Something About Her Eyes Or Voice Has

I Grew Up In New York City, Where We Played Highly Unorganized Sports: Stick Ball, Stoop Ball, And The Occasional Game Of Baseball With No Adult Supervision.

As A Personal Matter, I Stopped Voting More Than A Decade Ago, On The Grounds That It Helped Me As An Analyst Not To Think About Making A Choice In The Voting Booth.

Men And Women In My Lifetime Have Died Fighting For The Right To Vote: People Like James Chaney, Andrew Goodman And Michael Schwerner, Who Were Murdered While Registering Black Voters In Mississippi In 1964, And Viola Liuzzo, Who Was Murdered By The Ku Klux Klan In 1965 During The Selma March For Voting Rights.

A Citizen At His Home In Rockford, Illinois, Or Boulder, Colorado, Could Read A Newspaper, Listen To A Radio, Or Watch The Round-the-clock Coverage On Television, But He Had No Way Of Connecting With Those Who Shared His Views. Nor Was There A Quick, Readily Available Tool For An Ordinary Citizen To Gather Information On His Own. In 1960, Communication Was A One-way Street, And Information Was Fundamentally Inaccessible. The Whole Idea Of Summoning Up Data Or Reaching Thousands Of Individuals With The Touch Of A Finger Was A Science-fiction Fantasy.

In Every Debate, Whatever The Format, Whatever The Questions, There Is One And Only One Way To Identify The Winner: Who Commands The Room? Who Drives The Narrative? Who Is In Charge?