The last time I saw Andrew Breitbart in person was one month ago. We saw each other almost every month, at the house of a mutual friend who hosts a monthly dinner party attended by all sorts of interesting people.
I met Andrew several years ago at the precursor to that function, an event hosted by Scott Kaufer at the Yamashiro restaurant. That’s where I met Cathy Seipp, and it’s also where I met Andrew Breitbart.
I can’t believe they’re both gone.
The next dinner party is tomorrow night. I expected to tell him a few things. I still can’t believe I won’t get to tell him.
One month ago, Andrew and I were among the last people to leave. We lingered at our friend’s house with Roman Genn for a good hour. The discussions are off the record as a rule, but I’ll break the rule to note this: Andrew said he loved his wife and kids in that conversation.
And I will say that he was his typical self: so completely honest and forthright about himself, even if his stories made him look like a complete idiot, that you had to love him. There was something completely endearing about the way that he just said what he thought, and told things the way they were — and it didn’t matter how it made him look. At all. He said it anyway.
We laughed and laughed.
Andrew and I were often among the last to leave, and there was one time late last year when the things I was telling him seemed important enough to both of us that he invited me into his car, and we continued the conversation for about 20 minutes.
One day I’ll tell you what that was about, because I think it was important. And I think he was starting to see that it was important. Yeah, I’m teasing something for the future. Now where did I learn that technique?
IN THAT VEIN: Andrew used to let me in on a lot of scoops. He would allow me to tease things, which was fun for me — and allowed me to come back later and proclaim: Always trust content from Patterico! I knew he had the Weiner pictures before they broke. He called me about one of the ACORN stories before it broke. And so forth. I still have vivid memories of walking around in my backyard talking about ACORN, or walking in the street in front of my home talking about a story about a violent criminal — and always feeling like I was being let in on secrets that the whole country would care about the next day.
He didn’t care which Republican candidate got elected. He just cared about the truth. He had a severe case of ADD, in my amateur opinion, and when he got stories wrong it was because he wasn’t being careful. Not because he was dishonest. The man didn’t have a dishonest bone in his body. He was totally honest, all the time. Whatever he thought, he would tell you.
I read today that he was a homophobe. When he threw a party for gay Republicans at CPAC. I read today he was a racist. When he fought for poor black farmers screwed in the Pigford settlement, and was inspired to enter public life by the indignities heaped on Clarence Thomas.
What crap people will spew when they don’t know someone.
I never said this before, but Andrew wanted to hire me to work for him a while back. I guess it’s OK to say that now. The problem was, I have a family and need a stable job, and I love what I do, and I couldn’t make my hobby into a career for half the money. But though I couldn’t work for him, I somehow want to live up to what he wanted me to do. It will be tough to balance that with the rest of the demands in my life. But I’ll try.
But mostly, I just can’t believe that I don’t get to see him tomorrow night. I’ll walk in the door at my friend’s house, and somehow I will expect him to be there. And everyone will be talking about him. But I won’t get to talk to him.
How does that suddenly happen to a 43-year-old man?
Anita Busch called me this morning and told me she wants to work on a fund for his children. Some of you have contacted me to ask if you can help his children. We are going to figure that out and I will get back to you.
This post feels very disjointed and rambling. It’s totally honest. It’s what I’m thinking. But it’s just whatever thoughts I happen to be thinking, unfiltered, spilling out onto the virtual page.
As a post about Andrew, that feels just right.