Smokey, I can't honestly say that I actually met his Lordship, but Bob and I enjoyed his (whatever he does) with much laughter and amazement from a table about five feet from the small stage, and as was his Lordship's wont, our eyes met on several occasions, but beyond that, we didn't actually exchange greetings.

I had never heard of Lord Buckley when Bob and I were walking down the Bridgeway one evening and we ran into Koz, one of the weekend denizens of Sausalito (Koz was a fascinating character on his own, but that's another story). He said that he had heard this guy at the No Name the previous evening and he was going to be back this evening. He urged us to come. He said, "I can't figure out what he is. Is he a stand-up comic? Is he a preacher? Is he nuts!?"

Well—all of those things, I guess.

We saw Lord Buckley on two occasions at the "No Name Tavern," and he did his thing for a couple of hours each time. Among other things, he treated us with his classics:   The Nazz, The Raven (The Bug Bird), Lincoln's Gettysburg Address, several speeches from Shakespeare (Willie the Shake) including Marc Antony's funeral oration (he did part of it for Groucho), and one that really digs deep, The Black Cross.

At one point, he explained his philosophy, a bit more thoroughly than he had a chance to explain it to Groucho. He said that he addresses people as "Milord" and "Milady" because no matter how obscure, or how small, mean, and petty a person might be, inside, sometimes hidden down deep inside, there is a spark of true nobility. And it is this spark which he wishes to acknowledge and address.

And then he got serious for a moment. He opened his arms expansively and said, "Would it embarrass you awfully if I told you that I love you all?'

The audience shuffled their feet and shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

"Yes," said his Lordship with a rueful smile and a shake of the head, "I see that it does. But I do love you all, you know."

Then he cleared his throat and went into his next routine.

Not a bad philosophy. Not bad at all.

This was in September or October of 1959. It was some months later that Lord Buckley went to The Gate of Horn in Chicago, then in October of 1960 he went to perform at the Jazz Gallery in New York, with a possible appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show. But for some unexplained reason, the New York police took away his cabaret card (a legal requirement to perform in New York clubs at the time). More that three dozen major entertainment figures, including author George Plimpton, attempted to intervene and get his card restored, but without success. A few days later, he was taken to a hospital where he died. Cause of death, unspecified.

There are many bizarre stories about how his Lordship died: one that he died of a stroke, another that he died from exhaustion after drinking vodka spiked with mescaline and making love to an underage mulatto girl—and another that he had been beaten to death by the police. But as far as I know, to this day, there has never been an adequate explanation for his Lordship's sudden demise.

I feel very lucky to have had the opportunity to hear him when I did.

Don Firth