Yesterday while walking in Grosse Pointe, I saw a yard sign reading "Ron Paul for President." Yes I did. It wasn't any forlorn hand-scrawled sheet of cardboard, either. It was an expensively printed weather-proof double-sided affair with a stout wire frame, meant to last.
Many of you won't know about Grosse Pointe. It's a rich suburb of Detroit that exists in a time-warp: it's always the 1950s there; Ike and Mamie are still in the White House; Pointers tremble with outrage at the damage Roosevelt did; Ed Sullivan is a fine entertainer.
But -- Ron Paul? Oh well, the wonders of democracy are not mine to question.
Many of you won't know about Grosse Pointe. It's a rich suburb of Detroit that exists in a time-warp: it's always the 1950s there; Ike and Mamie are still in the White House; Pointers tremble with outrage at the damage Roosevelt did; Ed Sullivan is a fine entertainer.
But -- Ron Paul? Oh well, the wonders of democracy are not mine to question.
