The Fall of a True Believer

ON THE FIRST MORNING of the Republican National Convention, the stocky former weightlifter waited nervously for his turn to speak. Just 25 years old, he was impeccably dressed in a dark gray suit and red tie. But he had slipped some contraband past security: a handful of note cards, hastily compiled the night before and now stashed in his sleeve. He mounted the podium, looked over the crowd, and noticed how few delegates were paying attention. "Fellow Republicans," he began predictably, "I come before you representing American students." Then, suddenly, he veered wildly from the approved text. He looked up and noted the teleprompter operator's panicked expression, with glee.