Peggy Noonan has a dream: a dream of being cradled in Ronald Reagan’s welcoming arms, safe, protected, and embraced. That is not the dream we’re here to discuss, however. There’s another dream.
The relevant Peggy Noonan dream of the moment: that after this contentious and grinding primary election season, in which she has been called upon to write as many as one columns per week about her hazy political impressions of whites and nonwhites alike, she might be able to repair any relations that may have been torn with the various presidential candidates, because that is “Journalism 101,” as those of you who are frequent guests on Sunday political talk shows are well aware. Yet the downright boorish behavior of one “Ted” Cruz at the Republican National Convention has forced Peggy to withdraw her extended hand of friendship and retreat once again into the bosom of Reagan, the only man who has ever known her heart and soul.
When his campaign ended in June, I attended a small dinner in his honor. Mr. Cruz was charming, modest and funny. When we said goodnight I told him I felt, in retrospect, that I hadn’t always been just to him and was glad I’d have a chance to be more generous in the future. Apparently I will need still more time. What a jerk.
In your lust for power, sir, you have lost the only thing in this world that truly means anything, sir: the friendship of a journalist that you can leverage in your own self-serving way in years to come.