I was born March 8, 1947 into a railroad family. I had two major passions in my early teens: The Democratic Party and John F. Kennedy.  With his assassination and then the failure to seat the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party in the summer of 1964, I lost all mooring with Party politics.  The following May 1965, I graduated from Pocatello High School; I was eighteen, registered for the draft, and the nation was at war. Mr. Johnson's escalation of the war in Vietnam, and the sending the troops into the Dominican Republic, completed my crisis of faith; I was no longer a Democrat.

 

I grew up in the 1950’s and came of age in the first half of the 1960’s. The neighborhood was less than enthusiastic about Italians, or maybe it was just me/ Schools had no idea what to do with me. By 1965 I abandoned the respectable and openly embraced the far left both anarchist and Marxist and that was very good.

 

 It was between Christmas and New Year’s 1959; my dad brought home a few Pamphlets about Kennedy, John Fitzgerald that is. I was twelve and would be thirteen in March. I was an alienated troubled child who was doing poorly in school. Coming from a mixed marriage with parents from two totally different worlds and did not get along. My father was Italian, Catholic and Democratic. The family of my mother was LDS Swedish John Birch Society.  My peers and their parents saw me as being excessively precocious and ethnic looking targeted me. There he was Kennedy, hero worship from the get-go. I followed the campaign religiously. The election was manna from heaven, my room; my private space became a temple to Kennedy. I became a Kennedy expert, I read and reread his book Profiles in Courage. I told and retold his WWII experience to anyone who would listen. Huntley-Brinkley Report was my favorite TV show.  The Cuban Missile Crisis was the docudrama that filled every waking second as long as it lasted. Will; you get the picture.  November 22, 1963 the day that changed my life forever. I lost a personal family member. My identity was shattered. I was a sixteen-year-old without a name or belief in myself, or knowledge of who I was. In my tragic emptiness I discovered the existential absurd of Sartre and Camus but that really didn’t help. By the time I was eighteen, 1965, I had totally remade myself. I had become a “reborn evangelical” Anarchist Communist.  By the time I was twenty I became an IWW Anarchist Syndicalist. By Twenty-five a classical/ orthodox/ humanist Marxist and each stage I added too and not really gave up the earlier positions.

By the time I was 18 I was thoroughly disillusioned with the Democrats. I totally remade myself.

 

My history is an intellectually personal history of the awakening and growth of a radical in love with the wonderment of the radical lifestyle. This is a story of an insurrection and rebellion on the limits placed upon human essential quality in a bourgeois society. This rebellion is at its core anti-capitalist, anti-state, anti-bureaucratic, anti-clerical, anti-patriarchal and anti-positivist.

 

This rebellion has continually evolved as age brought more insight and wisdom. One tradition replaces another not that they are outgrown or abandon, but they lead naturally by life experiences to a new way of dealing with life. This is a rebellion born in experience and not abstraction of an isolated rebel.

 

The early days of my youth Camus provided an image of the isolated rebel fighting for human dignity striped of all meaning in a world given over to the absurd.

 

Particularly because of the rebellion that was the 1960’s, I soon discovered the philosophy of the Russian Anarchists of Bakunin, Kropotkin, Goldman, and Berkman. This became my gospel, as I saw myself as but a small part of the struggle for human dignity and emancipation against the evil trinity of the market economy, organized religion, and the state (any form of government). I felt we would rise up and eradicate the evil trinity; and the malfeasant archangels’ patriarchal family and nationalism (patriotism), this treacherous and heinous essence would soon to fall to the vengeful sword of the frightful revolutionary mass. With the collapse of the movement in the early 1970s the veterans and history of the old left became beautiful beacons in the night. The Industrial Workers of the World, Socialist party USA, Communist Party USA, and the Socialist Workers Party became my four directions.

