I Chose Liberty - Ludwig von Mises Institute

Ronald Hamowy 143
second volume of Man, Economy, and State. I must say that it was one of the most pleasurable
work experiences I’ve ever had. Not only was I provided with an endless supply of
Pepsi-Cola and potato chips, but I got the chance to work under two good-humored and
accommodating employers who excused every failing in their employee, while at the same
time having had the opportunity to read and discuss a first-rate text in economic theory.
One of my major subjects as an undergraduate had been economics, but I confess to have
learned more economics during the six-month period I spent typing Murray’s manuscript
than I did during my whole undergraduate career.
There are few things more irritating than having to defend a proposition against
someone who clearly has given almost no thought to the issue but is speaking off the top
of his head, and Murray, like most of us, had little tolerance for such people. However,
when asked to explain a point one didn’t understand or about which one was unclear,
Murray was extremely patient and uncomplaining, and doubtless this must have accounted
for why he was regarded as a fine teacher at both Brooklyn Poly and UNLV while still being
incapable of suffering fools gladly.
Those of us who knew Murray in the 1950s were aware that he disliked traveling and
that he had a phobia about flying. In this, as in so many other ways, Joey’s forbearance was
almost superhuman, as she slowly enlarged Murray’s world to include places as far away as
eastern Europe, Asia, and South America. I remember with absolute clarity receiving a
postcard from Murray from Washington, D.C. after his very first flight, on which he’d
written in bold letters: “Finally made it!”
Murray’s strong opposition to the Vietnam War and his sympathies with the New Left’s
distrust of government led, in November 1970, to his being invited to speak in Los Angeles
at what I vaguely recall was billed as a Festival of Light and Freedom, or some such New
Age title. Among the other speakers, if my memory serves, were Thomas Szasz, the foremost
authority on the relation between psychiatry and law, Tim Leary, the apostle of LSD, Paul
Goodman, the author of one of the 1960s most influential books of social criticism and the
guru of the New Left, and Nathaniel Brandon, who was then archbishop of the Randian
Church. The organizers’ aim, apparently, was to bring together the establishment’s major
critics in the hope of creating a grand coalition that would fuse elements of the drug culture,
libertarianism, and opposition to the military-industrial complex into a new, impregnable
alliance. But despite the many cries of “Right On” that punctuated Murray’s speech, it soon
became apparent that he and most of the audience were on very different wavelengths and
that their attempt to fuse Rothbard with the Grateful Dead was doomed to failure.
Most of those who participated at the Festival were simply incapable of appreciating
just how conservative Murray’s approach to social issues was, and that neither he nor Joey
carried around their own roach clip nor were ready to join in sharing a plate of hash
brownies. Murray might have sympathized with the some of the anti-orthodox elements
of the counter-culture, but those who knew him were keenly aware of where he stood on
love-ins, dropping acid, and turning his back on industrialism in favor of the world of
unspoiled nature.
In 1974 the Mt. Pelerin Society held its meetings in Brussels and, via separate routes,
Murray and Joey and I arranged to meet there. I had flown to southern France to visit Lee