Following up Rick Brookhiser’s recounting his meeting with an NR biker fan on the Mass Pike, allow me to share my public encounter with an NR hater, the Shrew of Metro North (the commuter train line from Connecticut into NYC). On a recent Sunday, my son James and I were heading into the City via the train to catch the Yankees playing the Red Sox. As the train pulled into Grand Central Station, we got up and walked to the door, next to which was an aging hippie and Cruella Deville look-alike who gasped upon seeing my “NATIONAL REVIEW” shirt and hat. She conniptioned: “How could anyone have the nerve except Buckley to wear that,” etc. “Gee mam,” I respond, hoping to give her a greater reason to hate me, “I not only wear the clothes, I work there too.” “You’re intolerant” she hisses intolerantly. I smiled, tipped my cap, and said: “Have a wonderful weekend.” The doors open before she could light up her molotov cocktail. Any regrets? Just one: I should have shown her my National Review underpants. By the way, the Yankees won, and I caught a Derek Jeter foul ball! What a day!