I once held a contentious, late night conversation with a hard-nosed businessman who at one point got right into my face before hissing venomously, “You’re an idealist, aren’t you?” I confessed. He had me pegged.He and I couldn’t have been more different, yet each of us represented a facet of the singular American experience. While his was the embodiment of the rags to riches story, mine was an immigrant father who married a poor Southern girl.