I was sad to hear the news last week about Bob Novak's brain tumor. I like and admire Novak, and even on occasion agree with him. (Hey, no one thought the Iraq war was a stupider idea than he.) Novak knows what he believes. He sticks by it. And if you--or all those nutty neocons or congressional big spenders--don't like it, you can all go take a flying leap.
More personally, Novak has always been exceedingly nice to me whenever we've run across each other on Capitol Hill, the campaign trail, or the makeup room of some random cable studio. He has helped me with the occasional article. And, at some long ago presidential debate (I'm thinking it was Boston in 2000), when I was without a rental car, he even offered to drive me downtown to the event from the far-flung hotel where we were both staying. I still count that ride as among the most harrowing experiences of my career.
Finally, some of the most fun I've had on television was squabbling with Novak on Al Hunt's political chat show on Bloomberg. Listening to Novak and Hunt swap stories and insult each other before and after the segment was a gas. I swear the two behave just like an old married couple.
Anyway, this is all by way of wishing the Prince of Darkness a speedy return to health. Conservatives need someone to keep them honest. Washington journalism needs someone to keep it colorful. And I need someone to call for stories about the good old days.
Michelle Cottle is a senior editor at The New Republic.
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