What they did before the internets

From Buckley's Cancel Your Own Goddam Subscription:

February 11, 1969
Dear Mr. Buckley:
I am a sixteen-year-old High School Junior who is going, slowly but inexorably, out of his mind. I have come to the conclusion that you are the only person on the face of the earth who can save my sanity. My problem, briefly, is this: for the past year I have been trying, without avail, to discover just what, in God's name, the phrase "to immanentize the eschaton" means.
I heard you speak the phrase once on Firing Line and immediately made a valiant attempt to look it up. Upon discovering that my dictionary did not list the words I instantly resolved to ask one of my teachers in the morning.
When I tried this course I drew another blank. I would ask a teacher the question, whereupon he would have me repeat it a dozen or so times and then plead ignorance. I would then be asked: "Where'd you hear it?" When I informed him that you had used it the night before he would generally give me a forlorn look, mumble something like, "Oh him eh?," and express his innermost conviction, i.e., that you had probably invented the words. I'm sure you'll be thrilled to know, Mr. Buckley, that I had faith in you. I knew you hadn't invented those words. And, sure enough, when I was reading your book The Unmaking of a Mayor I came across a passage which revealed a Mr. Eric Voegelin as the author of the phrase. Jubilant, I raced to our school library and asked the librarian for everything written by Mr. Voegelin. "Never heard of him," the woman answered. As I left, ruminating upon the intrinsic failings of the public schools, I encountered the teacher to whom I had put the original question. When I explained the matter to him he expressed the conviction that, not only did you make up the phrase, but you also contrived Mr. Voegelin!
Now, Mr. Buckley, more than anything else in the world I would like to know what that phrase means. I really think you should tell me because: 1) I have watched every one of your TV shows and have read all of your newspaper columns ever since I first heard of you. And 2) I've read all of your books (save only the last one, The Jeweler's Eye, which, curse my parsimonious soul, costs a small fortune. I'll wait 'til it comes out in paperback). Also 3) I subscribe to National Review and even read all of those silly renewal notices I keep getting.
If all of this evidence of my fidelity isn't enough then I promise you that, if you somehow communicate to me the definition, I will upon receipt of it: a) instantly proceed to use it on any and all occasions and thereby spread your fame far and wide (I make it generally known to my friends that you are the source of my esoteric bits of verbiage) and b) I will renew my subscription to NR the very next notice I get (which will, no doubt, be Valentine's Day) instead of when the thing expires as is logical.
Furthermore, I shall c) badger my school librarian until she finally breaks down and puts NR on the school subscription list. After all, if the school can subscribe to such egregious rags as The Nation and The New Republic they can at least give your fine journal equal time. Thanking you for your time in reading this
I remain

Sincerely yours,
Edward H. Vazquez
Old Bridge, N.J.