Commentary
I still remember it vividly. I was a 16-year-old boy, sitting around the dinner table with my parents in Fort Wayne, Indiana. As we sat eating our family dinner, I listened to my parents—one, a humble painting contractor; the other, a stay-at-home mom—and their deep concern about the state of our nation, particularly the rampant inflation coupled with a recession, which had been labeled as “stagflation.”
