Less than two weeks ago, I sat in UCLA's Jackie Robinson Stadium watching the Bruins' baseball team take on the visiting Maryland Terrapins, although I concentrated mainly on watching my son (one of the Terps' student mangers) spitting pumpkin seeds over the bullpen fence. My concentration was broken by a firm hand on my shoulder, and I turned to find the grinning face of Andrew Breitbart looking down at me. He was scruffy and windblown, wearing a t-shirt and baggy khaki shorts. Why was he there? Simple. He was driving past on his new Vespa, and he could see that a game was going on. Andrew loved baseball. The leisurely pace was the perfect respite from his peripatetic lifestyle. So there we sat, laughing and talking (mostly about baseball), but it was impossible to be in his company without talking politics. He relished his role and talked about never backing down. He had no use for the spineless. He was excited about a new project that would take on this country's educational establishment.
As we left the stadium, he pointed proudly to the Vespa, designed to allow him to get around his neighborhood in the face of an excruciatingly slow highway construction project that had made L.A. traffic even more nightmarish than usual. As I drove out onto the street, I looked into my rearview mirror and saw Andrew--in his less-than-stylish helmet--giving me a thumbs-up sign and a wave. In just a few minutes he would be home, surrounded by the family he loved so much and talked about that day with such pride and enthusiasm. I'm very sad that I will never be able to see him again, but I ache because his wife and children and parents and sister must suffer that same fate.