The Ludwig von Mises Institute presents The Libertarian Tradition, an audio series with Jeff Rigenbach.
Carl Hess was born Carl Hess III in Washington D.C. 87 years ago this month, on May 25, 1923, to be exact.
And here on The Libertarian Tradition, we are nothing if not exact.
Hess was the son of Carl Hess, Jr., a wealthy Filipino tennis champion of mixed Spanish and German ancestry who had come through Washington, D.C. on a tour and stopped in at a local photographer's shop to have his portrait made.
At the shop he met a beautiful young woman named Thelma, the 22-year-old photographer's assistant. He asked her out to dinner that very evening.
The following day, he asked her to marry him. She agreed to his proposal. They set up housekeeping
there in Washington, and a year later, in 1923, their son, Carl III, was born.
Carl Jr., the young father, decided at this point to take his wife and newborn son back
to his parents' palatial home in Manila. Unfortunately, once there, he fell back into
to his old habits and ways.
He was apparently a compulsive philanderer.
He couldn't help falling into bed with every attractive female who crossed his path.
He would eventually acknowledge 16 out of wedlock children.
There may have been others as well.
And he died during World War II, before ever celebrating his 50th birthday, when his American
son was only 21 years old.
That American son, Carl III, had grown up back in Washington, effectively fatherless.
For all practical purposes, he wrote in 1975, I had only a mother.
After a bit more than three years in the Philippines, Thelma Hess had left her wealthy husband and
taken their son with her back to D.C., where she moved in with her brother and found a
job running the switchboard in an expensive high-rise apartment building.
So Carl Third grew up in the nation's capital in the 30s, just as Gore Vidal did.
But while Vidal was getting his education in expensive private schools, Carl Third was
getting his mostly in public libraries.
His mother Thelma was a high school dropout herself, not an uncommon thing for someone
born around 1900.
But her experience with schools had not been much to her liking, and she wasn't necessarily
She determined that her son would graduate from high school either.
That was up to him, she thought.
But she was determined that he would have a decent education, however he obtained it.
She taught him to read, and then as he got older she started refusing to answer his questions
whenever they were questions she believed he could find out the answers to for himself.
She took him to the public library, taught him how to use it.
She took him to the city and county and state and federal offices where public records were
stored and showed him how to access those records.
She taught him how to use dictionaries and other reference books.
She offered to write him a note excusing his absence from school any days he wanted to
skip school as long as he'd spend those days at home or in the public library reading,
and then discuss what he'd read with her afterwards.
By the time Carl III was 15 in 1938, he figured he'd had enough of school.
He walked away from it and went out looking for a job.
He was tall and well-spoken.
His voice had changed early.
He could pass for older than he really was.
But as it turned out, he didn't have to look very far to find employment.
Walter Compton, a fast-rising news anchor and commentator on the mutual broadcasting
System, who was stationed, so to speak, at Mutual's Washington affiliate, WOL Radio,
was a tenant in the building where Thelma ran the switchboard. He had taken a liking
to young Carl Third and had offered him a job. At first Carl Third was just a gopher
at WOL. Then he was assigned to research quiz show questions. Then he was assigned to write
Newscasts. His rise was rapid, and there was no TV in 1938, remember, at least outside
of laboratories, so radio was the main mass medium of the day. The job at WOL and Mutual
led to a job at the Washington Star, which led to a job at the Alexandria Gazette across
the river in Virginia. That led to a job at the Washington Times-Herald, which led to
to a job at the Washington News.
By the time Carl Third turned 22 in 1945, he was well established in Washington journalism.
He had also changed his name, if only slightly.
His father, Carl Hess, Jr., whom he could barely remember and hadn't seen in years,
had spelled his name Carl with a C. But now Carl Third found that, as he put it more than
C. As in Carl seemed too soft and curled up, K. As in Carl seemed, because of those uncompromised
straight lines, much stronger and more in keeping with my own self-image of independence
and free-thinking.
So he changed the spelling of his first name from C-A-R-L to K-A-R-L, and dropped the third
and became just plain Carl Hess.
Meanwhile, he was freelancing as a ghostwriter, writing speeches for politicians and writing
books for a roster of clients that included politicians and mobsters, or do I repeat myself,
as well as clergymen and even fellow journalists.
Within a couple of years, the speeches he wrote for Republican politicians brought him
to the attention of the Republican National Committee.
As Hess told the story in his autobiography, by the time of Governor Thomas E. Dewey's
second run for the presidency, I was asked by Jim Selvidge of the then-famed Selvidge
and Lee Public Relations Agency to write some speech material for the candidate.
