Daniel Oliver, who died late last week, was an important part of this institution: as an editor, a donor, a chairman of its board of directors, and a close friend and confidant of its founder. Its leadership offers condolences to his beloved wife, Ambassador Louise Oliver, and to Dan’s family, whom he loved dearly, as he did his God, his country, and the principles and machinery of modern conservatism.

Born in New York City in 1939, Dan was straitlaced, mannered, high church, and of what one once called blue-blood stock — but no, he was not a stereotype. There was a distinctness — maybe it was his cheerfulness, which was indeed pretty cheery when on display. A graduate of Harvard University and Fordham Law School, he served in the U.S. Army and learned (allegedly from a tiny ad in The New Republic) of this conservative fortnightly founded by one William F. Buckley Jr. It mattered that both men were sailors: A relationship began in 1965 at Buckley for Mayor campaign headquarters, when the two were introduced and Bill was informed that Dan (“fresh from law school, volunteering his time at the lick-envelope level,” as recounted in Cruising Speed) had chartered WFB’s teak yawl, the infamous Suzy Wong, the previous summer. They struck up an immediate, close friendship, and the young lawyer and campaign researcher (he also performed those duties when Jim Buckley first ran for Senate in 1968) — who also fancied a stint in journalism — would soon come aboard.

In her charming book, Living It Up With National Review: A Memoir, about the magazine’s early years, when it formed the conservative movement and stood as its Bible, the late Priscilla Buckley, managing editor and institutional godmother, sweetly tells how that came to pass and provides a thumbnail sketch of this unique, young colleague. Dan

was a junior member of a well known New England family, had just graduated from law school, and was reluctant to go directly to work with the family law firm. He was a great fan of National Review and thought a year or two working for the magazine, where he could hone his writing skills, would be useful in his future career and, in the meanwhile, great fun. He applied for a job at a time when Bill Buckley was piling on himself one chore after another, writing a syndicated column three times a week, originating his TV talk show, Firing Line, lecturing on college campuses all over the country, appearing on network TV, writing numerous articles and book reviews, plus, of course, editing National Review. He needed a right hand man to handle much of the detail work, so Danny signed on as a combination associate editor and personal assistant to Bill.

The combination worked out beautifully for all concerned. Dan was slim, very good looking, blonde, and always well turned out. He would catch a commuter train early every morning in Greenwich where he lived with his wife, Louise, and growing family, neatly shaved and wearing a dark business suit with a button-down shirt, conservative tie, and highly polished shoes. The only thing that distinguished him from the usual early morning commuter was that in addition to a briefcase he invariably carried a dark green laundry bag slung over his shoulder. This was Daniel P. Oliver’s personal Grand Central Emergency Kit.

In those days, the Grand Central commuting line was in a state of high disrepair, its cars dirty and badly ventilated, and its schedule shambles, but it would not catch Mr. Daniel P Oliver short. He was prepared for any and every contingency. His emergency kit held: (1) a three legged folding stool lest there be no seats for the 50 minute (with great good luck) ride from Grand Central station to Greenwich; (2) a miners helmet with a light to read by should the power go off in a stalled train; (3) a minimum of four hours worth of reading material; an 8 oz can of whiskey sour mix; (5) a can opener to open it with, and (6) a straw through which to sip it.

Yep, that was Dan. WFB right hand, editorial assistant (requiring him to learn how to touch-type), executive editor, campaign aide . . . the Buckley/NR stints interspersed with lawyering in the Big Apple (and with running twice for the New York State Assembly as a Conservative Party candidate — once from West Harlem). Then came the Reagan Revolution. Dan helped staff it, as general counsel at the Departments of Education and Agriculture, and then as chairman of the Federal Trade Commission.

No small thing, that. The chairmanship kept him in the public-policy spotlight, and he was up to its challenge. He surely relished the opportunity to use the writing skills honed at NR, where commentary was salted with humor. I liked this from Dan’s 1987 speech to the Direct Marketing Association, titled “Saving the Post Office”:

You yourselves have been known to complain — about the difficulties of the post office in handling bulk mail, about the bureaucracy, about the ever-escalating cost of third and fourth class mail. Speaking of bulk mail, I got a letter the other day that said, “Darling, I love you and cannot live without you. Marry me at once or I shall kill myself.” I checked the envelope, and saw it was addressed to “Occupant.”

