11. Reminiscences of Murray Rothbard and Other Great Men

REMINISCENCES OF
MURRAY ROTHBARD
AND OTHER GREAT MEN

REMINISCENCES OF MURRAY

Contrary to wide misconception, Murray Rothbard never hated trees or mountains—he simply believed in keeping such natural intrusions in their place.

They were okay as long as they didn’t threaten his safety or comfort. I recall once, when a pal of ours was off climbing a mountain, Murray commented: “Sam could save time and energy by walking around it.”

Animals, particularly people’s pets, presented a bit more of a problem for Murray. As a guest in somebody’s home, his good manners wouldn’t allow any expression of displeasure even when the house mongrel thrust its snoot at Murray’s crotch.

I think he disliked cats even more, but since so many of his acquaintances fed and housed these germ carriers, he may have mumbled a complaint, but, to my knowledge, Murray never recorded his displeasure on paper.

Which leads to Murray’s views on children. Like many who are childless, he had little patience for unruly, noisy, smelly little savages that disrupted civilized adult activity. He was often puzzled that parents with obvious intelligence could allow the “little monsters” to run amuck.

Murray greatly admired how the English upper classes dealt with their children. (As recorded in novels and bad English movies, the nanny would bring them in at an appointed time to visit their father. They always addressing him as “Sir,” and after reporting on their activities for the day, were summarily dismissed.)

I think about Murray all the time and my midnight excursions to the fresh LRC page remind me that Lew is Rothbardian #1.

Read something Murray wrote a decade ago. Shake your head in wonderment. Whatever the subject, Murray comes armed with a rapier, while the rest of us blunder along with butter knives.

Except in the realm of machines and technology. In that struggle the best Murray could achieve was stalemate.

I can just see him reacting to the BLOG. He would smile, totally oblivious to the technology and then proceed to crank up his sixty-year-old typewriter and, in a first draft, produce the most dazzling material imaginable.

June 5, 2003

ROBERT NOZICK, ROTHBARD, AND ME AT THE WORLD TRADE CENTER

I only met Robert Nozick on one occasion, and learning of his death today brought a kaleidoscope of images surrounding that encounter.

Here’s how I remember it, but please don’t jump all over me if some of the dates and details are skewed.

I think it was 1981: the Center for Libertarian Studies was going through a difficult time.

For the first five years of its existence, CLS received funds from a major conservative foundation, but an antiwar essay by Murray Rothbard bothered them, and they unceremoniously cut us off. (Rothbard, like Mises, was uncompromising, intractable, they fumed.)

The Center, free from their clutches, found itself poor, proud, and independent—a condition maintained through the years.

At about the same time, CLS was having bad luck with its Executive Directors. One was lost in a tragic suicide, and his successor—the CLS board would sadly learn—was a partially recovered member of Gambler’s Anonymous.

Some months later, Richard—let’s call him—disappeared, and two fellows with hand-painted ties, representing a garbage disposal company from New Jersey, came to CLS’s offices looking for him. (Today, they could audition for “The Sopranos.”)

In spite of the fancy address on Park Avenue South in Manhattan, the CLS offices were appropriately grungy. The two “collectors” were disappointed to see the impoverished setting. They realized they weren’t collecting any unpaid gambling debts in this dump and after looking around a bit, they gave CLS a $5 contribution. (It’s all true except the donation.)

Bear with me. I haven’t forgotten Robert Nozick.

Old Racing Forms and torn up pari-mutuel tickets were not Mr. Gambler’s Anonymous’ only legacy. He had decided that the Center For Libertarian Studies would honor the 100th anniversary of the birth of Ludwig von Mises with a bash at the ritzy “Windows on the World” atop the World Trade Center. Yes, Richard’s event would not soon be forgotten and could bankrupt CLS.

The CLS board was horrified. I was the brand new member of that august body, a lone businessman amongst a bevy of academics. Only friend Lew Rockwell, on the brink of launching the Mises Institute, was there to help derail Richard’s grandiose plans.

I soon learned that the contracts with Windows on the World had already been signed. The Center was guaranteeing two-hundred-and-fifty guests and a sumptuous menu. When I noted that the baked Alaska dessert alone was priced at $12.50, I feared we were doomed.

But Richard’s sin cut far deeper. It was quietly known in libertarian circles that Murray Rothbard had overcome a list of phobias. It took a great deal of effort, but poor Murray could now deal with airplanes, tunnels, and bridges, but, one fear remained—he was not about to enter an elevator in a skyscraper; a moving, sealed coffin that propelled a body over one hundred stories in a few seconds.

Given the recent horrid event on 9/11 at that very site, Murray’s “phobia” now seems quite understandable.

