.  Bill Clinton had been elected president and made a big deal of bringing in a French-styled chef who mentioned that he wanted to serve free range chicken in the White House.  Buchanan, who despised all things Clinton, naturally wanted to make fun of this free range chicken idea so he went searching for a farmer who raised them.

                  He quickly found me and asked me to be on his nationally syndicated radio show.  Loaded for bear and ready to make fun, Buchanan asked me about our pastured chickens and what made them different than regular.  "Our chickens don't do drugs," I responded. 

                  "Why do normal farmers feed them drugs?" he asked.  I had several reasons, of course, but started with "it makes them grow faster."  That ended the interview to his raucous retort:  "What could possibly be wrong with making them grow faster?"  He cut me off before I could answer:  "Cancer is a fast growth; not all faster growth is positive," but he didn't give me time.  He had his make fun for the day and that was good enough.  I think the whole interview lasted fewer than two minutes.

                  This interchange is one of hundreds throughout my life in which a person I respected politically (Buchanan would be considered quite conservative, but also protectionist) couldn't even countenance a non-chemical agricultural option.  That option, in his mind, was a liberal greenie weenie tree hugger earth muffin commie pinko worldview.

                  That interview, at that time in my life, was a big deal on a big stage, and I resented that he had played me and abused me.  I must have said something Mom heard--or perhaps she even listened to it on the radio--because apparently she reached out to him in a note to chastise him for the interchange.  I don't have her note and of course had no idea she did it.

                  What we discovered last night, though, was a handwritten note, on nice card stock, from Patrick Buchanan to Mom.  Here is its contents:

                  "Dear Lucille:  My apologies to you--and Joel--if I was flippant on the issue of free-range chicken.  It had seemed to me to have aspects of humor about it.  Hope your son did not take offense; for none was intended.  Best, Pat Buchanan."  The handwriting is beautiful, indicative of a day when schools taught handwriting . . . and graded it.  I still have twitches from my only D in grade school--handwriting.  Still stings.

                  A flood of takeaways comes to mind.  First, a Mom going to bat for her adult son.  That's cool.  Second, the big-hearted grace shown by a guy liberals vilified as Satan's sidekick.  Third, the geo-political reality that conservatives generally brand anything foodie woo-woo as stupid.

                  In 1994,  Pat Buchanan was a big deal.  I'll hold onto this note and let my kids enjoy it when going through my stuff.

                  Are opinionated celebrity thought leaders this gracious today?