Here’s the way I summed it up: “You have to hand it to the administration,” I wrote, “otherwise they simply are going to take it.” (Ba-dum-bump!) The Wrightman people did an incredible job of diverting public attention from reality. It was like ancient Rome, where the emperors distracted the populace with great entertainments, highlighted by sword-carrying midgets pursuing obese people in the Coliseum until they caught and killed them; instead we had TV shows like Survivor: Chicago and Neighbor Wars, we had legalized betting on murder trials, and most of all we had readily available drugs. Whoever thought that the opiate of the people actually would turn out to be opiates?

This country hadn’t been transformed into North Korean or Syrian type dictatorships, I accepted that, and I also was aware that if you minded your own business, kept a reasonably low profile, and didn’t complain about the government, you had little to worry about. For many people, in fact, life was easier and better than it had been. I hated having to admit that, even to myself, but it was true. People now had access to semi-affordable healthcare while keeping all their earned benefits. On the local level, the legal system still sputtered along to the benefit of the wealthy. Kids still went to school every day, and state college tuition remained reasonable. If you worked hard and got a little lucky, you could afford a house or a car. Big-screen HDTVs, video games with intense graphics, cable hook-ups and an array of gizmos providing access to 500 channels were available and affordable. The sex doll industry was booming. There were no restrictions on travel, although for many destinations, it had once again become necessary to obtain a visa. But it was no longer Norman Rockwell’s bucolic America, either. It was more like Dalí’s America.

Rather than the system that had more or less governed the nation for centuries, a system in which three reasonably co-equal branches of government were forced to work somewhat in concert by a constitutionally mandated system of checks and balances, meaningful power was now vested entirely in the executive branch. More than that, in the executive himself. While Trump had governed mostly by whim, while the Democrats had stuffed thumbs in the leaks, Wrightman’s objective now seemed obvious: Consolidate power.

I suppose I could have gone along with it. I thought about it. Believe me, I thought about it. It would have made my life so much easier. I was living a wonderful life; I had a job I truly enjoyed; I had loyal friends and a woman I loved; with my salary and military disability payments I was financially sound; and I knew where to find the best quesadillas, Chinese food, and everything bagels in Washington. I had mine. So why couldn’t I just go along to get along?

I certainly wouldn’t be where I am today if I had been able to do that. Eh! I couldn’t, though. I’ve always been honest about placing blame where it belongs. I accept responsibility. So I will admit the truth—it was all my mother’s fault.