This morning greeted us with tragic news of Andrew Breitbart’s passing. He was 43. He went where so few of us didn’t even have the courage to think of going, and I admire his work.
I am never wont towards fandom towards anyone in the political sphere. It didn’t matter if it was Speaker Boehner or a think tank fellow I was sharing a cigarette with. They’re all people to me.
I remember when I met him at Rightonline on the rooftop of Brit’s Pub. He arrived quietly without calling attention to himself. He sat on the edge of the gathered mass of people. I was introduced by a friend to him, first by my name and then with my alias. He smiled and said “I’ve heard of you.”
I didn’t get a picture with him. In fact, I almost never get pictures with famous people. But I remember that cool night Minneapolis, where Andrew Breitbart was just hanging out amongst people I called my friends. He had sat back and was taking it all in, in between conversations with the steady stream of people who wanted to say “hi.” It was like he drew strength from the people around him.
And now he’s gone. And we draw strength from his passing in the days to come.