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My mother, Norma Hyatt, was a frail woman of 20 years when I was born. When I think of her now, the blondie Hollywood actress Doris Day comes to mind, an image of a believer in serendipity, seeking the cushy life at no costs. Mother’s father had left her mother, Dee (Nana to me). My father’s father, Jay, had been forced off his small farmland by the exigencies of freedom, that is, the free market economy.Jay became one of the many subjects of the inherent principle of the large buying up, or stealing from, the small.Thereafter, my grandfather led an unsatisfied life as a worker in what few industrial jobs he could find in Ohio’s countryside.My father’s chubby mother, Eva Keck, led the life of a nervous hypochondriac housewife.
I don’t recall seeing my father much until I was eight.During the discussion period at King’s College a woman asked me why I became a revolutionary, what got me started? I usually begin answering as a questioner finishes her or his last syllable. She could not understand nor accept a destiny as a victim for something so absurd and misanthropic as racism.I was trapped in the color barrier too, despite the fact that I was born with the “dominating” color.(There are many sources for these figures of mass murder, not the least is the excellent UK website: This is what I thought as I tried to find words to explain why I became a revolutionary. CHAPTER TWO Early Years 1939-1956 What are the ingredients in the life of a human being, which make him a revolutionary? Unlike my mother, he had one sibling, a brother (Rex) five years older, under whose shadow he grew insecure. When I was born, my father was working as a furniture maker. His strong thin face and brown eyes were partially covered by dark-rimmed glasses.To answer that question one must look into one’s childhood environment. I was born in a small middle-American town, Fredericktown, Ohio, on the first of October, 1939. He became bald early, as did most men in his family.