A welcome phone call came in mid-morning from my terrific wife, Josephine, literally from her bed in one of Moscow’s boutique hotels to report on a lovely first evening with a great friend and godson.

North Carolina is a state that holds special meaning for me. I met and married my fabulous wife, Josephine, there 56 years ago. We have a house in the mountain-west third of the state, and my career and the civil rights movement began there simultaneously.

As I begin my 58th year in this fascinating and rewarding craft of journalism, I beg your indulgence on remarks that are personal as well as notes from the continuing story of America.

We had stopped for gas at the small, north Georgia town of Greensboro. A headline on page 4 of the local weekly, The Herald-Journal, caught my eye, “Story About Horace The Mule.”

If President-elect Trump does intend a 100-day blitzkrieg of revolutionary legislation redefining the Republican Party and setting the nation off on a new, as-yet-to-be-defined course, rumblings of it have not been heard.

Monday morning after the election, I dropped by what I call my small-town parliament, the Courthouse Barber Shop, where the crowd of male and female customers and barbers provide cultural insights not available in more elite venues.

This is a commentary I never expected to write, but for the first time in American history, a demagogue has been elected president of the United States. Donald Trump is a vulgar braggart, unfit by experience, character and temperament for the office.

As Hillary Clinton cruised toward a solid victory, making history as America’s first female president, there was a drama at the 11th hour of the campaign that did not critically affect the outcome but tested the character of the actors.

Keeping the country safe is the principle obligation of the American presidency. Many columnists such as this one have doubted that with no national security experience, Donald Trump is woefully unqualified for that role.

The Argentine “Dirty War” was not in the conscious thought of those of us gathered in a Washington garden to celebrate the life of a dear friend whose duty it was to confront the military junta waging war against their own people.

During World War II, my dad, too old for active service, felt a need to be where the action was, so he determined to visit a friend, Col. Elliot Warburton, in London during the “buzz bomb” attacks.

Last week’s solemn observance of the Sept. 11, 2001, tragedy may have inspired memories in many New Yorkers of how they felt at the moment of the attack on the towers and how they felt long after.

Hillary Clinton has been as close to the scope of the powers of the presidency and its limitations as one can get without actually holding the office. She would probably follow the protocols of the office without any drastic surprises.

Knowing personally one of the candidates in a presidential election makes the race especially exciting, which is why I was so invested in Robert Kennedy’s 1968 candidacy — and ultimate tragedy.

Contemplating an excursion into the niceties of language a la Donald Trump, I was reminded of my first meeting on the board of the Southern Center for International Studies then chaired by former Secretary of State Dean Rusk.

We had a reunion last weekend, it was a wedding anniversary and a class reunion all rolled into one under the theme, “All news is local.”

Only once has a man sought the keys to the Oval Office whose mind — like Donald Trump’s — was devoid of the basic facts of governance and instead was a hatching ground for fantasies. That man was Ronald Reagan.