Some 25 years or so ago, Mark Brennan convinced me, in between judo throws, to fly with him to a small town outside of Chicago, where a conservative magazine I had never heard of was giving a party. One of the judo instructors joined us on the trip. I had just co-founded The American Conservative with Pat Buchanan and Scott McConnell, so visiting a “rival” conservative publication was a lark of sorts. The reason I got involved with TAC was my opposition to the neocons’ War in Iraq, which was planned under the direction of the Israeli lobby and executed by the idiotic George W. Bush. 

Arriving on a beautiful sunny day in Rockford, Illinois—that town I had never heard of—I was pleasantly surprised by many friendly faces. The people there had somehow heard of the “poor little Greek boy,” which was, and is, the way I describe myself in my various columns. The faces were friendly except for one: a grizzly-haired, goateed man who held center stage and sort of abused everyone around him, including somebody he had never seen nor heard of, poor little ol’ me. 

The rude man was Thomas Fleming, editor of Chronicles at the time, whose knowledge of history, religion, and architecture more than made up for his rudeness. As Bogie once said in a black-and-white oldie, it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. 

That summer, I invited Tom Fleming and his wife to come sailing around the Greek Isles, and in turn, Tom invited (Chronicles’  board Chairman) Raymond Welder and his beautiful wife. We were eight in all and sailed on the Bushido while based on the island of Spetses. At the end of the cruise, we visited the newly opened Parthenon museum under the Acropolis.

Tom had not stopped talking for the seven days of sailing, and once inside the museum, he described every plinth, statue, and column in the place. So much so, in fact, that the fuzz arrived after one of the Greek professional guides mistook him for a freelancer without a license. Actually, the guide was terrified of Tom’s knowledge. Well, I pulled some rank with the cops, and they cut Tom loose—but that’s not the reason he offered me a column at Chronicles under the quaint title I’ve been writing under for the last two decades. 

We repeated the cruise the next summer, this time with my great friend Chris the Marine and the Brennans. Like the summer before, none of us got a word in edgewise. Tom Fleming spoke, we listened, and I learned more about Sophocles, Euripides, and Aeschylus—not to mention about Christianity—so much so, in fact, that I wanted to extend the trip. What I also learned on the trip was that America was suffering from moral and mental rot due to too much Hollywood, too much TV, and an education system focused on the grievances of minorities.

A quarter century later, not much has changed. Movies are more violent and horrible than ever before, and television programs are made for those with IQs lower than their ages. I don’t use the Internet except to send in my columns, but I’m told that Dante’s Inferno compares favorably to the horrors displayed on this ghastly invention. 

Newspapers like the Times write about the erosion of faith in democracy because right-thinking people finally woke up and voted in an outsider like The Donald. Woke advocates are screaming bloody murder because they are suddenly on the outside looking in. Words like “fascist” and “Nazi” are thrown around like the proverbial confetti at a wedding. The left, which has been in power since the Eisenhower days in the universities, the arts, and the courts, suddenly feels threatened by a blond real estate man from the unchic borough of Queens. The lefty media—because there is no other kind—call anyone who voted for Trump a white supremacist. Noo Yawk City has just voted for a socialist mayor.

And so this is the last column from this poor little Greek boy. I wish to thank all the readers of Chronicles for putting up with me all this time. Hopefully, I’ve been able to get my message across over these twenty-some years. I also wish to thank the editor, Paul Gottfried, yet another polymath, who once told me that I reminded him of his father. 

My last wish is for Chronicles to keep getting its message across to the American public. The latter deserves to be told the truth, unlike late-night TV viewers who actually believe what untalented comics tell them about their country. 

Thank you all, keep reading Chronicles, and goodbye. ◆