New York

Unfazed by a stream of hustling residents, chatty doormen, leashed dogs and well-born children, Richard Epstein holds forth in the lobby of the building where he lives, just off Manhattan’s Central Park. I worry about the background hubbub spoiling the recording of our conversation, but Mrs. Epstein—with good reason—has ruled their apartment out of bounds. She is packing and fussing for their son’s wedding, to take place four days later, and doesn’t want us underfoot.

The...