Tony Snow, requiescat in pace

Tony Snow was, for me, different than most of the other public figures who we've eulogized in recent months and years. He was different because I actually met him and can say that the kind words being spoken about him were spot on. He was a good guy and will be missed.

The first time I met Mr. Snow was at a Heritage Foundation Christmas party for the media. I was an editor for The Washington Times back then, and also as green as they came. (Only divine intervention can be accredited for getting me a superficially cool-sounding title as "editor" of a national paper. In truth, the Moonie Times probably would have hired anyone.) Nonetheless, I got an invite through someone somehow.

I always hated those things even while I tried as hard as I knew how to get into them. Inevitably I would travel to such events full of excitement only to quickly find the bar and fade to the background as soon as I arrived. Sure, there were lots of people like me -- hangers-on and hacks, interns and the nakedly ambitious who'd only recently graduated from college. But the conservative literati also attended this event. Over there was Bob Novak. Nearby was Cal Thomas.

And grinning his way through the crowd was Tony Snow.

At the time he was an anchor at Fox News, not the president's press secretary. But I'd read a little bit about him, and one thing that I retained was that he had a rock & roll band. I was learning guitar at the time, so this stuck with me.

I made a point to mingle through the crowd, trying not to embarrass myself too much, but inevitably failing. I'd come to Washington with strong opinions which I mistook to be knowledge. It showed, and more than one conservative luminary simply walked away from me in disgust. Heh. It was a brutal time.

I backed into someone as I tried to extricate myself from another embarrassingly revealing conversation. I turned, fearing I'd spilled Bob Novak's drink all over his wife or something, but it was Tony Snow.

"My apologies," I said. And then, before I could stop myself, "Where's the band playing these days?"

He laughed and told me they weren't playing much right then, but he hoped to soon. Then we chatted for a bit, and like others have been saying today, he was one of the most open, unassuming people you've ever met. I was obviously a poor, rookie journalist who probably wouldn't go anywhere in this town, but he didn't once look around seeking somebody more important to talk to. For a few minutes, it was just me and Tony, talking about power chords and favorite influences. I can't possibly say I "knew" the man, but I'd like to think that for a second he enjoyed talking about one of his passions that didn't involve politics.

The second time I met him was less of a meeting and more of a passing by. He was talking to a colleague at the Corner Bakery in Union Station. It was not long after his first bout with cancer. I was in line behind him. He turned and looked at me, nodded with some recognition but not dismissively.

"Howdy," I said. "How are you feeling?"

"Good, thanks," he said. Then his friend turned his attention away and they moved on.

Rest in peace, Mr. Snow. Thanks for being a nice guy in a town with a shortage of them.