February 11 would have been the 96th birthday of Burt Blumert, one of my greatest friends and a great champion of Rothbardian libertarianism. (He actually died in 2009.) Some of my readers, especially the younger generation, might not recognize his name, because Burt was a quiet man who worked to do good behind the scenes. In this week’s column, I’m going to tell you about Burt—both what he did and what he was like as a person.
Burt is an example of what Mises and Rothbard hoped for, an entrepreneur dedicated to the intellectual cause of freedom and free enterprise. That cause started to become clear for Burt when he enlisted in the Air Force to avoid being drafted into Truman’s slave army during his war on North Korea. As a member of a socialist organization, Burt saw that a society organized in that fashion would be catastrophic for humanity. After the war and NYU, Burt began his private sector experience and learned that this sector is the one and only key to social progress. It was also in this period that Burt was exposed to the writings of Ayn Rand, Mises, and Rothbard. In fact, he knew Mises, and he was later Murray’s closest friend. After managing a chain of millinery shops in the South—he has loved the region ever since for its manners and traditions— Burt was transferred to California, and then entered the coin and precious metals business, eventually establishing the Camino Coin Company and running it for almost fifty years.
Burt always felt blessed to be dealing in collector coins, a hobby he had enjoyed his whole life. Camino, while always important, was central to monetary affairs in the 1960s and 1970s, decades of dramatic changes in the precious metals market. The US had abandoned the domestic gold standard and then the coinage of silver. Ever since FDR, it had been illegal for Americans to own gold. That finally changed, and people needed a reliable business to make that ownership real. Camino became the most respected name in the industry. Burt’s buy-sell spreads consistently beat the competition, his attention to the consumer was famous—his long-term customers became his friends—and he fought against unethical practices, as recognized by various industry groups. Burt was also a Silicon Valley pioneer: in 1970, he founded the first computerized price and news network that knit together dealers all over the country and made the coin market more efficient. Xerox recognized Burt’s entrepreneurial achievement when it bought the network. As a collector, Burt would use real examples of hard money and depreciated paper money for the most engaging lessons in monetary history and theory I’ve ever heard. He especially enjoyed teaching young people about inflation, and the direct connection between monetary deprecation and tyranny.
Among his tools were zero-filled Yugoslavian notes, and paper currency printed and used in Nazi concentration camps. Burt helped Murray Rothbard found the Center for Libertarian Studies in 1976, later becoming its president. In this role, he was publisher of the Journal of Libertarian Studies and the Austrian Economics Newsletter, and the benefactor—materially and in friendship—to many libertarian intellectuals. His offices were a kind of home base for thinkers in the movement. He also became the chairman of the Mises Institute, succeeding Margit von Mises, and then the publisher of the Rothbard- Report and its successor, LewRockwell.com, where his funny and profound essays first appeared. Burt was always charitable, far-seeing, and steadfast in his role as Misesian-Rothbardian entrepreneur. As a man, he was funny, charming, decent, and generous. As you will see if you read him, he was a talented satirist who could teach the truths of liberty and life while making you laugh out loud. Most of all, he showed how the Mises-Rothbard dream of drawing together commerce and ideas can be achieved.
I mentioned Burt’s sense of humor, and what better person to discuss this than Burt himself? To understand what he is saying, you need to know some background. Burt was a strong supporter of Pat Buchanan, and he was outraged by a campaign spearheaded by CIA agent William F. Buckley to smear Pat for opposing the invasion of Iraq by calling him an “anti-Semite.” Burt, who was Jewish himself, would have none of it. Now, here is what he says about humor: “Anna Marie Robertson, ‘Grandma’ Moses, lived 101 years and was recognized as one of America’s great Folk artists in the twentieth century. Her work continues to be exhibited in fine galleries throughout Europe and the US. Amazingly, she had never painted a stroke until her early 70s! Well, move over, Grandma. Here comes Blumert. In my first seventy years I had written letters, a handful of articles for trade publications, and my share of angry missives to the Editorial Page. I had composed subscription pleas for the old Rothbard-Rockwell Report (RRR) newsletter and proudly produced fund raisers for lewrockwell.com (LRC). All good stuff, I must admit, but not exactly creative writing. And then a fateful day. I was complaining bitterly to Lew Rockwell how shabbily the media was dealing with Pat Buchanan. ‘They’re playing the anti-Semitism card against poor Pat, and it makes me mad AS hell.’ Lew’s response was typically terse. ‘Write it up,’ he grumbled. On November 1st, 1999, my first article appeared on LRC, followed by more than a hundred others. I’ll not earn any literary awards, blue ribbons, or Pulitzer Prizes, but that doesn’t mean a twit. It’s the rush you experience when editor Rockwell advises that your submission meets his demanding standards, and that you’ve made the LRC page. Keep in mind that most LRC authors are amateurs who earn their livelihood in other venues. (I should add that Lew pays his writers nothing, zero, bupkis.) Sure, they glow when receiving friendly e-mails from appreciative readers, but winning approval from editor Rockwell is their true reward. ‘Gee, Blumert,’ a pal observed, ‘you see things through a warped lens.’ ‘Listen, Buster,’ I replied. ‘The only thing funny about you was when you came home from school to find that your parents had changed the lock on the front door.’ What is humor? Why do we laugh? Steve Allen, the late, great humorist, answers the question as follows; Humor is the social lubricant that helps us get over the bad spots’ Steve’s right. In most jokes the victim has been betrayed, robbed, maimed, or even killed. He is often stupid and always ridiculous. Just like the fellow who arrives home early one day to find his wife in bed with his best friend. Our fool runs to another room, returns with a gun and proceeds to point the pistol to his own head. Waves of laughter come from the bed. ‘What are you laughing about?,’ he shouts. ‘You’re next! Political humor takes a different twist. The satirist studies these ‘oft-dangerous politicians/bureaucrats, extends their cruel and calloused behavior to the absurd, and we laugh. If the satirist is too good at what he does, he may wind up with his head in a noose. The ‘loveable’ Transportation Security Administration (TSA) provides us with overwhelming evidence of such behavior every day at every airport, and we laugh through our tears. Here is a snippet of pure satire from my essay ‘Revisiting The Friendly Skies:’ Blumert is at the Security Check Point and the young TSA agent is about to use the electronic wand on him. ‘I hope you’re in good health,’ she said. ‘Earlier today I short circuited an old dude’s pacemaker.’ ‘Good Lord,’ I stammered. ‘What happened to him?’ ‘Well, after a few scary moments we finally revived him. It was nice that they gave him a free upgrade to first class.’ If you’re going to write political satire, you had better be funny. Not necessarily, ‘falling off your chair, gasping for air, funny,’ but the bulk of your readers better, at minimum, be breaking a smile or two. “Blumert, your last article was not funny. In fact, it was over the line and tasteless,” wrote the e-mailer. His outrage was directed at my article, ‘Blumert Almost Qualifies As A Suicide Bomber.’ I knew I was treading on hazardous ice with this piece. After all, nothing is conceptually more horrible than the image of innocent people being blown to bits. I wrestled with the dilemma of submitting, or not and decided, Yes, that there was no better way to express my abhorrence of this dastardly act. Dear reader, if you are troubled by anything in this volume, that’s okay. I can handle it. But, if you don’t laugh out loud at Bagels, Barry Bonds, and Rotten Politicians least ten times, I will be devastated. You wouldn’t disappoint me, would you?”
Let’s do everything we can to carry on the fight for Rothbardian liberty. That’s what Burt would want.