How in heaven’s name could the Center for Libertarian Studies schedule a celebration like the 100th anniversary of the birth of Ludwig von Mises knowing full well that Murray Rothbard would never show up?

I tried everything to break the contract with Windows on the World and cancel the event but it was too late. Richard had locked us in with substantial deposits we could not recover. CLS was committed to the dinner on the 108th floor, and Murray Rothbard wasn’t going to be there.

And finally to Robert Nozick. Nozick was our first libertarian “pop-star.” His award-winning book, Anarchy, State and Utopia, published in 1974, brought semi-radical libertarian concepts to the Establishment.

Many of us felt Nozick’s book drew heavily upon Murray Rothbard’s work without sufficient credit—indeed, that the whole work was intended as a limited-governnment response to Murray’s anarcho-capitalism—though Nozick did grudgingly recognize Murray in the book’s “Acknowledgements.”

In balance, the success of the book was a breakthrough for the movement. Nozick was movie-star handsome and eloquent and—you guessed it—Mr. Gamblers Anonymous had contracted with Nozick to be the main speaker at the Mises dinner.

The elaborately engraved invitations went out and Nozick proved to be a powerful draw. The dinner was over-subscribed and although the mercy of time has obliterated the memory of Nozick’s exact fee, there is no question that he helped fill the room

As the night of the dinner drew closer we became more worried about Murray. We begged, we implored, we threatened. We even considered taking the entire day to walk him up the 100-plus floors.

Not a chance. He wasn’t getting near those elevators.

Dear Joey Rothbard, Murray’s lifelong companion, finally asked that we stop badgering him and that we leave the matter in her hands.

At the elegant reception prior to the banquet tuxedoed waiters splashed French champagne into everybody’s glass. Any wasted drops that might have spilled to the carpet set off the cash register in my head.

The guests milled about on the 108th floor in the clouds looking down on New York’s old skyscrapers, the Empire State and the Chrysler Building.

But our joy was tempered. There was no Murray.

Suddenly all eyes turned to the giant elevator doors as they rolled open. There was JoAnn Rothbard with her trophy, poor Murray. He was ghastly white. The applause started slowly and mounted to cheers as most in the room realized what Murray had overcome to make that ascent.

JoAnn led him to the lectern and the room grew silent. Murray leaned over, grasped the microphone, and said: “I bring you greetings from Planet Earth.”

Robert Nozick’s entrance was almost as dramatic. Not copying Murray’s rumpled appearance, Nozick wore a fashionable turtleneck under his jacket. His hair was perfectly coiffed and a fashion critic might report that he was exquisitely casual. Only a Harvard philosopher could bring it off.

Not only was he thin and tall and god-like, he was articulate and born to dazzle women. It was as if they were melting at his feet. Women were lining up to present him with their hotel room keys.

But most of the men in the room would have most likely murdered him.

The rest of the evening remains blurry. The program was well received, and as the blood began to course again through Rothbard’s veins, his speech turned out to be the hit of the evening.

Nozick did not disappoint, but there was a surprise yet to come.

The near-bankrupt CLS had provided a limo for super-star Nozick, and pre-paid his hotel accommodations for one night. But he never used our reservation, and I was to learn why.

Weeks later I received a bill in the mail. It was for an expensive suite for an entire weekend at the fanciest East Side hotel.

Murray once said he never met a billionaire he liked. I never met a Harvard philosopher super-star that I understood. N.B.: We devoted much of the first issue of the Journal of Libertarian Studies to his book.

January 26, 2002

REST IN PEACE, REV. “RUSH”

I have no claim to scholarship. I was never his disciple, nor could I afford being a patron. For heaven’s sake, I was not even a Christian. Yet, I was proud to share forty years of friendship with the great Christian scholar and charismatic spiritual leader, Rousas J. Rushdoony.

In 1973, Rushdoony’s monumental tome, The Institutes of Biblical Law, was published and immediately recognized as an extraordinary contribution to Christian thought. As the years passed, the Institutes became the foundational influence for the Christian Reconstruction Movement.

In the preface to this historic work, “Rush” wrote: “Many of the ideas developed in this study were discussed at times with Burton S. Blumert, who in more ways than one has been a source of encouragement.”

Although the reference was hardly deserved, it meant more to me than a Nobel Prize for Coin Dealing. What had prompted this giant of a man to be so generous? The answer is clear: I was a friend.

But spiritual leaders, you might say, don’t have friends. It’s unlikely that the Archbishop of Canterbury has any pals, but Rush and his wife, dear Dorothy, were my true, enduring friends.

