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Anatole Dolgoff. Left of the Left
Dedication
Introduction
1: Prologue: A Long Walk, 1944
2: Durruti and Me
3: Sam’s Personality – Early Life – Other Things
4: Sam Becomes a Socialist
5: Sam Is Bounced from the Socialist Party
6: An Interlude: I Take Sam to See Reds
7: Back to Road to Freedom
8: With the Wobblies – On the Bum – Chicago
9: The Clap Doctor from Chi
10: The Russian Anarchists – Maximoff
11: Maximoff Educates Sam
12: The Fate of The Guillotine
13: Sam Falls in Love
14: Mother – Childhood – Other Things
15: In the House of Father Abraham
16: Childhood Memories with Mother and Sam
17: The Thirties
18: Colonies
19: Sam and Emma
20: With Tresca and the Italians
21: Vanguard, etc
22: Serious Matters
23: Sam’s Views on the War
24: Spain
25: The Commies
26: Russell (part one)
27: Lincoln Brigades – Media
28: Spanish Epilogue
29: Family Stuff – Oscar – Red
30: Ben
31: Ben on Trial
32: Inside Golgotha
33: Ben As We Knew Him
34: Herbert Mahler, Cockroach Businessman
35: The Drinking Life
36: Chris Takes Me to the Fights
37: I Start to Grow Up
38: The Death of the MTW
39: Bill Roth, Monarch of the Living Room
40: “It Ain’t the Work, It’s the Labor Involved”
41: The Footloose Bohemian Girl
42: Tough Times in the Fifties
43: A Cynical Guy
44: The SIA Hall
45: The Libertarian League
46: Russell Blackwell (revisited)
47: Dick Ellington
48: David Van Ronk
49: The Libertarian League Forums
50: Views and Comments
51: Sam on Civil Rights
52: Martin Luther King and the Princess
53: New States
54: Israel
55: Cuba
56: Growing Up
57: The Student Sixties
58: Young Friends – A Nasty Fight
59: Bakunin
60: My Problem with Bakunin
61: Murray Bookchin
62: Paul
63: The Grandchildren
64: Good times
65: Citizen Sam
66: Diego camacho
67: Mother and Sam come home
68: Late Work
69: sam goes hollywood
70: Mother’s Last Days
71: Sam’s End
Photos
Chapter Notes
Praise for Anatole Dolgoff’s Left of the Left
Copyright
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Left of the Left
my memories of
.....
I had my game, too—checkers, with a short, wiry ex-prize fighter known, perhaps insensitively but nevertheless accurately, as Punch Drunk Morse. His mashed in face fascinated me: flattened nose, unnaturally thick brow, scar tissue, pinned back ears, tight curly hair. It was hard to tell how old he was. But he was obviously an adult and I was able to beat him every time! Probably that was the best Morse could do, although now that I am old it pleases me to think he let me win because he enjoyed seeing a small boy happy, for he was a kind and gentle man.
“You want to hit me? Here, hit me,” he says to the guy, sticking out his chin. The bar grows silent as a church.
.....
