I had quite forgotten consuming a couple of what are now called “sliders” on my first and only visit to a White Castle over the course of a road trip that took me to Columbus Ohio half a century ago this summer. The memory is summoned forth, along with the impression that I regarded the dwarfish sandwiches as unimpressive even by the culinary standards by which burger joints were then measured. When I mentioned to my old man (not so old then—forty-seven) he rhapsodized about consuming them as a teenager in St. Louis (Hi, blightowl! Hi, Oruin!), which further eroded* my confidence in his judgment.

cordially,

*A year earlier we had watched television coverage of the disturbances in Chicago during the Democratic convention there. As the cops assaulted pretty much anyone within reach of their batons, I (a mere thirty months away from being eventually manhandled by “law enforcement” myself) was doubly horrified by the spectacle and by der Alte exulting at the action: “Hit them harder! Harder!”

I’ll give him credit for this, though: ardent right-winger (and, as a USMC veteran of Guadalcanal and environs, disposed to hate all of Asia on principle) he may have been, but he saw Vietnam as a pointless adventure. It probably helped that a Democrat was president and later, when his hero Nixon was in office, that I was of draft age.