Despite the catcalls and boos from some friends and even my wife, I was tickled to death on that November night of 2016 when The Donald was proclaimed America’s 45th president. My elation had a lot to do with my Republican Party sentiments and with my dislike for Hillary and Bill, something I lived to slightly regret once I sat and broke bread with ex- president Clinton two years later.
It was a cousin by marriage, Princess Gloria of Thurn and Taxis, who was the hostess at an Oktoberfest shindig in Munich. I couldn’t find my table when she spotted me and pointed at a seat one away from a rather grey and thin gent who was number 42, as far as presidents go. She in troduced us, and he looked straight into my eyes, took my hand, and complained without saying a word: “How could you have written such things about me,” was the silent message. I must say, he made me feel like a baby killer without uttering a syllable. Such are the joys of a Christian upbringing and Catholic guilt. Never mind.