“Sure is, Dad,” Jerry said. They’d quarreled plenty over politics. His father had thought Vietnam was worth fighting about a lot longer than Jerry had—Jerry’s unkind guess was, because his dad wouldn’t have to carry a rifle this time. But they’d never argued about Richard Nixon. His father’d thought Nixon was a bastard longer than Jerry’d been alive.

“Let this be a lesson for you,” Dad said. “See if you can wind up rich and famous. A guy like that, he’ll get away with anything. His rich, famous friends, they’ll make goddamn sure he doesn’t have to pay for it. Disgusting, that’s the only word I can think of.”

“Dad, you oughta go on TV!” Jerry exclaimed.

“On TV? How come?” His father sounded suspicious, and well he might have. Jerry’d zinged him often enough, or maybe too often.

Not this time, though. “Because you were reading my mind, that’s why. If you can do it with everybody, you’ll be one of those rich, famous people yourself.”

“Ha! Fat chance! Besides, you ever take a good look at your old man? If anybody’s got a punim meant for radio, you’re talking with him right now.”

“Everybody says I look like you,” Jerry said, realizing too late he’d given his dad the chance to zing him this time.

And his dad did, though not so hard as he might have: “I figured that was why you grew the face fungus, to keep people from noticing.”

“Thanks. I love you, too,” Jerry said.

“I’m sure,” Hyman Stieglitz said dryly. “Anyway, I just wanted somebody to vent my spleen with for a few minutes. I’ll let you get back to what you were doing.”

“I was cussing at the TV, and it isn’t even on. I killed it right after Ford finished saying what a swell old boy Nixon was.”

“Swell old boy, huh? Well, you got that right, anyhow. So long, kid.” His father hung up.

Jerry wanted somebody to vent his spleen with, too, so he called Anna. She’d been reading instead of watching the boob tube; she didn’t know what President Ford had done till he told her. “That’s terrible!” she said. “I always thought Ford was honest. Not too smart, but honest.”

“Not too smart, is right.” Jerry wished she’d sounded more outraged, but knew he ought to count his blessings. Her father was a construction worker; he and his wife were both rock-ribbed (rock-headed, Jerry thought) Republicans. He was lucky she didn’t go with them.

“What can we do about any of it, though? It’s back in Washington, and it’s not like Ford’ll do anything different with taxes or with the Russians because he gave Nixon the Get Out of Jail Free card.” Anna proved she thought in Monopoly, too.