As the second Tuesday in November approaches, I recall a story my father often told that related to local and national politics. It involved an old Baptist preacher who often sampled the spirits from his moonshine still hidden near a small creek behind his house on Saturday mornings before traveling to town in the afternoon to rail against the evils of alcohol on street corners before small crowds that urged him on mostly for entertainment. Once, when asked by a bystander if he was a bit tipsy himself, he paused and finally admitted. “Perhaps, but you must do what I say, not what I do.”