Why the Covid Conspirators Won’t Be Held Accountable

One hot, early August, 1973 Sunday afternoon, I was walking alongside my big brother outside the third-base side of Shea Stadium before a major league baseball game. That since-demolished stadium had open sides, with vertical cables that supported a scattered array of ornamental sheet-metal blue and orange squares, displaying the home team’s colors. From the concourse’s upper decks, one could behold a vast, open-air panorama, including Flushing Bay and LaGuardia Airport.

One could also throw thi...