One morning during Bill Clinton’s presidency I got a call from my friend who works at the Pebble Beach golf course. Mr. Clinton was teeing off at 6:30, he said, and if I hurried over I could tag along.
The golf was underwhelming. (More interesting was the choreography of Secret Service agents, zipping around in carts, with automatic weapons poking out of golf bags.) On the fourteenth fairway, t...