The culture to which I belong is related the left wing of the Socialist Party of America during the first two decades of the twentieth century, Industrial Workers of the World from its founding in 1905 to 1924, the Communist Party USA 1928 to 1939 during both the third period and the popular front, and the Progressive Party Presidential campaign of Henry Wallace and Glen Taylor in 1948, the last hurrah of the popular front before the Dark ages of the Domestic Cold War suffocated the creative soul of America from which we never fully recovered.

 

The movement from one stage to the next was total and complete. Never looking back, four completely different people each except first was totally my own choice and creation.

 

The only continuity was socialism. From my earliest memories on. Socialism of both the Marxist and Anarchist verities. Even before I discovered the meaning of those terms.

 

           

This rebellion has continually evolved as age brought more insight and wisdom.  One tradition replaces another not that they are outgrown or abandon, but they lead naturally by life experiences to new way of dealing with life.  This is a rebellion born in experience and not abstraction of an isolated rebel. 

           

The 1960’s were guided by the philosophy of the Russian Anarchists.  This was our exposed certainty; each revolutionary was but a vignette of the fight for human dignity and emancipation against the evil trinity of the market economy, organized religion, and the state (any form of government).  I felt we would rise up and eradicate the evil trinity; and the malfeasant archangels’ patriarchal family and nationalism (patriotism), this treacherous and heinous essence would soon to fall to the vengeful sword of the frightful revolutionary mass.  With the collapse of the movement in the early 1970s the veterans and history of the old left became beautiful beckons in the night.  The Industrial Workers of the World, Socialist party USA, Communist Party USA, and the Socialist Workers Party became my four directions.  Also, the National Liberation Struggles of the poor countries of the world was always a moral inspiration.  The Russian Revolution, The French, Italian, and Yugoslav resistance during World War II, the Chinese Revolution, Algerian Revolution, Cuban Revolution, Angola, Mozambique, Guinea-Bissau, Nicaragua, El Salvador, and Guatemala all were seen as acts of courage against tremendous odds.  My romantic side also grew as I discovered Karl Polanyi and the Substantivists.  From Rosa Luxemburg I learned theory and human compassion go together.  From Leon Trotsky I learned Revolutions are never over with but build upon the previous generations and continue to grow as long as there are humans on the earth.  From Lenin I learned the without a theory that evolves to meet the needs of the current situation there is no revolution.  From Mao it is the people and not the leaders that are critical to the success of the Revolution.  From Gramsci we are all philosophers of action. From the writings of Cabral, we are all part of the same struggle, and that the toiling poor are the vanguards of experience. 

 

Beatnik / Hippy rebellion and total lifestyle 1965 – 1972. Drugs, anarchism, existentialism, street life and the never-ending quest for self.

Yes, I was calling myself a left existentialist, and an anarchist. Both anarchism communism and anarchism syndicalism and a Wobbly defined my identity. I never seriously read any Marx or Marxists until I was twenty-five.

 

I was at the beginning of the hippy movement and the end of the beat movement. Again, I adopted both of them unswervingly. Yes, that led directly to drugs and a very seedy street life. At first, it was more fun than you can imagine but over the next few years, life got a lot harder. I was trapped with no way out my health was ruined physically and emotionally. I even did jail time, more than once. With dead end physically dangerous jobs I became chronically depressed. Then my dog was killed, which was the only reason I was still alive then my life totally fill apart.

 

July 13, 1972, got clean from drugs.

 

“Get off drugs or die”, I cleaned up my act and I got off drugs. Six months later my depression even got worse.  I had one choice left to me. That choice was to end my life. It was the only decent thing left, not to would be cowardice and deeply immoral. Certain people poison the air with every breath and defile the earth beneath their feet. To choose life was a crime against humanity and the earth.  But and there is always a “But”. I had a kid sister; she grew up in an abusive household. She was precious but was never inspired to acquire self-image by her home life. If her older brother, maybe the only one in the world who loved her unconditionally killed himself it would not only be unfair, but she would never get over it.  So, no.  Suicide was definitely out. That was a daily and nightly debate.

