I know who you voted for, and I'm telling the whole world!

   Several years ago, I was doing a bit of Googling to see if I could find some long-lost friends. Many had died, including some of the most fascinating people I'd known in New York. A couple of them had gone to prison for white-collar crimes (those bad boys, but they sure took me to some fancy restaurants before they got caught). An anxiety-ridden, henpecked former city employee I worked with had become one of the wealthiest and most ruthless large-scale developers in the five boroughs (way to go, Bruce! But don't you hate being hated?).
   I found numerous fascinating stories about my old pals, heartbreaking and heartwarming ones, a couple worthy of a feature film. Even so, I have never grown completely comfortable with these idle searches, despite my benign (usually) intentions.
   What really bothered me, though, began when I searched for a delightful doctor friend, who had escorted me to the kind of parties you read about in Vanity Fair (a United Nations ball and a soiree at Gloria Vanderbilt's mansion). Having known him for many years, I had never learned -- because he probably didn't want me to -- that he is a right-wing Republican.