One day in early 1974 I was a speechwriter for President Richard M. Nixon. I needed data about the economy for my work. I walked up 3 flights of stairs to my father’s office. He was Chairman of the President’s Council of Economic Advisers.
He was reading tables of statistics and smoking Kents.
“Pop,” I said. “If you’re not too busy can you help me find some statistics?”
“Benjy,” he said, looking at me through his smoke, “what do you think I have to do that’s more important than helping my only son?”
In October of 1966, when I was a First Year at Yale Law School, I was literally poisoned by the Yale Health Service. I got very sick. My mother thought I was faking and lacked much in the way of sympathy. My father did not hesitate. He drove from DC to New Haven to pick me up and bring me home