People here in D.C. who remember Walter will recall a witty and learned scholar, but they also remember an indefatigable dancer who, well into his 80s, energetically twirled his lovely wife, Irene, around an AEI ballroom. I recall a talk he gave about Jefferson. “Nature’s God,” said Walter. “What kind of a God do you think that was?”
Harry was a mischievous 8-year old in the body of an 80 year-old when I first met him. He spoke for three hours before a group of judges in Tucson, eloquently, brilliantly, one morning. Later that night I listened to a national radio talk show. Someone with a voice just like Harry’s called in, voiced the same ideas I had heard that morning, and identified himself as “Harry from Tucson.” He didn’t fool me.
RIP, Walter and Harry.