Now that's a peice of very fine reporting Mr. Leonard - we should all so shed a tear and share a 'tini.

With immense pride he knows that you have published this.

"Life Is No Way To Treat An Animal"

*

Darn.

There went my claim to fame.

Somehow playing dominoes with Jerry Jeff Walker, which, by the way, is not something I'd recommend to any but my most implacable enemies, just doesn't stack up.

And as for my anecdote of how, through an excess of feminist sensibilities, I blew a chance to meet Saul Bellow...

Truly, I'm running out of heroes.

Thank you for that story, Andrew.

Some people live their lives so that magic still glimmers after they've gone.

Vonnegut did have a wonderful face, did he not?

I found comfort just knowing he was among us & certain I would find around the next corner one of his succinct observations to remind me we aren't alone with this madness.

Go home now,Mr Vonnegut.

About 35 years ago I read "Sirens" and I remember thinking when I got to the end, "WTF?"

I still chuckle when I see pictures of the Great Wall!

which was very touching. he doesn't write as well (naturally) as his father, but has a sincerity, which his father lacked. what i was struck by was that mr leonard *knew* him - he was a friend of his father's. journalists, pundits, essayists - opinion makers, all seem to form a tight class.

Oh sh....

Those were the first words out of my mouth when I read this article. Oddly enough, I'd been thinking of Vonnegut lately. I even visited his web site two nights ago, wondering if he had anything to say about the latest Dark Fantasies emerging from Washington.

I remember how reading *Cat's Cradle* changed my life, back in college. I gave my son a copy when he went off saying, "If you remember nothing else about these years, remember this book". He posted it as his favorite on My Space (I must have done at least one thing right as a mother).

I've reached an age when I read the obituaries, dreading to see the names of friends. But when your heroes die, it really hits you in the gut.

So long, Vonnegut and Ivins. The world is a poorer place.

KV would've loved that one; goodbye Blue Monday.

This little tribute had more heart and insight than anything I've ever read about Vonnegut. Thanks!

Which is pretty damn cool.

I loved many of his books, Galapagos best of all.

Farewell, Mr. Vonnegut.

It's fitting that it's raining today. I'm really bummed out.

I awoke to the news of Vonnegut's death this morning, and that sense of the world being a lesser place without him is exactly the one I am unable to shake. I can't even think of another time when I have felt this way about someone I don't know.

I didn't even start to read Vonnegut until the past few years, in my mid-30s as I pulled one of the paperbacks my husband owned from the shelves as I looked for something different to read. Most men in my age range seem to have been given Vonnegut to read in their early teens; not a single female friend of mine had ever read him anywhere other than maybe a college English course, if at all. It was so unfair.

I only recently stopped feeling cheated as I made my way through his books, his collections of short stories, his essays, and interviews. I have wondered about what decisions I would have made in my life if I'd read them as a teenager. I'd seen him on Now and the Daily Show when "Man without a Country" was released, and physically, his age showed, and like many other people I know his age, many of his friends and family had already died, and he seemed to carry that deep sadness. Goodness knows he's earned his release.

But the world is still a lesser place, that is exactly what it is, and it is impossible not to mourn that.

Wonderful Andrew. And you are a real mensch yourself not to out your sister who, as a lonely teenager in Florida, used to say that Kurt Vonnegut was her godfather to get people to like her. Oops...

a man so human, he made you feel better for our species...

thank you, mr vonnegut...

pax vobiscum

oh, while i'm at it: thank you, too, johnny hart; many's the laugh i got from B.C. over the years... ('clams got legs !')

art guerrilla

aka ann archy

eof

Just after the start of the Iraq disaster, I had been working in Oklahoma City for several months as a consultant. The company was a "snake oil" infomercial phenomenon, and the founder dragged his staff out every morning to pray (literally) for his continued financial windfall. He had a giant painting of Jesus over his desk. The backround was black and I never had the nerve to see if it was velvet. In the vestibule was a huge blowup of the founder with his other hero, George W. Bush. I'm guessing the photo op had cost him about $10,000 at a private fundraiser.

I'm not digressing, just painting a picture of the oppressive cultural wasteland in which I found myself.

Then, I spotted a tiny item, the size of the smallest Post-it Note, buried in the back pages of the very conservative daily paper. Kurt Vonnegut was scheduled to speak at one of the local christian-titled universities. In the auditorium, in the evening, open to the public. I went, jubilantly, and with the very reasonable hope that I would be one of just a handful of people there. On the way, I stopped to get one of his books to be signed...mine (I have them all) were still at home in Philadelphia. The only book the local mega bookstore carried was a recent autobiographical non-fiction. Disappointed, I grabbed it.

At the entrance to the auditorium, there were tables of Vonnegut books for sale. I asked about buying one to have it autographed. "Mr. Vonnegut doesn't do autographs", was the reply.

Alone, I found a great seat...there's always one up front in the middle, where people have refused to move in to accommodate.

His talk was rousing. Exciting. Although he seemed ill, with a very bad cough, and frail. He bashed Bush as only Vonnegut can. And the war. He was glib and sarcastic and funny. Now I had the complete collection...including the great man's own voice.

I was ready to pounce toward him to get my book signed when the "gatekeepers" Andrew Leonard described closed ranks around him. Obviously the university elite and their wives.

I was living at the Waterford, the "old school" elegant hotel in Oklahoma City. Not the new big flashy one downtown. I was surprised to see Paul McCartny in my tiny lobby. It seemed to the choice of anti-tinsel celebrities. So I knew in my heart that Kurt Vonnegut would be going back there. I made a beeline for the hotel and went straight to the bar and waited. Not a stalker. A disciple.

Sure enough....he walked in, with the university hierarchy and sat down. I walked over and asked him to sign my book for my son Zach. "I don't sign books," he said.

"But," I answered, "Zach is a huge fan, has read everything you have ever written and is now a Marine waiting to go to Iraq, where his brother is today. If anyone deserves your autograph, he does."

He signed it. And I sat down with them, much to the dismay of the extraordinarily pretentious ladies in their take-the-celebrity-out dresses. And I bought Kurt Vonnegut a drink. Scotch.

Later, when I called my son and told him about it, he asked if there was an asterisk-looking thing next to Vonnegut's signature. Why yes...but how did he know? "It's his asshole", Zach answered. "Whenever he signs his name, he draws a picture of it." I have no idea how Zach knew that, but he reads everything and seems to know everything as well.

I sent Zach the book, with the little notice from the paper, and my bar tab for two scotches...one for me...one for...sigh...Kurt Vonnegut, pasted on the flyleaf next to the signature.

The next day, I went into the office, absolutely giddy. "Guess who I had a drink with last night! Kurt Vonnegut." They all just stared at me. Finally someone asked, "who?".

And that's the story of how Kurt Vonnegut rescued me from ignorance for one memorable evening.