Growing up in Levittown out on Long Island, I remember my father buying pants through the mail. This seemed strange to me. There was a Robert Hall clothing store nearby, and it had pants all over the place. But my dad said he could buy two pair for the price of one from some guy in South Dakota. One problem: The pants never fit. My father didn’t much care. He saved some money, which he put in the bank, affording me an opportunity to go to private schools.

My parents never wanted to be rich and did not resent those who were, although my dad did not like Joseph Kennedy. He called JFK’s father a bootlegger. The truth is, we O’Reillys did not even know any rich people. They lived in Garden City, about five miles away.