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This is the third chapter of my saga and I still haven’t left the 1970s. That was when a plethora (not a word I use often) of world events, societal upheavals, and personal experiences coalesced into a single irresistible force, urging me inexorably leftward. (Note: most of the sentences that follow will be simpler and far less pretentious. )

The social revolution of the 60s, the Vietnam War protests, and the Watergate scandal made challenging authority a generational imperative. A lonely and isolated rural childhood aligned my views and passions with those of the nascent environmental movement. (Al Gore wasn’t around then to claim authorship or we’d have had a lot more press.)

The final catalyzing event would close the door to conservatism behind me forever. My 10th Grade Social Studies teacher, whom I shall refer to only as Mr. G, introduced me, quite unwittingly, to the magic of Marxism.

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In our previous episode, our impressionable young protagonist was a high school student in the early seventies. This was not only a time of great social and political upheaval, it was also a time during which the effects of that turmoil split American society, more starkly than at any time since the Civil War, into liberal and conservative camps.

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