When I received an email from Lew last May informing me of Burt’s terminal illness, I decided to wait a bit before telephoning Burt to talk about his unfortunate situation. (I wanted to give all the usual suspects a chance to call him up so that they could be maudlin with him first.)I had to figure out what I wanted to say to Burt as an opener. I mulled it over for awhile. What could I say to Burt, in a nutshell, that would convey my feelings about what he was going through? I finally got it. I called him up. He answered the phone. We each said an initial “Hello.” Then I said:

“So Burt, I hear you’re trying to take the easy way out of this nightmare.”

He laughed. (Of course he laughed. He was Burt. Geez, you people really are maudlin.) I spent the next half-hour or so with the dying Burt keeping me in stitches. (Are you starting to get the picture here of what Burt was like?)

Burt was one of the most terrific people I have ever met in my life. He was also one of the funniest people I have ever met in my life. There are a number of personal reasons why it was especially important for someone like myself to know and become friends with Burt. First of all, like me, he was a New York Jewish Libertarian—although I am a generation younger than Burt. He was part of my parents’ generation—yet, growing up, I had never met a Libertarian among my parents’ peers. (In all truth, I had never met any Libertarian growing up—I myself was the typical New York Jewish Liberal for the first 37 years of my life.) To know someone of my parents’ generation who didn’t buy into the political B.S. that we are brainwashed with was very refreshing.

I spoke with Burt a few times in his final year. The first follow-up call was not actually to talk to him. I called because I wanted to tell his life partner, June Morrall, how much I enjoyed her book Princeton-by-the-Sea—which Burt nudged me into buying during my initial “consoling” call to him back in the Spring. (Burt was a great promoter, and obviously a loving partner too.) After offering my praises to June, and then sharing my views with Burt, he then pulled the old Jewish Salesman routine on me—he asked me if I had read his book Bagels, Barry Bond, and Rotten Politicians. I said I hadn’t, but that I would.

I originally had no intention of reading Burt’s book when it was first published. I had read many of his essays on lewrockwell.com, but now I figured I had better read it, and read it fast—that’s all I needed was to have a serious case of Jewish Guilt if I didn’t read Burt’s book before he croaked (i.e., I wouldn’t be able to tell him that I had actually read it and what I thought of it.) As it turned out, the book was terrific. The essays actually read much better compiled in a book, due to the fact that Burt had many times written multiple essays for LRC on a common theme.

But there was something I got out of the book that I hadn’t expected. Burt mentioned that he hadn’t started doing creative writing until the age of 70. I was surprised (he was such a natural, gifted writer)—and I was inspired. For years, I had been emailing Lew my personal kvetching missives on the miserable state of the world—all due to the State. Lew kept nudging me to write for LRC. I thanked him for the compliment and offer, but I told him I wasn’t a writer—I was a whiner (Hey, I said I’m a New York Jew, didn’t I?). When earlier this year Lew offered me the chance to start blogging, I figured, “Why not give it a shot?” The rest, as they say, is history.

After about a month of writing, I called Burt up to tell him I had started blogging on the LRC blog. He told me exactly what I would go through as a beginning writer, and what I would discover about the writing process as I gained more experience (and, of course, he was right on the money). After he read some of my blogs, he said to me, “David, never sell out.” (Like he had to tell me that.)

On each occasion that I spoke with Burt this past year, he was always funny and upbeat. He knew he had lived a long, full, and terrific life. Although he knew there were medical procedures he might have considered to prolong his life, he decided he’d rather exit the stage with dignity and grace.

The last time I spoke with Burt was on the occasion of his 80th birthday on Feb. 11. We had both mistakenly (fortunately) thought that he was born on the same date of the year as Lincoln (Feb. 12). We kibitzed about that for a few minutes, and then I told him that I hoped to call him again on his 81st birthday.

Burt Blumert was generous not only with his money but, more importantly, with himself.

He was, in a nutshell, a mensch.