Attribute to L. Neil Smith’s The Libertarian Enterprise

By way of introduction, I grew up in central Kentucky in the late 60's and 70's. At that place and time, gun ownership was ubiquitous—dad's hunting shotgun, my grandfather's shotguns and bedside revolver, my uncle's Remington pump .22. To the point that my elementary school had a fourth-grade exercise on gun safety, and somewhere along the way we got out of classes for a couple of hours to go to the gym for an indoor sharpshooter demonstration (I recall, among other things, that the shooter placed a knife so that it would split a bullet and simultaneously snuff two candles). The sound of dogs barking in the night usually meant Coach was raccoon hunting, so I'm sure he didn't mind. Most men had gun racks in the back windows of their pickup trucks with their shotgun and hunting rifles, and didn't worry about leaving them there overnight. And all of it was casual, unmentionable; not ideological, but expected. I taught myself to shoot, badly, with Dad's shotgun when I was about 12, while he was off wrestling communists in the wilds of southeast Asia.

In due time, I graduated high school, then college, then moved to Nashville for graduate school; an aspiring physicist fueled mainly by the imaginations of Dr. Edward Smith and Mr. Robert Heinlein. However, Bowling Green, KY remained the approximate midpoint of my trips home, and one of my college friends turned his hand briefly (and ultimately unsuccessfully, alas) to a book store and comic shop that became my frequent hangout when visiting home. During one of those visits, I ran across a book with a particularly memorable cover—a well dressed gorilla, standing at a podium, holding the gavel at a meeting of persons mostly otherwise human. Something about the book and the cover blurb attracted me, and before long I found that the gorilla was named Olongo Featherstone-Haugh, and that he was the vice-president of a libertarian utopia called the North American Confederacy, just on the other side of The Probability Broach.

In the past week, since learning of Neil's passing, I have been rereading The Probability Broach as well as either reading or preparing to read/reread some of Neil's other writings and inspiration. In reflection, over the past 40 years, TPB has aged better than either Neil or I have accomplished. In exposition, the description of Win Bear's dystopian US and Denver is the perfect description of the consequences of the so-called Green New Deal, written long before the deservedly-maligned Alexandria Octavio-Cortez was even born. It is the perfect cautionary tale of the consequences of eco-fascism, as much as John Ringo's 2008 The Last Centurion is of our current (since January 20 of this year) feckless foreign policy. Further, it extols the virtues of liberty in a far more readable, and believable, manner that Neil's undoubtedly more academic source material. And, most of all, it provides the most memorable justification for the right to keep and bear arms ever put to paper. While this permeates the novel, Clarissa's exhortation of Win after he threatens their Federalist attacker is the summation of everything right about the right to self defense, and most of the things wrong with the people who attempt to curtail private ownership of weapons.

All of that said, my intellectual pot was rather slow to simmer amid the rigors of my academic work, my introduction to to the workplace, and my fourteen-year marriage. I read the remaining "Gallatinverse" novels as they came out, and others of Neil's works when I became aware of them. I will say that I never became a committed anarcho-capitalist; but I am a firm believer in the Constitution and the Bill of Rights, and a firm opponent of tyranny and slavery. And for what its worth, one day I spontaneously decided to prepare the inaugural Wikipedia page for TPB. During this time, I found Neil's Webley page and read some of his essays, including the immortal "Why did it have to be guns?"

At some point thereafter, probably while going through Google Books during the period I was aggressively pursuing my family history, I ran across a compilation of letters by Albert Gallatin, and using the email address openly available on the web site, brought it to Neil's attention. His gracious reply initiated our correspondence and introduced me to the Libertarian Enterprise, and I have been a regular reader and occasional contributor—and rather frequent correspondent of Neil—ever since. 

I can't say that I agree with everything Neil said, but as Sarah Hoyt commented recently, I can't always even agree with myself. Our agreements were always fundamental, our disagreements cordial, and our friendship as close as one can find when one relates primarily by correspondence. I have appreciated getting to know one of my life-long heroes and life advisors, and I believe he gained something from our correspondence as well. So when I saw Cathy's email last Sunday, amid the sinking feeling that it could only mean one thing, my second thought was, "why didn't I think to share phone numbers so we could have at least spoken, while there was still time." Or, as the song goes, "in the Living Years." I can only answer, consideration for the time of someone I have respected for four decades, though in retrospect the other consideration would have been much greater.

My condolences to Cathy and Rylla, to all of Neil's circle of family, friends, acquaintances, close professional peers, and correspondents. Prayers for the repose of Neil's soul, whether he wishes them or not, and for those named above. And prayers for us all, as we face the dual threats of AOC's economic illiteracy and our feckless foreign policy, and strive to preserve the Constitution of the United States and its centerpiece, Neil's beloved Bill of Rights, in the face of an uncertain future opposing the "powers and principalities" arrayed against freedom lovers everywhere.