I was introduced to the great man in 1962 by financial newsletter writer H.D. Bryan. As is often the case when searching for beginnings, specifics are difficult to recall, but before long Rush and I were on the phone at least once a week. Our chats covered every subject ranging from medieval history (of which I knew nothing), the evils of the modern church (of which I knew little) to plain old gossip about folks in the freedom movement (of which I was a minor authority).

As the seasons passed, we drifted a bit. Rush was traveling all the time, testifying before varied official bodies on behalf of homeschooling. I would see him but a few times a year, and his demeanor changed from that of the vibrant Christian scholar to that of an Old Testament patriarch. There were occasions when I expected to see small lightning bolts around his head and magnificent gray beard.

Others have covered the life, career, and enormous impact R.J. Rushdoony has had on Christianity, conservatism, and individual liberty.

I can only share with you some personal reflections of small moments during our decades-long friendship.

THE GOLD COINS THAT DIDN’T EXIST

The memories are jumbled but it was probably during the late 1960s that I had consigned an array of world gold coins to a weekend charity church bazaar Rush had organized. He phoned on Monday morning to report that the event was a smashing success, and the gold coins sold like “hotcakes.”

The next day’s mail included payment and a group of returned coins. Surprised, I’d thought every item was sold. I examined the rejects, and red-faced, realized they were all Turkish. (Rushdoony’s Armenian heritage could never forget the holocaust the Turks perpetrated upon his people). We never exchanged a word about it, but it was as though I had never sent the satanic coins and he had never returned them.

THE CARTON OF PAPER MONEY

August 16, 1968, was the final day US $1, $5, and $10 silver certificate notes were to be redeemed by the US Treasury Department for actual silver. As the day approached, activity in the coin and precious metal industry turned frantic. Rush was visiting my office in San Mateo, and I jokingly handed him a carton containing ten thousand silver certificates that we were shipping for redemption.

I proceeded to say something as unbelievably stupid as, “What do you think of this as a Christmas gift?”

“Rush” accepted the “gift” with a graciousness that comes only to men of the cloth, long accustomed to the charity that sustains their flock. It took several agonizing moments to recover the valuable package. Years later I realized that, as the saying goes, he was “putting me on” all along.

THE LAST CONFERENCE

Although it was heart wrenching to see him so frail, his 80th birthday celebration was a grand event in San Jose, California.

Rush’s face brightened when I told him of a forthcoming conference The Rothbard-Rockwell Report was sponsoring. Wouldn’t it be terrific if he could attend?

Andrew Sandlin and the other folks at Chalcedon, Rush’s foundation, made all the arrangements and Rush was comfortable during the seven hour round-trip between his home in Vallecito and the Villa Hotel in San Mateo

It was a magical moment for the two-hundred conference attendees when Rush entered the banquet room.

“Burt, ask Rush if he would like to address the group,” Lew Rockwell said.

“But, Lew, he may not be up to it.”

“I think you should ask him,” Lew persisted.

The next fifteen minutes were amazing. I was so apprehensive that I can’t even recall his subject but his presentation was impeccable. Not a mumbled word, not a hesitation, not a break in the flow. It was pure Rushdoony.

I needn’t have worried. The crowd was enthralled.

POWER OF CONCENTRATION

Rush and Dorothy had come to my office, and we were to have dinner in San Francisco with Christian school educator Reverend Bob Thoburn who was visiting from Virginia. I advised Rush and Dorothy I needed fifteen minutes to prepare for departure. He smiled, removed a small volume from his leather briefcase, and started to read.

I don’t recall the nature of the calamity. It might have been a fire, a flood, or an armed robbery, but my office was in total chaos that afternoon. I do know that Rushdoony’s eyes never left the page of the book. From someone whose attention span is about thirty-five seconds, I marveled at his power of concentration.

No surprise he could read a book a day.

The Christian Reconstructionists have lost their inspirational leader. The homeschooling movement mourns the passing of the great man who provided its life’s blood. His students and parishioners will never replace this magnificent educator.

And I will miss my good pal, Rush.

February 14, 2000

LEW ROCKWELL’S DOER’S PROFILE

Llewellyn H. Rockwell, Jr.

International Playboy and Bon Vivant

•Favorite food: Any endangered species

•Favorite sport: Four-dimensional chess

•Favorite US president: William Henry Harrison (served as president for only few hours)

•Favorite century: Eighteenth

•Favorite flower: Pillsbury

•Favorite pastime: Studying Bolivian maritime law

•Hobby: Collecting political buttons of winners he’s supported (so far he has one)

•Next project: Founding the “Committee To Relocate the Nation’s Capital to Butte, Montana

•And what does Lew Rockwell drink?
Liquid Mylanta (12 years old)

March 19, 2001