I’ve always loved bagpipe music, and I assume it’s like so many other things that happen by very early conditioning. My mother told the story of a bagpiper coming by in the first few months of 1931. I, at about four months old, was being very fussy. As soon as he began to play, I stopped crying, calmed down and fell asleep. Since this was in the midst of the depression, she gave him a meal for his playing. It’s a good thing he wasn’t an itinerant minister or lecturing conservative politician, or I’d be a fundamentalist or a neocon. Or, on the other side (George’s), maybe I happened to have been born with a gene for appreciation of bagpipes.