William F. Buckley Jr., the late founder of this magazine, used to tell a story. In 1962, let’s say, a foreign reporter in Madrid approached a man on the street. “What do you think of Franco?” he asked. The man looked around furtively and motioned for the reporter to follow him. They went to the central train station, where they boarded a train for a remote town. In this town, they boarded a bus, going deep into the countryside. At some point, they got off and rented a canoe.
They paddled to the middle of a lake. There was no one in sight. There was scarcely a bird overhead. Once more, the Spaniard looked around furtively. Then he leaned in to the reporter and whispered, “I like him.”
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