I close my eyes and all of it comes back to me. Richard Nixon had just won the U.S. Presidency, for a second term. The family gathered – either later that fall of 1972, or the following summer – from Toronto, from Maryland, New Jersey and Florida. Then, usually after the first meal together, dessert was finished, a few drinks consumed, and it was time to talk. It wouldn’t take long before current events, politics and Nixon became the focus. Within minutes there was a storm brewing.
“How could he possibly get re-elected?” my father would say.
“He’s good for business,” a couple of my American relatives would say. “He’s gonna end the war in Vietnam.”
“He’s a crook!” my father would say, looking for a verbal fight.
“He’s our president,” came the retort.
And, well, it escalated from there.