A kinder, gentler William F. Buckley? Some say the writer is mellowing as he crusades for a national service program for youth. : King of the Right

For years, it’s been an American culinary rite. William F. Buckley Jr. flicks the air with his reptilian tongue and spears a Kneejerk Liberal or two. As television cameras record the kill, he chews thoughtfully, elegantly, and then swallows his victims whole.

But times change and so do appetites. These days, the nation’s best known conservative pundit is on the prowl for more exotic game. Teen-agers who do not properly appreciate their country may not seem as tasty as Democrats, but under the circumstances they’ll do.

Maybe it’s because the Cold War is over and the Russians are no longer the Bogeymen of Record. Or that a Republican President has just raised taxes on the rich. Lately, the 65-year-old Buckley seems strangely subdued, in need of a new and more thrilling hunt.

Judging by his latest book, “Gratitude: Reflections on What We Owe to Our Country,” (Random House: $16.95) he seems to have found it. If the Soviets won’t come out to play, reasons Buckley, drastic steps must be taken to keep the nation strong. What better solution than a program of national service for 18-year-olds, complete with sanctions and rewards?

“This generation has not been called upon to make sacrifices,” says Buckley, his tongue darting back and forth. “Now, if you accept the notion of compulsory schooling, then you’re saying that society has a certain role alongside parents in qualifying somebody to act as a citizen. Who said that should be confined to learning arithmetic and geography?”

Let the students work in old folks’ homes, let them save forests or teach illiterates how to read, says the author, during an interview in his publisher’s offices. The actual work, he argues, is less important than the positive impact it will have on the volunteers themselves.

It’s the latest campaign for Buckley, a prolific novelist, essayist and television commentator who recently stepped down as editor of the National Review magazine after 35 years. Echoing John F. Kennedy, of all people, he insists that national service is an idea whose time has come, pointing to several bills in Congress similar to his own program.

“This is an idea that’s been scratching around at the back of my head for many years,” Buckley says. “Right now I think it’s a very hot issue. Certainly a compelling one.”

Yet others say Buckley’s newest crusade is a sign of mellowing in the man who was once the scourge of modern-day liberalism. Somehow, the old energy seems to be missing. Asked why he resigned his post with the magazine, Buckley says tartly: “I own it. But the reason I’m doing it is I want to be less than senile when I decide to whom to give my stock.”

Presidential confidante. Bach enthusiast. Yachtsman extraordinaire. William F. Buckley is a man of many talents, but he is best known for sparking an intellectual movement that eventually swept Ronald Reagan into the White House and made conservatism a household word.

For years, the aristocratic resident of Stamford, Conn., Manhattan’s upper East Side and Gstaad, Switzerland, has been the Philosopher King of the American right. His wife, Pat, is a reigning socialite in New York and their friends range from the Reagans and the Henry Kissingers to liberals such as economist John Kenneth Galbraith. Their only child, Christopher, once wrote speeches for George Bush and is now a successful novelist.

Once dismissed by liberals as a right-wing irritant, Buckley has gradually worked his way into mainstream respectability. Even though he still makes comments that enrage blacks, feminists, gays, Jews, assorted leftists and Third World academics, his polished, polysyllabic ruminations on American life are an established part of the nation’s political dialogue.

“All great biblical stories begin with Genesis,” wrote columnist George Will, discussing Reagan’s victory in 1980. “And before there was Ronald Reagan, there was Barry Goldwater, and before there was Barry Goldwater there was National Review, and before there was National Review there was Bill Buckley with a spark in his mind. . . . “

These days, however, Buckley seems less combative than the brash young iconoclast who burst onto the scene in 1951 with “God and Man at Yale,” a blistering attack on liberal bias in his alma mater. His silver hair is thinning, and there seems to be a weariness in the blue eyes that once frisked guests on his TV “Firing Line” show as if they were common criminals.

As conservatives have grown in prominence, Buckley has been upstaged by younger commentators such as Will, Patrick Buchanan and Kevin Phillips. More important, his celebrity lifestyle and studied cool may no longer be in sync with the grass roots of American conservatism, according to John B. Judis, who wrote a biography of the longtime activist.

Indeed, Buckley’s personal habits have drawn fire from the right, most notably Phillips. The columnist once denounced a book that Buckley had written about an Atlantic sailing voyage, referring to him as “Squire Willy.” He charged that many conservatives would be turned off by the author’s descriptions of his Scarlatti tapes and on-board collection of wines.

“That’s preposterous,” sniffs Buckley, who is still rankled by the attack. “The notion that to be a conservative you’ve got to pretend to like nothing but Milky Ways and apple pie is simply incorrect.”

Besides, he says, Phillips was mistaken when he said the cruise ship carried vintage wines: “He’s got a lot to learn about wines. They cost an average of $2.50 per bottle. If you can find vintage wines for two and a half bucks, I’ll go there right now.”

Still, the image of Buckley as a graying patrician cut off from the real world persists. Last week, he and a party of friends set sail in a chartered boat from Lisbon, Portugal, heading for North America. The 33-day voyage will retrace much of Columbus’ path in 1492 and Buckley says he plans to write a book about the trip when it is completed.

“There’s no question that this man has played a key role in the growth of American conservatism,” says Judis. “Yet he’s peripheral to the main debates that are taking place today in the movement. He isn’t in the forefront, and I’m not sure he even wants to be.”

As Buckley talks about his new book, however, he gives no indication of slowing down. National service, he insists, is a conservative idea that liberals can also learn to love.

“The collapse of the Cold War crystallized the urgency of a substitute for that sense of jeopardy,” says Buckley, in the arch, didactic tone that often sends television viewers and readers scrambling for their dictionaries. “Now, that does , in truth, tend to bind people together if they feel in any sense beleaguered or threatened.”

