Maybe Roosevelt was one of them, one of the hopefuls, but rather than listen to someone else’s words for assurance, he tuned into the thoughts in his head. Millions of people throughout the nation listened to his inaugural address, anticipating his sentiments, needing him to fortify them as they wilted in wait. And he gave them what they craved, presented on the same silver platter they had hocked to feed their families: The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. The problem was the American people wanted to believe their biggest opposition was fear, so they ate it up. It was more uplifting to think that way than to recognize their fear should be in the government they sought comfort from. Comfort wasn’t comfortable when one was held in the arms that strangled him.

I wasn’t suffocated by the establishment. How could I have been if I had never trusted the machine? The only organizations I subscribed to were Vlad’s outfit and the Chicago Cubs, beasts in blue who made me choke as much as they did. Despite their propensity to fall from grace at the most inopportune times, the Cubbies were the only men who made me a wishful thinker. Perhaps by believing in a team who proved unworthy of the belief, I wasn’t as disparate from the Roosevelt romanticists as I would have liked to imagine I was.