I accepted the offer, went to work, the agency and the Republican National Committee liked
what I wrote, and asked for more.
New York Governor Thomas E. Dewey's second run for the presidency took place.
He was running against Democrat Harry Truman in 1948, when Carl Hess was 25 years old.
After the campaign, Hess stayed on for a couple of years, writing speeches, articles, whatever
might be needed for the Republican National Committee.
Then he learned that, as he put it in his autobiography, one official of the Republican
The National Committee, Robert Humphries, had close friendships with people at Newsweek
magazine, where he had been national affairs editor, and Newsweek needed a new press editor.
It took just one phone call to get me an appointment with the features editor, Frank Callan-Norris.
It took about a fifteen minute interview, and lo, I was hired.
Hess stayed at Newsweek for the next four years.
Then he worked briefly with William F. Buckley Jr. in the mid-1950s, getting a new conservative
magazine called National Review off the drawing board and ready for launch.
He spent a few years freelancing for magazines and for United Features Syndicate, which provided
columns and articles to hundreds of newspapers coast to coast.
He moved to Ohio, where for a year he edited a fishing magazine.
For a couple of years, still in the Midwest, he was Vice President of Public Relations at
Champion Paper Company.
And all along, during the 1950s, whether he was in New York or Washington or out on one
of the Great Lakes, he was moonlighting, you might say, as a ghostwriter for politicians.
Mostly speeches, but also articles in local and national publications.
It was no surprise, really, when the Republican National Committee contacted him and asked
asked him to serve as chief writer for the 1960 GOP presidential campaign platform.
He did, moving his family back to Washington in the process.
After that, he found a gig as executive editor of a short-lived weekly tabloid called The
Washington World.
From there, he jumped to a two-year stint as director of special projects at the conservative
of American Enterprise Institute, where he continued his ghost writing on an even grander
scale and began working with a U.S. Senator from Arizona named Barry Goldwater.
At this point, it would be wise to pause in our narrative and ask ourselves, why was Carl
Hess working for the Republican National Committee?
Why was he writing speeches for conservative politicians and drawing paychecks from the
The biggest and most influential, at that time, of the conservative think tanks.
Part of the answer seems to have been that his mother Thelma was a lifelong Republican,
and Hess tended, especially in his younger years, to assume that this meant the GOP stood
for the values he knew his mother espoused.
Values like individualism, self-reliance, personal responsibility.
In 1970 Hess told James Boyd of the New York Times that the Depression-era Republican Party
presented itself as the party that was against centralized power, against militarism and
foreign meddling, against communism.
It was for local control, individual liberty, and the pioneer spirit.
That was my ticket.
In his 1975 book Dear America, looking back on a quarter century of writing in support
of Republican Candidates and Issues, Hess recalled that it had seemed to him at the
time, back in the depression years when he had first become involved in GOP politics,
that, and these are his words, Republican policy opposed the extension of government
power.
Nearly 20 years later in his autobiography, Hess looked back on the same period in his
in his life, and recalled that at that time, and again in his words, the Republicans were
radical then. They represented the only strong anti-imperialist political position. Anti-imperialist?
Republicans? Uh-huh. But Republicans were not smart enough to call it that. They let
it be labeled isolationism, as though they wanted the United States to sneak off the
The World Stage, Slam the Doors and Bolt the Windows, the underlying Republican argument that we should trade with everyone but not interfere with or intervene in their internal politics, was lost behind that unattractive label.
In effect, then, Hess was deceived by the libertarian rhetoric the GOP and its conservative sympathizers began using in the early 1930s,
in a frantic attempt to distinguish themselves from the New Deal Democrats who were pursuing policies long associated with the Republican Party and calling them liberal.
It is doubtful, of course, that any Republican politician other than Ron Paul has ever taken
that libertarian rhetoric seriously, and damn few conservative intellectuals have ever taken
it seriously enough to defend it consistently, especially when it's politically inconvenient
to do so.
The Republican Party's libertarian rhetoric has never been more than window dressing designed
to conceal the actual nature of Republican policies and pass them off as something they
or not. Some may wonder why it took Hess 20 years to notice all this, why it took a man
this obviously intelligent so long to grasp that the Republicans were pretty much the
same as the New Deal Democrats he opposed, but with window dressing. My counsel is that
we should practice extreme tolerance with regard to questions like this one. We all
All have our strengths and weaknesses.
Each of us has an individual way of learning.
All of us grasp some truths very quickly.
