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I Chose Liberty - Ludwig von Mises Institute

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Bruce L. Benson 37<br />

dislike for discretionary power and an admiration for independent individualism, but I did<br />

not recognize that these feelings might be a foundation for a political philosophy until after<br />

I discovered economics in college, and then free-market economics and public choice in<br />

graduate school. In fact, for the most part I was indifferent to political and philosophical<br />

issues until I was in graduate school, and I did not read Rand or Rothbard until after I was<br />

out of graduate school.<br />

I spent the first 18 years of my life in Harlem, Montana, a town of about 1,000 people.<br />

Despite its size it was a community of considerable contrast. Harlem is located in the Milk<br />

River Valley about four miles from the Forth Belknap Indian Reservation. The area north<br />

of town was dominated by dry-land wheat farming, while cattle ranching was the primary<br />

activity southwest of town, and the valley was irrigated farmland. The Reservation covered<br />

a large area southeast of town. So Harlem’s businesses served the needs of farmers, ranchers,<br />

Bureau of Indian Affairs employees, and members of the Assiniboine and Gros Ventre<br />

Indian Tribes. The population in the area could be roughly categorized as: (1) very independent<br />

ranchers and business people, (2) farmers who were increasingly dependent on<br />

government farm programs, (3) government bureaucrats, and (4) wards of the state on the<br />

reservation. I had friends whose families were in all of these groups, but the adults who<br />

were held in high esteem in the community generally were from the first group, those who<br />

“took care of their own.”<br />

My father was one of those people. His parents had homesteaded on a 160 acre dryland<br />

farm that was not capable of providing for the family, so his father started a freight<br />

business, hauling just about anything that could be hauled with a wagon and team of horses.<br />

My father, born in 1922, was pretty much on his own at 14, when he went to work for one<br />

of the large ranchers in the area. He did manage to finish high school before the U.S. entered<br />

World War II and he volunteered for the army. He ended up in the 101 Airborne Division,<br />

dropping into Normandy the night before the D-Day Invasion, and was wounded about<br />

three weeks later. After returning home and working at various jobs for a while, he bought<br />

a used truck and became an independent trucker, hauling freight of all kinds (he also rode<br />

saddle broncs in the rodeos that occurred on summer weekends).<br />

You might say that relationships were “hands on” in Montana at that time: bargains<br />

were settled with a handshake and disputes were solved with fists. My father quickly built<br />

a reputation for hard work, honesty, generosity, and refusing to back down from anyone<br />

(he was a “rough hand”). He also hauled cattle, and in the process, got to know a cattle<br />

buyer in the area who asked him to go into partnership. They worked together for several<br />

years, and then, after his partner retired, my father continued on his own. He lived off his<br />

reputation, becoming one of the most successful and long-lasting cattle buyers in the state’s<br />

history.<br />

I obviously admired my father in many ways, but at the same time, our relationship<br />

was very strained. My father worked hard and partied hard, so he was not home very much.<br />

Perhaps more important, while he would never let someone else tell him what to do, he had<br />

no qualms about telling me what to do. That is probably when my strong dislike for discretionary<br />

authority began. I didn’t like doing the chores I was expected to do, but I<br />

understood why I had to do them. I really hated it when he would come home after working

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