 

At this point I went on a vision quest.  At the headwaters, in late April, still very cold, of the South Fork of Gibson Jack. Went without sleep, water, shelter or food three nights and two days seeking a vision. Then finally came an ancient Shoshoni woman with white hair and deep creases in her dark brown skin. She spoke Shoshoni so I had no idea what she was saying, finally a work mate who was hiking past discovered me semi-conscious, He gave me water, I lost it right away and he gave me some more, help me walk out and to the hospital where they gave fluids and sent me on my way the next day. To this day I know I suffered a real psychotic break, which is our secret, none of it was real and did not help at all.

 

 

When I was 25 I totally emotional collapsed, some people called this an envious break down. I found what was left in my life by hard work and long hours. There was a total  loss of hope and thoughts of suicide, insomnia, hallucinations, extreme mood swings or unexplained  outburst of rage and sorrow.

 

Not so good, it was the beginning of the hippy movement and the end of the beat movement. Again, I adopted both of them unswervingly. Yes, that led directly to drugs, and a very seedy street life. At first it was more fun than you can imagine but over the next few years life got a lot harder. I was trapped with no way out my health was ruined physically and emotionally. I even did jail time, more than once. With dead end physically dangerous jobs I became chronically depressed. Then my dog was killed, which was the only reason I was still alive then my life totally fell apart.

 

 

Life was hard and work was mind numbing, nonstop, severe and unfulfilling.

 

Then one day I thought I would give college a try. First thing I did was I got a job on campus and with my staff benefits I would take classes.

Everything changed.

 

Laborer and Janitor taking classes when I could. 1972 – 1990. Driven by despair while learning that life has no real meaning, except the meaning we choose. Accepting this and avoiding bad faith which always a lie. Learning how to give birth to myself.

 

When I was twenty-eight, I entered Boise State University as an undergraduate. My identity was tied up and was dually defined as an IWW and an unskilled blue-collar worker who was a student and an activist. We fought for and won a union on campus, not the IWW, however. I felt my proletarian roots intact.

 

 

 

By 1975 I was ready to do something with my life.  I moved to Boise Idaho, got a job on campus and went to college. 

 

It came to my attention I also loved sociology, cultural anthropology, history and philosophy. So, when I had the chance to get into graduate school I jumped at the chance.

 

 

 

After I received my BS degree in Sociology, I was one of 9 (out of over 200 applicants) accepted into the University of Oregon's graduate program in Eugene.  From the University of Oregon, I received both my Masters (in Sociology) and PhD (in Anthropology).  In 1990 I got my first teaching job at age 43 at the Tribal College on the Navajo Nation; in 1996 I started teaching at University of Montana Western

 

Depression evaporated into hot-blooded bliss. Even work, the same jobs, became s source of interesting raw data for my social research. Also, I was living the revolution.

 

I fell in love with the major four, which were history, philosophy, sociology, anthropology. History was my first love, but sociologists were better historians than the historians, philosophy was my second love but again sociologists did a better job in teaching philosophy than the philosophers. Finally, the anthropologists were really kick ass sociologists.

 

Every day was more and more exhilarating. My only problem was how not to graduate so I could continue to take classes forever. But I was caught out and I did graduate. What to do? The only answer was to go to graduate school and to become a professor and never to teach the same class twice.

 

I moved to another university town and got a job on campus and used my benefits to go to school for free.

 

Then in 1980 I entered University of Oregon to Study Sociology engaging with the internal debates of the various Marxist Schools and parties.

 

Through Al Szymanski I learned a Marxist-Leninist discipline to supplement my Anarchist- Syndicalist scattered lifestyle.  From Vern Dorjahn I had a friend who nurtured my scholarly imagination.  From living six years among the Dine’ I learned to see the world from more than one pair of eyes.  The philosophy of the Dine’ taught me that K’e’ of the Dine’ means not only am I my sister and brother’s keeper, but they are also my keeper as well.  The Dine’ were teachers who always taught that romantic is good.  Culturally today I would say, I am first of all a unity of the following anarchist-syndicalist, democratic socialist, and revolutionary communist.  Half wobbly and half Bolshevik for short.

