It was Spring. I was a Freshman in college, and had become disillusioned with the Alex P. Keaton-esque Republicanism that had defined my youth. Throughout high school, I had maintained a sense of patriotism and a deep commitment to law and the sanctity of the U.S. Constitution. I had a copy of Michael Savage’s “The Enemy Within” on my nightstand, and even called into his radio show once (to advocate for drafting homeless people into the armed forces). I was, shall we say… very conservative. That had been an era where “drugs are bad, mmm’kay” and where we were all told to “Just Say No.” It was an era where Democratic presidents swore to “end welfare as we know it,” and where gays were told “don’t ask — don’t tell.” Muslims were suspicious, and anyone speaking Arabic would either wind up on a list, or be recruited by the CIA. I had gotten swept up in the zeitgeist following the (now seemingly quaint) terrorist attacks of 9/11, and I was ready to throw the baby out with the bathwater if it was done for God and Country.
My Republicanism reflected the times, and I will admit to having been particularly malleable in those years. One thing you’ll notice as you get older and move away from home is that a lot of your beliefs growing up were likely imparted by your parents and immediate family. A lot of times, we come to reject those views as we’re exposed to diverse perspectives, and this tendency is both good and natural. The exposure to other ways of thinking, being, and looking at the world is the major reason I advocate going to university. You’ll understand why in a moment.
As I mention in another chapter, I was a student of the William O Douglas Honors College, which was a Great Books program that would bring a variety of guest lecturers and intellectual luminaries to campus to speak with our students and share their ways of thinking with us. This term, we were graced with the presence of every sitting Washington Supreme Court Justice, who were gracious enough with their time to have lunch with us all and chat outside the lecture hall.
One such Justice was Richard B. Sanders, who would become a mentor of sorts to me as I went through college. He was a fun individual, and had an eccentric Libertarian streak. Whilst we were having lunch, one of my fellow students (I cannot recall whom) asked the justices what their favorite book is. I don’t recall any of the answers, except for Justice Sanders’s. He opined that the most influential book on his life had been “Atlas Shrugged” by Ayn Rand, to the collective groans of the other justices. Always being intrigued by controversy, and being somewhat of an edgelord at that age, I inquired further. He explained to me that the book is about a young train line tycoon who was constantly trying to keep her business running from under the heel of an oppressive and tyrannical government, and only finds meaning and hope when a brilliant philosopher and scientist came to the rescue.
I loved philosophy (a bit redundant, I know), and was particularly interested in stories about near-future dystopias, so I resolved to read this lengthy tome. It was the longest book I had read up to that point, and had to work on it all summer and through the Fall of next year. But I did finish it, and became radicalized by the time I had finished. It’s impossible to summarize the book any better than Justice Sanders had, but suffice it to say that Rand’s philosophical project was a reaction to having grown up in nascent Soviet Russia as a member of a family who owned a small shop. Back in those days of revolutionary fervor, merchant families were considered filthy Capitalists. Their shops were raided by mobs, were drummed out into the streets, and decried as enemies of the people. Understandably, Rand’s family quickly emigrated to the United States, the “Land of Freedom”(TM). “Atlas Shrugged” is the product of that context; a veritable Bible of unfettered Capitalist zeal.
I relished the unbound reverence for individuality and commitment to self-reliance that Rand invoked. I had found a philosophical underpinning for my Republican virtues which were totally untethered from politics, and I couldn’t get enough of it. I did some research online, and found an organization that was dedicated to Rand’s works and scholarship. It was called the Ayn Rand Institute, and I gobbled up as many of their resources as I could. I also found the Libertarian Party, which introduced me to this “middle way” of social and economic liberalism which greatly appealed to me (as I did not identify as religious in any way by this point in my life, and found social conservatives quite prudish).
I became aware of a group called the Institute for Humane Studies (IHS) a bit further along in my journey. They had a series of summer colloquia that hosted students from all over the world at American universities. These colloquia were free to attend, and they would cover room, board, tuition, and books — all you had to do was get there. The idea of having a weeklong vacation to discuss ideas with some of the brightest kids in the country, and to get to live with your professors, sipping beers and debating until the wee hours of the morning every day was enticing. Their motto was “Sleep Less, Think More.” For a young student who wanted to be classically trained, it was an irresistible offer. The IHS were, as I would come to find out, the academic arm of the Koch political machine. Their goal was to produce Libertarian and Anarchist scholars to fight against the big-government ethos in academia. They may have been political pawns in some ways, but they knew their stuff, and had a ton of connections throughout the Liberty Movement which was having a moment in the wake of Ron Paul’s 2006 Presidential campaign.
