Attribute to L. Neil Smith’s The Libertarian Enterprise

I first found out about L. Neil Smith in the mid-1980s.  I had picked up one of his books, The Gallatin Divergence, up at my local Waldenbooks, more or less at random.  When one of my friends (now, alas, sadly deceased) saw what I was reading, he told me that the book was part of a series, and that it’d make more sense if I read the whole series from the beginning.  He loaned me all the North American Confederacy books in order, handing me the next one on the list when I was done with the last one.

I first made actual contact with Neil through a fan letter.  I may still have his answer somewhere in my files, although I’ve changed addresses several times since then.  In his letter, he acknowledged some points I’d made about The Probability Broach, and praised the depth of my historical knowledge.

Once the Internet was available, I found out Neil’s e-ddress, and we were soon exchanging e-mails on a semi-regular basis.  I was a reader of The Libertarian Enterprise from the beginning, and contributed my first article, a speculation about the future of Hong Kong under Chinese Communist rule to it, around 1997 or so. [ “Swallowing the Poison Pill” in issue Number 23, March 1, 1997—Editor ]

Meanwhile, whenever Neil had a new novel out, I’d obtain it as soon as I could, and devour it as rapidly as possible.  One of his novels, The Crystal Empire, I bought when I was in London with my father and brother, while going through the riches to be found at the Forbidden Planet bookstore.

I didn’t meet Neil in person until I began going out to California for Christmas with my brother and his new family.   At that time, I drove out and back, and since my route took me close to Fort Collins, we arranged for me to stop by on my way back home.  This would be around the late 1990s or so.

I was very pleased to meet Neil at last, and from what I could tell, he liked me just fine.  I was very impressed with his wall-full of SF books, all arranged by author.  I have a huge collection myself, but any arrangement I have is haphazard and makes sense only to me.  We talked for hours on all sorts of subjects, and I got to meet his mother.  When I told him, wide-eyed, about seeing a couple of bears playing with each other on the banks of the Colorado River on my way out to California, he just grinned and said “Welcome to the West, Eric.” 

After that, when I was coming through Colorado, I’d contact Neil and if he was amenable to a visit, I’d stop by his house to catch up on what he was doing.  This always turned into a wide-ranging conversation touching on everything from historical arcana to musical tastes.  He was quite impressed with my singing voice, and acknowledged that my alma stepmater, St. Olaf, was one of the best music schools around. 

Full disclosure: we didn’t agree on everything.  Politically, we were about 95% in agreement, though.  About the only areas where I know that we differed politically were the Civil War and pragmatism vs. idealism.  While I admired his devotion to the ideal, I’ve always believed that “politics is the art of the possible,” and that the only way to get to “Libertopia” is one step at a time, rather like rehabilitating someone who’s been bedridden for a long time.  He liked that metaphor.  We also disagreed about the best place to live.  He loved Colorado, while I, who am good and sick of snow and ice, would much prefer to live somewhere in the deep Southwestern desert.

One thing I liked about Neil was that he never insisted on slavish agreement on every point.  He relished a good argument, particularly with someone who knew his facts and held his ground politely but firmly.  I once told him that I wanted to make a sweatshirt for myself, to wear at cons, that said “Heinlein said it, I believe it, and that settles it.”  He laughed and laughed, and told me that if Heinlein had been alive and seen me wearing any such thing, the chewing-out I would receive would have been memorable.   If I’d mindlessly parroted every point he’d ever made, I don’t think he’d have much liked it, or much respected me.  Free men do not relish sycophancy.

The last time I saw him in person was after his stroke.  I was, I admit, slightly shocked at the change in his appearance, but his mind, from what I could tell, was as sharp as ever and he was glad to see me.  When we parted, I felt a great sadness, since I sensed that we’d never see each other on earth again.   Given the disparity in our ages, this was inevitable, but even so, his loss leaves a hole in my life.  He was my long-distance mentor and a friend I could bounce any idea off, knowing that his thoughts on it would be worth having.

At least we have his writings.  I’m hoping to see Only The Young Die Good out soon, and a complete uncut edition of his essays would also be very welcome.