 

 

March 8 International Women’s Day and the anniversary of the Russian February Revolution. In 1947 I was born. In 1985 Al Szymanski put a revolver to the back of his throat and blew his head off.

 

In his suicide note he stated he had failed the international working class and a proletarian revolution. Born in 1941 he was a product of the movements of the 1960’s. Al was an original member of SDS, at the University of Rhode Island. A prolific reader he soon embraced classical Marxism, and eventually Marxism Leninism.  In fact, in every sense of the word he was a true Bolshevik. While working hard as an activist within the larger civil rights and peace movements he saw himself as a defender of a global proletarian revolution. He became concerned with what he saw as both the corruption and watering down of the ideals of the early Bolsheviks by the New Left, Frankfort School, Monthly Review School, Dependency and World Systems theorists, Instrumentalists, Maoist and of Course Trotskyists. He felt these trends became the radical expression of the intellectual wing of a college-educated extension of a new petty bourgeoisie living in a privileged world supported by the labor of the working class. But Marxism by that time was centered at the University. He received his PhD from Columbia in 1968 and began his Career as a Professor at the University of Oregon, the fall of 1968.

 

He saw himself as Boring from Within to win Marxism back from the Professional Class, for the working class.

 

But as his career took off, he offended and frightened his academic colleagues. But as a scholar he was very prolific and soon established himself as the dean of his own school of Marxist Political Sociology. He had a devoted following of professors and graduate students at the larger sociology departments. That was his problem, in his struggle to save Marxism from the Professional Class and return it to the Working Class he had lost his working-class roots and became the enemy, a university professor who was supported by public funds to rationalize and legitimize capitalism at the expense of the real workers, or so the explanation went. What was true is most if not all his associates were professional intellectuals, not industrial workers.

 

While Al was my first mentor, my story was different.

 

Born in 1947 to a Railroad family. The Union and the Democratic Party formed my earliest political memories. My early teen years were given over to complete hero worship of John Kennedy, following his death, Albert Camus.

 

By the time I was 18 I was thoroughly disillusioned with the Democrats. I was calling myself a left existentialist, and an anarchist. Both anarchism communism and anarchism syndicalism and a Wobbly define my identity. I never seriously read any Marx or Marxists until I was twenty-five. 

 

When I was twenty-eight, I entered Boise State University as an undergraduate. My identity was tied up and was dually defined as an IWW and an unskilled blue-collar worker who was a student and an activist. We fought for and won a union on campus, not the IWW, however. I felt my proletarian roots intact.

It came to my attention I also loved sociology, cultural anthropology, history and philosophy. So, when I had the chance to get into graduate school I jumped at the chance.

 

Then is when I met Al. He and I worked very closely. While he was debating with all those schools of Marxism that he felt betrayed the original message of orthodox Marxism-Leninism, I soon came to believe that each of those competing schools had something to offer and each had limitations. I at this time considered myself an eclectic Marxist with Anarchist tendencies.

 

During this time as a staff member and a blue-collar worker I went to college for free and my proletarian heritage was unbroken.

 

Then in 1985 when Al died, I jumped ship and became an Anthropologist. Vern Dorjahn became my new mentor and introduced me to Karl Polanyi.

 

As an Economic Anthropologists I continued as a staff member at the University of Oregon. At this time, I became very active in the Oregon Public Employees Union, the left wing of the Oregon Democratic Party representing unskilled workers in the Jesse Jackson coalition. I still considered myself an IWW and revolutionary Marxist in the broadest sense of the term. I felt my working-class birthright even stronger.

