That's the question that urges itself upon me as I sift through the rubble of last Spring's confrontation in rural Wisconsin between Robert Bayliss and ... well, at last count, roughly two dozen local, county, and state agencies. The anti-Bayliss coalition included elements from no fewer than six SWAT teams and the prominent use of three BearCat (Ballistic Engineered Armored Response and Rescue Counter Attack Truck) military assault vehicles. Surely, Mr. Bayliss must have been a singularly fearsome fugitive in order to trigger such a huge deployment. One would think as much. And one would be wrong. Prior to his arrest on April 3, the diminutive and reclusive Mr. Bayliss (either 60 or 61 years old, depending on the media account) lived in a small, ramshackle abode on 18 acres outside Viola, Wisconsin. We can appreciate just how pathetic and fragile the Bayliss dwelling was by the fact that it was never referred to as an "armed compound" during the police siege. A former volunteer firefighter who had served as a sonar officer in the Navy, Bayliss had a heart attack about a decade ago. Reputed to be a world-class amateur computer technician, Bayliss had been reduced to grubbing out a meager living by picking apples in the fall and doing whatever other odd jobs he could find. Press accounts dutifully describe Bayliss (who looks like a much frailer version of Grandpa Walton) as someone who possessed "strong anti-government attitudes," which -- to genuinely intelligent people -- is a bit like being singled out for having a healthy immune system. Unlike the stereotypical anti-social recluse of lore, however, Bayliss is considered to be very personable, outgoing, and generally respectful of the preening, oddly dressed, self-important parasites who insist on being called "the authorities" -- judges, police, and that ilk.