National Affairs: The Conservative King

Out of his suite at Chicago's Sheraton-Blackstone last week strode Barry Morris Goldwater, his jaw squared, his iron-grey hair brushed back. A flood of humanity, with its placards and dizzying array of Goldwater-for-President buttons, heaved against him as he tried to push his way through. "God bless you!" they cried. "The country needs you, Barry!" they yelled. "I want to shake your hand! You're the only real Republican in the running!" A man thrust a book under his nose shouting "Autograph my Bible!" and handed him a copy of Barry's credo, The Conscience...

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