David P. Buckley

David Patrick Buckley was born on January 4, 1927, at home in Worcester, MA to Thomas Francis Buckley and Nora nee O’Brien. After graduating from Boston Latin School, he enlisted in the United States Army in 1943 and was assigned to the Transportation Corps in Germany, where he took the opportunity to make several trips to Paris on two-day passes. After being honorably discharged he returned to Massachusetts to resume his education paid for by the G.I. bill, earning a BA in English Literature from University of Massachusetts Amherst and then going on to Yale, the University of Michigan, and Columbia University where he earned Ph.D in Literature. In 1957, he published his first novel Pride of Innocence with significant critical acclaim. While pursuing his studies he was a Fulbright Scholar and won a Hopwood Award, which used to return to Paris. Having grown up in an extraordinarily challenging household, during graduate school he found time to volunteer for the overnight shift at the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children on the Upper East Side. While at Columbia he met the love of his life, Virginia Iacuzzi while they were enrolled in the same seminar. Not having stayed in touch sometime later while he was pursuing a Ph.D at Columbia University the two met again by chance in an elevator in Low Library where Miss Iacuzzi was preparing for a television game show appearance. They began dating and wed in 1960 in The Lady Chapel in Saint Patrick’s Cathedral in New York. He often talked about the commute to Brooklyn to pick up his date and the early skepticism of his soon to be Italian immigrant in-laws. Despite the cultural differences and geographic distance from the Upper West Side to Brooklyn, he already shared a bond in academic life with his soon to be father-in-law, Professor Alfred Iacuzzi. David and Ginny lived on the Upper West Side of Manhattan with their young daughter, Laura, until being lured out to the New Jersey suburbs by a close friend and colleague, James Ruoff, who was already building a family in Bergen County and commuting to teach at The City College of New York. David was a professor of Literature at CCNY, where he also served several terms as Chairman of the English Department. While he tried to embrace life in the suburbs his heart was always in Manhattan. After retiring from CCNY, as professor emeritus he continued in academia as a student mostly of art and art history at Columbia and the Lincoln Center campus of Fordham University. He thought Leonia, where he lived for almost 60 years, was just about the perfect small town to raise a family and find like-minded people. He loved participating in Leonia Reads, the Blooms Day activities in town and especially joining the Peace Vigil for many years on Sundays, sometimes accompanied by his tiny granddaughter, Josephine. Having grown up a sorely disappointed Red Sox fan he became a devoted Yankee fan but bore no animosity for Boston. He was always concerned with the comfort of others both near and far, family, friends, neighbors and strangers. He was attuned to issues of social justice in all aspects of life and around the world. He was extraordinarily kind, always being concerned with what he could do to easy anyone’s burden. He loved all things French, good smart comedy, basic cold cuts and salads for lunch with lots of mayo, and with a couple of gherkin pickles. A lover of ice cream he was still self-restrained often having only a couple of tablespoons of vanilla or strawberry ice cream out of a coffee mug for dessert. David was most proud of being a father to Laura and Brian and was actively involved in their lives until his death. He adored his grandchildren, Josephine, Odin and Eamon who came very late in his life. Friends would say that they kept him going. To the end he was able to share his deep knowledge of literature and Latin with his eldest grandchild Josephine, easily reaching back to his study of books and poems and translating Latin passages. In the last several months of his life he often commented on the beauty of Keats’ “Ode to a Nightingale.”

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell

To toll me back from thee to my sole self!

Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well

As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.

Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades

Past the near meadows, over the still stream,

Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep

In the next valley-glades:

Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

Fled is that music:—Do I wake or sleep?