At 68, Luttig is ruddy-faced and thickset in a way that might be expected from a man who has a home in Vail but doesn’t ski. In conversation, he can appear pained as he searches for an appropriate phrase. He’ll press his fingers against his forehead, staring at the ground, starting and stopping, self-narrating (“Part One … Part Two …”) in his faintly nasal Texas twang, editing himself in real time — a waterfall of words and ideas, but in super-slow-mo. One might as well get comfortable becaus...