“Well then, you must write a book.”

So said Bill Safire to me in 1994. It was shortly after former President Richard Nixon had passed away, and Safire had invited me to lunch in Washington to share memories of the man for whom we had both worked, although at vastly different times.

Safire had been a crack rookie reporter and a PR maven before he met Nixon and fell in love politically. Born in New York, he attended Syracuse University but dropped out to work with the legendary early TV and radio host, Tex McCrary. I’m sure Safire didn’t regret his choice when he ended up interviewing Mae West. In 1952, America called, and the young patriot Safire answered: he organized an “Eisenhower for President” rally at Madison Square Garden, and then served in the Army for two years. When he returned from Europe, he got into public relations, ultimately running the 1959 display of American products in Moscow in that caught the eye of visiting American Vice President Nixon. That famous photo of Nixon and Khrushchev arguing the virtues of capitalism and communism in the “Kitchen Debate?” Taken by Bill Safire.

In 1968, he sold his PR agency and joined the Nixon White House, later becoming a star among stars on the speechwriting team. When Nixon needed what he called “conservative red meat” in his speeches, he turned to either Safire or a young Pat Buchanan (who was thrilled to oblige).

As Watergate unfolded, he remained loyal to Nixon, even when he learned that the president had taped him, along with many others in the White House. That loyalty extended until the end of Nixon’s life, and beyond. When I worked for Nixon in the early 1990s, Safire was always there for him, ready with a warm personal note or supportive policy column in “The New York Times.” It was a relationship that both men valued, and protected.

When Nixon died in April 1994, Safire didn’t wait long to reach out to me. “So, kiddo” (he always called me “kiddo”), he said over Navy bean soup at the Washington Army-Navy Club. “What are you going to do now?”

I had no idea.

I began recounting my daily working life with Nixon and mentioned in passing that I had been keeping a daily diary in which I had reconstructed every single conversation I ever had with him. Hours of daily talks. Four years’ worth.

When I looked up, Safire was in stunned silence, his soup spoon suspended halfway to his mouth, which was agape.

That’s when he said: “Well then, you must write a book.” And then: “You owe it to history to share with the world the Nixon you knew. Be honest. Report the man as you had found him, warts and all.”

He reminded me of what an extraordinary opportunity I had had: witnessing such a towering and controversial figure up close and personal during the last years of his life. I had seen triumphant and dark final moments, moments of tremendous geopolitical influence and searing personal pain. In short, Safire told me, I had seen one of the biggest figures of our time in ways few others had, and I had a duty to share him.

I took Safire’s advice and ultimately wrote two bestselling books about the Nixon I knew: “Nixon Off the Record” (1996) and “Nixon In Winter” (1998). As I tackled the lonely job of writing, I’d receive little notes of encouragement from him, telling me to “keep swinging, kiddo.” I made sure Safire got early galley proofs of the manuscripts, and each time, held my breath waiting for his verdict. To my great relief and delight, Safire loved them both: “Two of the most honest accounts of Nixon I have ever seen,” he wrote to me. Bill Safire? Cheering me on? It was, perhaps, the highest compliment I received about those books.

Bill Safire passed away today from pancreatic cancer at the age of 79. The world knew him as a Nixon speechwriter, PR master, author, columnist, and raconteur. I knew him as all of those things, and something more: a friend. He enriched my life simply by believing in me.

I will miss him.

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