In 1992, I was just a kid sitting in front of the TV, flipping through channels, looking for something—anything—to watch. No cartoons. No sitcoms. Just golf on one channel and an old businessman sitting at a desk on another. He had that Southern drawl, the kind that made him sound like the KFC Colonel, except instead of selling fried chicken, he was selling fiscal responsibility. He wasn’t a politician, wasn’t making big, flashy promises. Just straight talk, a few charts, and a warning: America was spending itself into ruin. That was my first lesson in capitalism, government waste, and...