I met a man last year, a humble man, a man of modest means by all appearance. He called himself a “farmer” - a “tree farmer” - a “tiller of the soil.” He dressed the part and he wore a beard. His name is Jason Herron.
“I don't like men with beards,” as Henry Angle once told me for those of you old enough to have known him. “Don't trust them.”
But we were there, my wife Sandra and I, along with a group of other Guilford residents, all of us drawn by the promise that we would learn everything we didn't know that we didn't know about the U.S. Constitution and our Bill of Rights.
It was to be a 10-week course, a course I didn't realize I needed or even cared about but one that Sandra had dragged me to under threat of having to sleep on our couch for some undisclosed period of time.