I remember when it was socially acceptable to like and even admire Dick Cheney, whose memoir In My Time was greeted last month with unanimous catcalls from members of the mainstream press. For more than two decades, Washington’s mainstreamers considered Cheney a rare clubbable Republican—genial, brainy (he studied for a Ph.D. in political science), and safe. You could invite him to a dinner party and know he wouldn’t start spouting Bible verses and frighten the caterers.
