My childhood was disturbingly defined by the mood of two songs: Sting’s Russians and Barry McGuire’s Eve of Destruction. (Thanks, local radio DJs for playing the former ad nauseam; thanks, Mom and Dad for playing the latter ad nauseam.) I couldn’t quite tell what frightened me more: the nebulous evil known as The Russians, or the not-so-nebulous phenomenon known as Ronald Reagan repeatedly admonishing me to fear The Russians.

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