Pressing on, Buckley swivels in his chair and launches into a polemic that sounds as if it should have been written instead of spoken: “What I’m after is the development of an ethos which will affect the health of the society. An ethos which would affect its exuberance, affect its sense of concern for other people, and tone up the society morally, to prevent it from (heading toward) the kind of solipsistic hedonism where I think it’s in danger of going.”

The problem, he adds, is that “even the most amiable and generously inclined young people have no formulated notion of, what do we owe them back there. Our parents, our progenitors. There is no sense that you’re paying society back for what it’s given to you.”

In his paean to patrimony, Buckley lets the reader know what Western Civilization has meant to him. It’s the thrill he gets from hearing Bach’s B-Minor Mass. It’s the chill that an art lover gets from a room full of Van Goghs. Even liberals can get into the act, he says, because “ACLU types look at the First Amendment and they adore. They worship it.”

This debt must be repaid, says the author. In his book, he outlines a voluntary program in which students could choose their service, under a 45-week program set up by each state. Nobody would be coerced, but they’d have little choice, given the stiff sanctions he proposes.

Those who participate, for example, would qualify for federal college loans and generous tax breaks. The program could cost as much as $30 billion annually for living allowances, assuming all of the estimated 3 million students reaching the age of 18 decide to join.

Those who do not get involved, however, would lose all of these benefits. In addition, they might lose their driver’s licenses, if states passed such laws. The idea, Buckley says, is to draw a line between “first-class” citizens and “second-class” citizens.

The philosophical concept of national service is not unique to Buckley, who pays tribute to several academic and philosophical mentors in his book. He also evaluates the competing congressional proposals, ranging from a plan authored by Sen. Sam Nunn (D-Ga.) to a more scaled-down version offered by Bush and other Republicans.

It’s not exactly the most controversial issue in Washington. But the notion that Buckley, a longtime foe of federal power, would propose a large-scale program costing billions of dollars is unusual. In doing so, he has raised eyebrows on the right and left.

When he first broached the subject, Buckley says, conservative economist Milton Friedman begged him not to write the book. The two clashed over the notion that the government should create a new program best left to the private sector. In “Gratitude,” the author says some economic proposals should be advanced--even if they are not driven by supply and demand.

On the left, Buckley has taken heat for his use of sanctions. In a book review, Ted Sorenson, former special counsel to President Kennedy, told American high school students what they could expect under the author’s plan:

“Feel free, upon graduating from high school and turning 18, to renounce any notion of national service--provided you are also willing to forgo your high school diploma, driver’s license, student loan, right to equal treatment under the law and status as a first-class citizen. When Bill Buckley wants you to express gratitude, he doesn’t fool around.”

Judging by his childhood, the author learned that lesson early.

The sixth of 10 children, Buckley was born to a wealthy Connecticut family in 1925. His father, William, was the son of Irish Catholic immigrants who grew up in Texas. The elder Buckley, an oilman who made a fortune in Mexico and America, was strict and very intelligent. He insisted that his children recognize the value of a hard day’s work; he ensured that they received an education steeped in Roman Catholicism and conservative thought.

Young Bill was one of the brightest children, and he established his skills as a debater in prep schools and later at Yale, where he enrolled in 1946. At an early age, he absorbed his father’s belief in free-market principles and his elitist world view.

As his conservative beliefs matured, young Buckley clashed with liberal professors at Yale. His book on the experience sparked controversy in academic circles and helped launch his career as a commentator. In subsequent works, he defended Sen. Joseph McCarthy’s crusade against communism and blasted the moderate leadership of President Dwight D. Eisenhower.

After a brief stint with the Central Intelligence Agency, Buckley reached a turning point in 1955 when he started the National Review. Witty, outrageous and sometimes inflammatory, the magazine provided a rallying focus for thousands of disenchanted conservatives. Although it mostly attacked liberalism, the magazine also distanced itself from the John Birch Society, Southern segregationists and other fringe groups on the right.

Over the next 35 years, Buckley would be a key player in the growth of U.S. conservatism. But if his friends expected a consistent, predictable voice, they were disappointed.

The author, who once remarked that African blacks would be ready for self-government “when they stop eating each other,” shocked some of his colleagues years later by offering grudging praise of Martin Luther King and endorsing his birthday as a national holiday.

Often repelled by the counterculture, Buckley startled many readers in 1972 by coming out for the decriminalization of marijuana. A stern moralist, Buckley has written espionage novels that feature sexually frank scenes--including one with a fictional Queen of England.

When he ran a quixotic campaign for mayor of New York in 1965, the elegantly dressed candidate displayed a keen sense of humor. Asked by one reporter how many votes he expected to receive “conservatively speaking,” Buckley shot back: “Conservatively speaking, one.” Pressed on what he planned to do if elected, he replied: “Demand a recount.”

The author’s career has been full of surprises, but on some issues he draws the line. Even if the young owe a debt to the old, Buckley says, he feels little gratitude toward the new.

In a recent column, for example, he ridiculed John Lennon’s song “Imagine” and made it clear that he has not come to terms with rock music. Sounding exasperated, the author says he made a valiant effort to enjoy it, as a favor to his son, but the experiment ended in failure.

“I once went to a rock nightclub with Truman Capote, and you couldn’t hear . Really, I couldn’t hear my wife. Talking was simply out of the question, because of this huge noise, this gyration, this muscular spastic orgy.

“If people want to listen to the Grateful Dead in favor of Schubert, I regret it,” says Buckley with a grin, the tongue darting in and out. “But I’m not going to back a law that would triple the tax on it or make it a sin . . . inclined though I might be to make it that.”