- The Washington Times - Thursday, July 17, 2008



We were hoping he could speak at our editorial writers’ convention here in Little Rock this coming September. We had him down tentatively - and what mortal can make plans that aren’t tentative? - as the speaker for our final dinner. He would have been perfect. Having been commentator and newsmaker at different times in his career, he knew both sides of the street.

White House press secretary. You wouldn’t have known it by his ever-boyish manner, but he had been around.

Tony said he would try to make it to Little Rock, even though we both knew the chances were iffy; he had already taken a couple of leaves of absence to fight his cancer. But you could tell he meant it. No one ever heard Tony say anything he didn’t mean, except perhaps in wry jest.

Now he’s gone. At 53. Colon cancer. The news, however expected, still shocks. For his name brings back one youthful image after another. It’s like going through a family album or watching a home-made film taken long ago and marveling at how young the subjects were. The difference with Tony was that he stayed young.

The first picture of him is one of the faces around a conference table at the Fla. It was a conference for young editorial writers, and Tony didn’t have much to say. But there was an unmistakable something in his eyes that let you know he was sizing you up, taking everything in, and when it came time to write a few sample editorials, his were clearly the best of the crop. By far. He’d got it.

His pieces were bright, sharp, focused opinion, unmarred by the superfluous. He used facts the way a swimmer uses a diving board. He didn’t confuse writing an editorial with delivering a lecture. Cant would have been as alien to him as pomp or prudery. Or ill will.

The next image of him is running along the beach at St. Petersburg, slowing his pace to let an older guy keep up but not making a point of it. His long, elegant stride was matched by an understated elegance in his manner. I must have chugged along behind him on early-morning runs through half a dozen cities- wherever the editorial writers were meeting that year.

Tony Snow was one of those people you could count on. In good times and times not so good. He added to the joy of life, but he was there to share your grief, too, when the inevitable struck. As he wrote to me after a great loss, getting it just right, as Tony had a way of doing: “I will miss her, but with a smile.”

Adept was the word for Tony. Writers usually make clumsy speakers, worse anchormen and impossible spokesmen for politicians. Tony was adept at it all. He made whatever he touched human, and his was a humanness of a particular, upbeat, American kind. When he signed on to be George W. Bush’s press secretary, I feared for him. I knew he could never be a flack.

As it turned out, he wasn’t. He humanized even the most political spot in the world, taking on a Scott McClellan. When Tony Snow took over the White House briefing room, it was the difference between murky night and shining day, intelligent loyalty and whatever its opposite is. (No-talent opportunism?)

A polemicist himself, Tony knew all the little tricks of a low trade, and wouldn’t let the usual suspects get away with any of them. Most impressive of all, he made friends of those he was refuting. The untouchable press, it turned out, was touched. For who wouldn’t be charmed by Tony? Or recognize the substance under the charm?

Now he is gone. Much too early. But whenever we had lost him, it would have been too early. Tony said it: We will miss him, but with a smile.

Paul Greenberg is a nationally syndicated columnist.



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