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The late 1970's was not a particularly good economic time for my family and many people across the country.  As a young boy I would observe my father in the way many a young boy would wonder about what it took to become a man.  I could see the creases in his forehead when he came home from work, burdened by economic dynamics under which he had no control.  At night, I would lay at the end of my parents bed and watch the evening business reports on television.  My father took this opportunity to teach me some financial literacy, and at twelve years old I developed a rudimentary understanding of terms such as hyper-inflation, the gold standard and the misery index.

In grade school, I was experiencing my own misery index.  The nuns of St. Mary and myself were in a constant state of war, with yours truly being on the side that was usually facing unconditional surrender.  One day, however, I read a story called "To Build A Fire" by Jack London in English class.  I can remember that day as being the first time I placed more attention on what was going on in class than what cute girls were in the class.  The story amazed me on levels of thinking I didn't know existed, and I dominated the discussion of the story in class.  When the bell rang, Sister Allison asked me to stay for a minute while she rumaged through her desk.  She finally found a worn copy of London's classic, "The Call Of The Wild", and suggested I might enjoy it as well.

I didn't know what I was in for.  I had never read a novel before, and was put off by how long it was.  Still, for the first time school began to look interesting and I was desperate for a truce with the nuns and my mother.  So I read the book. 

For a twelve year old to have his mind cracked open for the first time is a beautiful thing.  But for him also to begin feelings of spiritual tugs at the same time is the reason why the printed word is the greatest gift of God.

The suffering, endurance, adversity and ultimate justice experienced by "Buck" spoke to me of the meaning of life.  The fact that the protagonist was a dog only elevates the paradox of man looking at himself through the eyes of his "best friend".  I was blown away.  The individualist in me began to form, and for the first time in my life I began to form my own opinions outside of what my comfort level use to accept.  I wasn't only a boy anymore.

Alaska from then on would always fire my imagination.  I, like many Americans would view it as the ultimate test of a persons barometer for suffering in exchange for a glimpse of spirituality, or, as a historian might want to phrase it, Manifest Destiny.  Later in life, when I read "The Fountainhead", and "Gulag Archipelago", all I could think of was that I had already read these books. 

In 1980, when Ronald Reagan was sworn in as President and I was about to become a teenager, I became a Republican.  I didn't know it at the time of course, but it was to be inevitable.  Even if I hadn't become a quasi-objectivist at age twelve, just the effect Reagan had on the morale of my father to further HIS Manifest Destiny compels my loyalty to elephants, even if they have been going berserk this last decade.

Can there be any doubt as to what ticket I will vote for.  Has there ever been a greater example of Buck in a human being than their is in John McCain...WHOSE RUNNING FOR PRESIDENT?  Is there a greater example of the type of individualist John McCain's suffering produced for this country than Sarah Palin...WHO WAS NOMINATED FOR VICE-PRESIDENT?  This is the dream ticket sports fans.  Wake up!  Don't let the MSM choose your leaders.

Buck didn't.