Remembering Tony Snow

The last time I spoke with Tony Snow was this past spring at Dulles Airport just outside of Washington, D.C. My son and I were headed down to Florida for what has become our yearly ritual of spring training baseball at Dodgertown in Vero Beach. And I assumed Tony was at the airport to fly off somewhere and give a post-White House-gig speech of some kind.

I had actually just seen Tony a few nights earlier at one of those other spring rituals, a black-tie dinner where reporters and the politicians they cover sit down, share a meal and pretend to enjoy each other’s company for a few hours.

The highlight of that particular evening for me was popping into one of the after-parties and hearing Tony’s band rock the place with some pretty decent covers of his beloved music of the ’60s and ’70s.

Standing in the back of the room near the sound guys, apart from the fact that I was jammed into my obligatory tuxedo, I felt like I was back in high school, feeling really cool because I knew one of the cool guys in the band up there on the stage.

Tony was a great writer. Loved politics. His family. His country. His God. A good argument. Just don’t get him started on rock ‘n’ roll. Sure, Tony had this little job as spokesman for the leader of the free world, but I have no doubt he would have traded it away to do one world tour with Jethro Tull.

And that was the thing about Tony. In the middle of all that importance, success and coolness, he had a way of making those around him feeling like they were part of it. And always with that big smile. Seeming like he was having the honest-to-goodness time of his life.

At the airport, I introduced Tony to my son before our chat quickly came to an end when his line had to move quickly through security. I regret now that we didn’t have more time to talk, but the realities of post-Sept. 11 airport security measures intervened.

That was the last time I spoke with him. I remember telling Tony how impressed I was with the music from a few nights before, but there was no talk of politics, the war, GOP prospects or anything else of import. Just the rock ‘n’ roll.

It brought a smile to his face, then he was off, and my son and I continued on with our spring training trip, which for me was always a socially acceptable excuse for trying to meet Sandy Koufax without being charged with stalking.

One of my fondest memories of Tony was from another of those black-tie affairs several years ago when he introduced me to his friend Skunk Baxter of The Doobie Brothers. Like Tony, Skunk knew a thing or two about living in multiple worlds, having transformed himself into a self-taught missile defense expert.

Upon meeting Skunk, I reached out my hand and said, “You don’t know me, but I’m your brother,” an opening lyric to one of the Doobies’ hits. Without missing a beat, Tony and Skunk delivered the next line of the song right back to me. Good times.

Back in 1996 I was one of the founding brothers of Fox News here in Washington when the network first launched. And even though all my fellow charter members had the unique, shared experience of going from working for an unknown network to seeing it surpass the established CNN just four years later, Tony preceded us all with “Fox News Sunday,” which was already on the air by the time Fox News Channel fired up its first camera. Tony was one of the true original shock troops who hit the beaches long before the rest of us ever showed up.

Things have changed a bit, but in those early days there was no order, let alone pecking order, to contend with. If you needed Tony for something, you just got a camera, grabbed him, and rolled the tape.

I always thought that Tony did a pretty good job during those years of hosting “Fox News Sunday,” but when I later saw him at the White House podium, I quickly decided that this was his true calling.

He totally rewrote the job description and distinguished himself representing his president. And this comes from someone who does not give this administration the highest of marks.

Press secretaries. Television hosts. Columnists. Rock stars. Hall of Fame pitchers. All come and go. Always someone coming up behind you to take your place, to get his or her song on the charts. But, for those of us who loved him, argued with him, and shared his world for a while — although it is a bit of a cliché — truer words were never spoken when I say: He will be missed.