Other truths may take longer to, as they say, sink in.
What one person learns quickly, another person equally intelligent, may take much longer,
and many more repetitions to learn.
What is more important is what an individual does with what he has learned once she has
learned it.
What matters is not how fast the awakening, the epiphany, comes, but what happens once
it comes.
For Carl Hess, the awakening began in the early 1960s, when he was 40 years old, early
in his two-year assignment at the American Enterprise Institute, for it was then that
he began reading Ayn Rand.
Before long he was taking courses at NBI, the Nathaniel Brandon Institute in New York.
For much longer, the Randian influence was showing up unmistakably in the 1964 presidential
campaign platform of the GOP, written by Hess and the speeches delivered by the party's
presidential nominee for that year, U.S. Senator Barry Goldwater of Arizona, for whose campaign
Hess served as chief speechwriter.
Meanwhile, he had met Murray Rothbard, and it wasn't long before he had put objectivist
and the First Minarchism behind him and moved on to Rothbardian anarchism.
Under Rothbard's influence he began reading classic anarchist writers.
When I read Emma Goldman, he told the interviewer for the 1983 documentary Anarchism in America,
it was as though everything I had hoped that the Republican Party would stand for
suddenly came out crystallized in this magnificently clear statement.
And another interesting thing about reading Emma Goldman is that you immediately see that, consciously or not, she's the source of the best in Ayn Rand.
She has the essential points that the Ayn Rand philosophy makes, but without any of this sort of crazy solipsism that Rand is so fond of, the notion that people accomplish everything all in isolation.
Education.
Emma Goldman understands that there's a social element to even science, but she also writes
that all history is the struggle of the individual against the institutions, which of course
is what I'd always thought Republicans were saying.
After the Goldwater campaign, Carl Hess quit the Republican Party.
He continued to ghost-write a nationally syndicated newspaper column for Barry Goldwater for a
while, and he wrote a book about the campaign published in 1967 under the title In a Cause
That Will Triumph.
He even did a little speech writing for the senator during his 1968 campaign to regain
the senate seat he had given up four years earlier in order to run for president.
Under Rothbard's influence Hess wrote an essay on libertarianism called The Death of Politics
which appeared in Playboy in March 1969 and is now widely regarded and quite properly as
one of the founding documents of the contemporary libertarian movement.
Under Rothbard's influence Hess attended the 1969 National Convention of the conservative
youth group Young Americans for Freedom, YAF, in St. Louis, where he helped Rothbard try
to steer the libertarian students who walked out of the convention en masse into their
left-leaning anarchist-friendly radical libertarian alliance instead of the more Randian and monarchist
society for individual liberty.
Hess served as Washington editor of Rothbard's newsletter, The Libertarian Forum, from 1969
to 1971.
He spoke at radical Libertarian Alliance conferences in both New York and Los Angeles.
But before long, before 1972 had dawned, his steady drift leftward had brought him to the
parting of the ways with Rothbard.
The Carl Hess of the early 1970s was most often found attired in fatigues, a field jacket
and combat boots.
He rode a motorcycle.
He gave up his affiliation with the right-wing American Enterprise Institute for an affiliation
with the left-wing Institute for Policy Studies.
He joined SDS.
He learned welding, worked professionally as a welder and joined the Wobblies, the IWW,
the Industrial Workers of the World.
He hung out with the Black Panthers.
He started talking about community and about the concerns of workers and about the ways
in which giant corporations and the corporate lifestyle and the corporate mindset menace
and victimize ordinary hard-working Americans.
His 1975 book Dear America is full of this sort of vaguely New Left-ish stuff intermixed
with passages of pure Rothbardian libertarianism.
Hess's decade or so on the left had a profound influence on the remainder of his life, how
he lived, how he thought.
But in the end, as it turned out, the left was just one more way station on his road
back to the ideological home he had found in the 60s and then had drifted away from,
for what had seemed like good reasons at the time, but had turned out to be illusory, insubstantial.
By the mid-80s he was, as Lenin and McCartney might say, back to where he once belonged.
Hess began contributing to movement magazines like Bill Bradford's Liberty.
He joined the Libertarian Party and spent three years as editor of the party's newspaper,
the LP News.
When he started writing his autobiography in the late 80s and early 90s, he chose to
portray himself in pretty much the way I have done in this podcast, as a lifelong libertarian
who had, somewhat ironically, spent most of his life wandering around searching for his
With his true political identity and his true ideological home, it's good to know that he finally found both of them.
This is Jeff Rigenbach.