From the Editor

My appearance on this occasion is a case of squatter’s rights. Bill Buckley, the parent terrible of this magazine, is called in to edit an occasional issue to keep his hand in. And this is the issue.

Shortly after writing these words, I shall be off to that white, sandy beach I dreamt about in the snows of our last issue. But I know enough of Bill’s plans—in particular, the explosion he reasonably anticipates on an issue which has received too little debate—that I am enabled to advise you: “Fasten your seatbelts; we’re in for a bumpy ride.”