The entire Pro crew watched the inauguration on the TVs above the bar at Lucille’s Ballroom, our local hangout across the street from the office. “Cut-rate coverage,” as we referred to it. We rarely sent a staffer to cover any event viewers could watch on TV. Wrightman’s inaugural address had been somber and realistic. “As we approach our two hundred and fiftieth anniversary,” he told the huge crowd, “our democracy faces grave challenges from many quarters, among them from rogue nations and terrorists both across the oceans and close to home, as well as our fellow Americans who have lost faith in our shared American values of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Damage has been done to this country that will take considerable time to heal. The foundations of our financial security have been hobbled by irresponsible fiscal policies. Hatred based on race, religion, creed, nationality, political status, and gender has been exposed to light and has grown. Our physical infrastructure and the value system that had made us great among nations has deteriorated and is danger of collapse.

“And yet it is a great day…”

My own feelings were a mix of relief and trepidation. I loved this country with all its faults; I had never bought into the American myth, but I always appreciated the potential greatness of this country. My grandfather, Aubrey Stone, had emigrated here from Eastern Europe. Sometimes at night, after he’d had just enough to loosen his memory, we’d sit on the porch swing and I’d listen as he described the terrors of his adolescence. “It may not be so perfect here,” he’d say with the last trace of an accent he tried so hard to overcome. “Americans like that Disney stuff because they got good at pretending, but you listen to me, here is much better. There we carried around our fear with us like we were walking in a shadow. We were wondering always what was waiting around the next corner. The people here, they wouldn’t never let what happened there happen here. They’d see it for what it is and stop it quick.” Then he would launch into one of his stories about a neighbor disappearing or hiding a radio under the floorboards at the first sound of boots on cobblestones or his walk over the mountains to get out.

I voted for Wrightman. I know, I’m not supposed to reveal that. Journalism 101. But as I write these words, I think it’s important to admit that. Considering … well, considering. I believed that this nation, America, needed a president who lacked sufficient passion to alienate anyone. A healer, someone dependable; a decent, reasonably intelligent guy stuck firmly in the middle. I actually found his lack of grandiose plans far more honest and appealing than the hollow promises made by his opponents.

On his first day in office Wrightman began fulfilling the only promise he had made, restoring order. “A free society relies on a trustworthy, vibrant media,” the official announcement began. To rectify the damage done to the media’s credibility by President Trump’s continued accusations of “fake news,” broadcast and print media henceforth would be required to post either a news, fact, or an opinion logo, a shield with an N, F, or an O on its stories. Significant penalties, including loss of license for multiple offenses, would be levied against any outlet mislabeling its content. This was necessary, the announcement continued, to protect the First Amendment. It was not intended to be any restriction on free speech, which would of course be unconstitutional; instead, it was simply a matter of extending the movie and music industry rating systems to news outlets to assist viewers and readers in separating actual news from opinion or “fake news.”