Or, as we call them now, DFH’s. Frank Rich on Norman Mailer on 1968, in the New York Review of Books (which is, as we know, the real outlet for public intellection; please please ask me to write an essay on the new historical revisionism, NYRoB!):

… he is left to contemplate the Yippies in Lincoln Park with their signs of “Vote Pig in 68”: “Were those unkempt children the sort of troops with whom one wished to enter battle?” He frets that Vietnam and “Black Power” are “pushing him to that point where he would have to throw his vote in with revolution,” and asks, “What price was he really willing to pay?”

This question is not resolved by the end of the book, which finds the author, manhandled but unbowed by Daley’s thugs, repairing to the revels at Hugh Hefner’s Playboy mansion. But Mailer knows the trajectory that lies ahead for the country. “We will be fighting for forty years,” he suggests. Perhaps he thought that was hyperbole at the time, but we now know it was portent.