Having found institutional backing and scholarship, I decided to start the CWU Liberty Club to find like-minded folks a bit closer to home. Our ranks quickly swelled, and we had about half a dozen regulars, along with a decent number of people who were tangential to the group — interested, but not willing to commit. I suggested that we all attend an introductory summer colloquium together, as it was basically a free vacation to debate and learn economics, law, and political philosophy. To my great surprise, nobody else seemed all that enthused about the notion, so I wound up going by myself. I never was able to convince anyone to go all throughout undergrad and law school, despite my excellent reports about the experience. I’d encourage you to not be lazy, and to take such opportunities when they present themselves, as I made more friends and professional connections through those colloquia than any other way. Libertarians also host great parties, and have all the most fun drugs — so there’s that, too.
That first colloquium I attended the summer after my Sophomore year was amazing. I met so many interesting people, and got connected to a worldwide network of like-minded and dedicated scholars. We would wake at seven or eight each morning, often having gotten only four or five hours of sleep, and hit the lecture hall to learn from some of the most well-respected professors and professionals in their respective fields. James Stacey Taylor came to teach us about why legislating against human sexuality was unethical. The late, great Steve Horwitz taught us the fundamentals of economics — concepts including marginal utility, opportunity costs, and transaction costs. Clark Neily, Esq., who was a Supreme Court litigator with the Institute for Justice (the litigation branch of the Koch machine) taught us Constitutional Law. Clark was particularly useful to be able to chat with, as he gave me a lot of the intellectual foundation and the “inside baseball” of how and why cases like District of Columbia v. Heller, 554 U.S. 570 (2008) & Kelo v. City of New London, 545 U.S. 469 (2005) came to be (he was counsel on both of those cases).
I continued attending seminars through the IHS all the way through undergrad, learning invaluable skills and forging great friendships along the way. It was in these seminars that I became acquainted with members of Students for Liberty (SFL), a group started by Alexander McCobin to proliferate Libertarian philosophy across the world’s colleges and universities. That group had awarded Drexel University’s chapter with a “Club of the Year” award my senior year of college. It was the main reason I applied to Drexel’s School of Law. One of the friends that I had made through IHS was even kind enough to invite your mother and I to stay with him in his Manhattan apartment when we came to see New York City (but that story is for another chapter).
After I graduated and went on to law school, I started attending meetings of the Student Liberty Front, the SFL chapter at Drexel. It was full of undergrads, which I didn’t mind, having recently been one myself. The friends I made there have been life-long, and your mother and I have been to many weddings and get togethers with those folks over the years. Your mother keeps up with them even better than I do, ever since I quit Facebook, although I do try to call or text intermittently. I went through hell with these friends, multiple times, and we’ve been bound by the scars of battle we suffered in pursuit of greater liberty. Some of those trials and tribulations are explained in detail elsewhere in this book.
I’ve also attended so many fun parties through the connections I made through the Liberty Movement. There was the Gary Johnson fundraiser at Purple Mansion in DC (where a friend from undergrad drank so much that I had to call an ambulance so that he could get his stomach pumped). There was a rooftop party in New York City where I was tripping so hard on 2C-B that it seemed like the city lights went on forever and ever into the horizon. And there was a Gala to celebrate the IHS’s 50th Anniversary, where I got to meet some very influential figures (a story I tell elsewhere in this memoir).
All of this is to say that if I had not listened to that one offhand comment from Justice Sanders, which I only got to hear because I went to Central and decided to challenge myself with the honors curriculum, None of this would have happened. Sometimes, the slightest decision you make can affect the course of your entire life. The friends you make, the experiences you have, the opportunities which arise… all of it comes from what may seem at the time to be a very inconsequential decision. Trust your instincts. If you think something is worth doing, it probably is. Do the hard thing if you have a choice — it builds character, and opens doors you could not have possibly imagined exist.
Speaking of Justice Sanders, and going back a bit —I had invited him back my Senior year of college to give a presentation to our Liberty Club. On the day of the event, I was running errands downtown when I got a call from him. He had just pulled into town, and offered to give me a ride back up to campus. I took him up on the offer, as it was quite the walk, and this way, I’d be able to guide him to parking and to the lecture hall he’d be presenting in. He pulled up in an old 1990s BMW 3 Series that he had decked out with custom racing seats. There were a bunch of empty cans of Mountain Dew on the floor. I seem to remember he was listening to techno music. He was in his seventies at that time, and sent me Christmas cards for many years thereafter. I came away from that experience excited to meet new people and to experience new things, because you never know what to expect of someone until you get to know them. Never judge a book by its cover.