 

 

 

During this time as a staff member and a blue-collar worker I went to college for free and my proletarian heritage was unbroken.

Then in 1985 I jumped ship and became an Anthropologist.

 

As an Economic Anthropologists I continued as a staff member at the University of Oregon. At this time, I became very active in the Oregon Public Employees Union, the left wing of the Oregon Democratic Party representing unskilled workers in the Jesse Jackson coalition. I still considered myself an IWW and revolutionary Marxist in the broadest sense of the term. I felt my working-class birthright even stronger.

 

 I found not one but two departments that would take me sociology and anthropology. Finally, I got my first teaching job at 43, met my future wife at 44, married at 45, had a daughter at 46 and started at University of Montana Western at 49. Every day is a new adventure. Did not have a care. My job was not a job. More fun than play, and the fools pay me for it. Why retire?

 

Then in 1990 I became a sociology-anthropology instructor at Navajo Community College. Poverty on the Reservation was very noticeable, and the staff was not organized. During the six years I was there I was fired four times and rehired each time, but we got our Union a joint staff and faculty association, industrial unionism.

 

Finally, for whatever reason in 1996 I move to Dillon Montana and became a professor at what is today called the University of Montana Western. Today my proletarian inheritance is truly ended. But it is a job, not a job but an act of love, I sincerely adore. Every day and in every way life is good.

 

Biography told another way.

 

Being first generation, my birth family has abandoned me, but my current family is my true family. About half of my students are either first generation or from lower income families or both. Is that good enough? I am the openly radical Marxist professor and citizen of Western and Dillon. Is that good enough? I have avoided Al’s fate, mostly because I am having too much fun.

 

Community College Instructor and University Professor. Economic Anthropologist and Political Sociologist. The person I created, the meaning I chose. The life I only dared to dream possible. The competition of the circle.

 

Then in 1990 I became a sociology-anthropology instructor at Navajo Community College. Poverty on the Reservation was very noticeable, and the staff was not organized. During the six years I was there I was fired four times and rehired each time, but we got our Union a joint staff and faculty association, industrial unionism.

 

Finally for whatever reason in 1996 I move to Dillon Montana and became a professor at what is today called the University of Montana Western. Today my proletarian inheritance is truly ended. But it is a job, not a job but an act of love, I sincerely adore. Every day and in every way life is good.

 

The university is my life all my friends and family are associated with college. Being first generation, my birth family has abandoned me, but my current family is my true family. About half of my students are either first generation or from lower income families or both. Is that good enough? I am the openly radical Marxist professor and citizen of Western and Dillon. Is that good enough? I have avoided Al’s fate, mostly because I am having too much fun.

 

From the liberal revolutions of the late 18^th century to well into the 21^st hope and disillusionment co-exist in every movement and social experiment. Tragedy is a daily experience. Inherent absurdity born from a sense of demanding pointlessness born from insurmountable senselessness never really dims renaissance, confidence and welcoming of ongoing encounter and reawakening of our collective humanity and unlimited fight for genuine dialogue, equity, fairness, justice and egalitarian democracy worldwide. The rational and the irrational define the battle lines. But life continues as long as we draw breath. If we are lucky, we continue until the exhaustion of old age brings us final peace.  It can never be said to often life is a celebration to be indulged in and not a burden to be endured. Despair is always there, but it is dispelled by laughter, compassion, and empathy and of course the struggle for a better life for all people, all life and the planet.

Our loved ones, ourselves, the environment remains a mystery forever being discovered and rediscovered. In our deepest sorrow there remains the kernel of love that defines our humanity. We each define our realities, and if we include in a community of mutual aid even the clouds futility cannot hide the sun. Xenophobia, hate, fear, nationalism and wars divide us. The reality of our shared humanity globally unites us. That which divides us is artificial. That which unites us is our very survival. Now is the time for all of to take an active role in creating a planet, which no one globally is left behind, and we all share in the diversity of world without borders.