[24]

Publication, 1984

It took Buckley five years to write The Handbook for Lightning Strike Survivors. He did most of his research at the midtown library. He took the 6-train before and after work. When he forgot his legal pad, he jotted notes on Damici’s take-out menus, paper bags, anything at hand. He spent his days off reading NASA publications at the library. Arriving home late, he typed his notes on a Remington portable he bought secondhand in Chelsea.

Engrossed in research, Buckley quickly learned that NASA knew more about lightning than any person or organization, because the space program, from its inception, was plagued by lightning hazards. NASA needed their meteorologists to accurately forecast and predict strikes. During Apollo 12’s 1969 launch, lightning briefly knocked out vital electronics. Fortunately, the astronauts were able to regain control of their ship.

At Damici’s, Buckley talked about his research. He talked more than ever. The waitresses told him that his next book should be about something less technical. “Write a romance, or if you really like nonfiction, write about abortion. That’s really controversial. Or you could write about the Reagans’ astrologer. It’s good to know that even stiffs like those two believe in astrology.”

If Buckley had decided to write a book about the Reagans, he might’ve discovered that his biological father currently worked for the Reagan administration, meeting on several occasions with Panamanian leader Manuel Noriega. His father’s official title was hospitality liaison.

Because of Buckley’s organizational failings, the book was taking a long time to complete. Each time he read about another survivor, he revised the book. I wish my mom had survived.

To feel the weight of the typed pages excited him. It was incredible to produce something of substance. As the pages grew, he took to carrying the manuscript everywhere. On the subway, holding his green knapsack, the pages inside, he knew that his mother would be proud of his accomplishment.

Buckley wrote to Paddy John, confessing, I might never finish The Handbook for Lightning Strike Survivors. Reading all the survivors’ stories makes me feel close to my mom.

Paddy John wrote back, You once wrote to me that your book could save someone’s life. I say finish it. Publish it. Stop dicking around, and put it out there. He also wrote: Tide is a mess. His grades are poor. I caught him smoking marijuana IN MY HOUSE. Tide was nearly seventeen now—which was hard for Buckley to imagine.

Early mornings, before the clanking pipes and noisy radiators distracted him, Buckley worked on The Handbook or wrote letters to his friends in Galveston—Sissy and Joan, or Paddy in Wanchese. Even though Buckley had never liked the kid, he’d been a kid himself then, so he hated to hear that Tide was doing poorly.

With each letter from Paddy John, the news concerning Tide got worse: he was skipping school and drinking beer. Buckley didn’t pray, but he wished really hard that Tide would straighten up.

On Friday night after working the dinner shift, Buckley watched The New York Nighttime Music Hour, a public-access variety show featuring Kate Lovely, a Forty-second Street favorite, stripping to bagpipes. He sat there laughing, thinking, Paddy John is right. Soon, very soon, I’ll give the book up. I’ll put it out there. He leaned across the couch, reaching for his knapsack. Pulling the pages out, he held them to his chest. Soon.

Two years later, in March 1986, Sycamore Press published one hundred copies of The Handbook for Lightning Strike Survivors. Buckley dedicated the book to his mother.