I Chose Liberty - Ludwig von Mises Institute

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JEROME TUCCILLE
FROM REBEL TO LIBERTARIAN
I sketched my own odyssey from working class Bronx rebel to freestyle libertarian in
my second book, It Usually Begins With Ayn Rand, which was first published in 1971. While
many have claimed that my semi-autobiographical book was closer to fiction than fact, the
book was true in spirit even if not always literally accurate in mundane detail. As I stated
in an Author’s Note in four separate editions of the book, “On those occasions when I was
present, I have attempted to re-create the spirit rather than the precise letter of conversations
that transpired. For other incidents . . . I have had to rely on information supplied to me
by those with firsthand knowledge.”
So much for the existing record. If my own written history as it stands to date is adorned
with a bit of hyperbole, as I freely admit, poetic or novelistic license is often necessary for
the creation of a better and more readable book than the unvarnished truth. Most memoirs
that have withstood the test of time would have faded into obscurity long ago were it not
for the creative and novelistic energies of the author.
I agree with Walter Block that autobiography is essential for anyone who has played even
a minor role in the passing scene, and that libertarians have not written enough of it. It’s a
shame that Murray Rothbard never tried to capture his own life in print. Neither did Ayn
Rand for that matter. We have to intuit a lot of what made both of them tick from the respective
bodies of literature they left us. If nothing else, autobiography is therapeutic; it helps us
sit back and take stock of where we have been, where we are, and where we think we’re going.
With that in mind, the present task is somewhat daunting since this is not the kind of
piece where embellishment is helpful. An honest account of my history as a libertarian has to
begin with my roots as a rebel in a working class Bronx neighborhood. My teenage years took
place in the 1950s in streets populated by wire lathers, tin knockers, garbage men, cops, firemen,
and cab drivers—a category that included my father. My own interests tended toward
the literary and artistic, subjects that did not go down well with most of the people I faced
each day, including my family. They all thought I was weird and were not shy about letting
me know it. I hated most of them and was not reticent about expressing my feelings.
No one had to teach me how to be an anarchist; I grew up loathing authority and
institutions of all kinds.
In short order I rebelled against the religion of my family (Roman Catholic), the politics
of my neighborhood (Social Conservative), and the culture of the class I came from (bigoted
blue collar). In place of them I substituted hard-drinking and pugnacity. I got bigger, learned
how to fight, and became a bully.