OFTEN when things seem very bad, and occasionally even when they seem very good, Richard Nixon just cuts himself adrift from the past. He lives in a future conjured in those lonely
sessions with his silver Parker pen and yellow legal pads. He was out there again last week when he spoke on the Inaugural stand in his club coat and striped trousers. He had surveyed the landscape beyond the day and marked the way stations: the start of his generation of peace, a prospering nation, a less extravagant government and a new...
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