There was nothing quixotic about his remarks as to a cure. Despite being a very religious man (Dan worshipped and served in leadership roles at Episcopal parishes in Connecticut and Massachusetts), he was confident that when it came to the U.S. mail, the new postmaster general “may be able to eke out a few, small improvements during his tenure. But let’s not expect him — or ask him — to work miracles.” Ever the realist, his prescription for reforming the government monolith was rock-solid conservative: “The only real solution to the problems of the Postal Service is to bring in competition.”

In the post-Reagan years, the rock-solid conservative was involved in important ways with many consequential institutions: the Federalist Society, Heritage Foundation, Pacific Research Institute, Mont Pelerin Society, Citizens for a Sound Economy — these and others benefited from his time and charity and wisdom, particularly the Philadelphia Society, for which he served a term as president. He cared deeply about policy and about board governance. In this role, his service was hands on, taken seriously, and never phoned in.

About which at National Review, post-Gipper: Dan’s involvement continued for many years, past even the death of his dear friend, Bill — and of Pat Buckley, too (the Buckleys and Olivers spent much time with each other in social happiness, on the yachting seas and on the slopes of Gstaad, where WFB found himself every winter to ski, write novels, and enjoy special friendships).

He served for a time as chairman of the National Review board of directors and then, eventually, departed to take a stab at starting his own scholarly journal of conservative affairs.

In the ensuing decade-plus, we kept in occasional touch. Dan would need things from time to time, and he felt comfortable asking me for such, and I felt comfortable complying and engaging. We could not have had more different backgrounds but found in each other someone likable. Conservative conferences were places where we met and yammered about movement affairs and family — Dan’s son Drew and daughter Susan had once been NR colleagues (poor Susan, she actually suffered under my command for years, but always smiling).

The final time I saw him, in person, was this past September, at the Yale ceremony for the unveiling of the WFB U.S. postage stamp. What a great moment. Of course he would have been there, and in great spirits, along with Louise. But Dan looked haggard: He was battling leukemia. There was not an iota of self-pity — there was too much of his authentic cheerfulness happening.

His dear friend Bill still loomed large, and a final service came in Dan’s excellent review in the New Criterion of Sam Tanenhaus’s controversial biography, Buckley: The Life and the Revolution That Changed America. Despite its copious disappointments, Dan was generous, calling it “a must-read book for anyone who wants to know about Buckley’s life. This is the most complete biography of Buckley that will be written.”

That came despite the author’s preposterous and pages-consuming suggestion that WFB was-maybe-coulda’-been a homosexual, based on prove-a-negative lines such as “No one really knew what intimacies happened at Bones gatherings or at the Bohemian Grove.” Lordy! From Dan’s review:

That’s shameful. It seems that Tanenhaus is bending over backwards to raise questions about Buckley’s sexuality. But really! Swimming naked in a pool or off a boat? Shocking, perhaps — to people who have never served in the army. But those who have, those of us who have, tend to be less squeamish about such things. Look it up.

Dan’s take on Tanenhaus’s work was (in my humble opinion) the best published, and I told him so. He was happy to hear from me, and to hear the praise — and I was happy that he was happy. And I said to myself, You have to go see him. That I promised Dan a couple of months ago (he emailed looking for an old article — I got it for him). Alas, I did not keep my word, and now cannot. I pray he has forgiven me.

Of the many things for which Bill Buckley is famous, his capacity for making and keeping friends seems unrivaled. As the old saying goes, he had friends, and then he had friends. Without question, the latter, finer category applies here: Dan Oliver and WFB had a particular closeness and bond, on matters of politics and magazines, for passions such as the sea and skiing and even the harpsichord — and who knows what else. They enjoyed each other’s company and depended on each other for their shared mission of saving the Republic.

To Louise, Dan’s widow, and their terrific children — Anna Louise, Andrew II, Daniel Junior, Susan, and Peter — and to their spouses and the many grandchildren, we offer sincere condolences from the institution he so long and passionately and ably served. If I may speak for National Review: It was an honor and a privilege to stand alongside Daniel Oliver on the barricades — or athwart history even — with bayonets fixed, yelling Stop. May those great and good men and women — Bill, Van, Dusty, Dan, Priscilla, WAR, L. Brent, Kate, Whittaker, and many more — who created this movement via this tiny fortnightly be together, enjoying God’s eternal promise, patiently awaiting us to join them, all in God’s good time.