When I actually started college, the year started with “19.” When I returned to the big university, the son of a president had just defeated Al Gore, Jr. to have the privilege of becoming president himself. The inauguration was a few days into the new semester. About 9 months later, some radical monsters hijacked some airplanes and changed the world forever. I knew this kid from the dorm—I’m sorry, “residence hall”—who thought I was intriguing because I was profoundly disabled but a fire-breathing conservative Republican. He needed to find out how in the Sam Hill that could possibly happen. And he had that verbal dexterity that you find among liberal college kids. I’m the kid who correctly read the word “acrylic” when I was 9 on some intelligence test. My uncle handed me The Fountainhead at around the same time. Don’t get it twisted: As a Christian and Catholic theologian today, I could and would grind Ayn Rand’s whole philosophy to dust. But I was 13 when I actually finished Anth...
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