Last summer, by the shore of the Grand Traverse Bay in northern Michigan, I told Buttigieg that I remembered that kind of fresh-faced idealism from my own time as a Harvard student. It was earnest; it was ambitious; it kind of made me want to barf. Lust for power—that, I understood, and I recognized it in many of our classmates. (We overlapped briefly, but I didn’t know Buttigieg.) But the combination of naked ambition, absence of cynicism, and a sunny disposition seemed awfully suspicious. I always felt there was something odd about the undergraduates who haunted the IOP, Harvard’s convalescent home for politicians recently defeated in politics or retired from it. How could you trust students who, rather than getting laid or drunk with their peers, spent their free time at office hours with former Secretary of Agriculture Dan Glickman?