In 1960, James Q. Wilson was 29 years old and wondering what topic he should choose for his second book. He had narrowed the options down to two, and although he had no way of knowing it at the time, he was extremely fortunate in choosing the one he did — had it gone the other way, Wilson would have antagonized the conservative movement whose favorite public intellectual he later became. Among those on the right who have eulogized James Q. Wilson since his death on Friday, I bet no more than a dozen realize how close he came to writing a 300-page book on why the Goldwaterites of the early Sixties were a dismal pack of clowns, naifs, and boobs. Taken on its own terms, the thesis would have been fair, but going on record with it might have proven inconvenient.
