Do you remember Tom Hayden? He was a member of the Chicago Seven, the group of left wing radical misfits who led the riots at the 1968 Democratic Convention. He once said, “Communism is one of the options that can improve people’s lives.” Absolutely, Tom. All except for the 100 million people it killed in the 20th century.
In an ill omen for the state of California, Hayden married actress Jane Fonda to whom he eagerly introduced the Communist concept of sharing the wealth. This, of course, made perfect sense to him because the only wealth available to be shared was hers. Oh, to have been a fly on the wall during that socialist sales pitch. But let’s give credit where credit is due. Tommy Boy must have been one hell of a huckster because in the end he shared his vision with her and she returned the favor by sharing her wealth with him and they both considered it a fair exchange. She financed his election to the State Assembly and later the State Senate. All hail Communism.
He came from nothing. He was short, ugly inside and out, and yet he ended up a successful politician married to a beautiful, fabulously wealthy movie star. This pockmarked Marxist, this bullshitting Bolshevik, this troglodyte Trotskyite, this starstruck Stalinist, this money hungry Maoist, refused to sign a pre-nup agreement when he married Fonda and ended up with a $30 million divorce settlement when they split up.
This is making me reassess my opposition to communism. Clearly, some communists do very well for themselves.
The divorce settlement alone should have convinced him that anything is truly possible in America but, no, despite the huge chasm between where he started and where he ended up, Hayden thought the whole system was corrupt and should be overthrown, and of course, that he should be in charge after the revolution.
One hot summer night back in the early 90s, I attended a Dodgers game in Los Angeles. I lived 60 miles south of Dodger Stadium, and the home team was winning handily, so I left the game in the 8th inning in order to beat the crowd onto the freeway. As I reached the top row of seats and turned toward the parking lot, I looked up and suddenly realized that I was walking alongside the Castro Casanova himself, Mr Tom Hayden.
I don’t know what came over me, but the opportunity to tweak this twit could not be passed up.
”Tom,” I cried out cheerily. “Long time, no see.” I said this despite the fact that we had, in fact, never met and as far as I know had never before been within ten miles of each other.
This pompous little prick is a sleazy politician, I reasoned. He will assume I am someone he must have met, possibly even a wealthy campaign contributor, and will, therefore, be incapable of admitting that he doesn’t know who I am. He will fake it, I thought, and I will fake it right back just to see how he reacts.
”Hey,” he said a bit hesitantly. “How you doin’?”
”I’m great. Just great. What’s new with you?”
“Uhhhhh, not much,” he stammered while frantically searching through is mental data bank in hope of remembering who I was. “Same ol’, same ol’.”
”You know, last time was so much fun,” I said as we approached the stadium exit. I paused at the opened turnstile and he had no choice but to pause with me. “We gotta get together again,”
”Yeah. Yeah. We do.”
”How’s Jane? I haven’t seen her in a while, either.”
“Oh, she’s doing really well. Keeping busy.”
“Well,” I concluded, “make sure you tell her I said hi.” Then I turned and headed toward my car out in the vast Dodger Stadium parking lot, leaving Hayden standing at the exit.
”Yeah, I’ll do that,” he vamped as I disappeared into the darkness. “Good to see you again.”
Wish I could have heard the conversation when Hayden got home. “Hey, Jane, I ran into a guy at the game tonight and I just can’t place him. Tall, skinny guy with a reddish beard. Kinda looked like your brother. Apparently we’ve socialized with him. Does that ring any bells?”