Dallas, 1963. The President is coming, although he really shouldn’t.
The city is on edge, and all the players are busy playing—John Birch patriots and pro-Castro lunatics, Teamsters, mobsters and assorted other entrepreneurs in the burgeoning fields of sex, death, and race war. A lot of very serious people are doing a lot of very serious things. A smart guy can really get ahead in times like these, looking for the angles, making connections.
And you know what? Guys like that have more important things to do than worry about the President speaking at a Dallas Trade Mart luncheon.