(November 30, 1936 – April 12, 1989)

I just finished painting Abbie Hoffman’s portrait as I am writing this. I was surprised by the conversation I had with him during the process. I had four encounters with him in real life. The first was in April 1970 on the University of Minnesota, Minneapolis campus. It was either a moratorium against the war in Vietnam or it was Earth Week. I was there with nine other students from my enriched geometry class to be part of a jury for seniors in the Law School. Abbie was on the steps of a building across the square hollering through a megaphone.

The last time I saw him, he was going by the name Barry Freed. It was 1982 or ‘83. (This is where I go on a rabbit trail to explain how I keep track of things like that.) I was hitchhiking, because we did not have a car. Our 1959 Pontiac threw a rod going up the hill on Rte. 562 on the way to see our midwife.

The encounters I had with Abbie Hoffman were random and infrequent, but he somehow left his mark on my soul. Maybe we connected because we shared mental illnesses: severe depressive disorder and bipolar. Most days he knew how to make the best of it. He brought humor to the revolution.

The day he took his own life, I knew something was wrong with him. I felt an urge to go to New Hope and find him. I had no idea where in New Hope he lived. I just knew something was terribly wrong. I also knew there was nothing I could do to help. It was April 12, 1989. He had taken 150 phenobarbital, “enough to kill 15 men” according to Rolling Stone.

I don’t know how or why I sometimes know this stuff. I just do. Years ago, I told my therapist I woke up at 3 am crying for Pretoria, South Africa. I turned on my computer and found out there was a major disaster there. It was her last week before retiring. She said that I was different from all her other clients. So many were upset that their canned goods weren’t in alphabetical order, but I was depressed over real problems, so don’t I feel better now?

I told her, No, and that I was glad she was retiring. I can be harsh. At least it takes out the guess work of where you stand with me.

Abbie was a leader in the peace movement against the war in Vietnam, and an environmental activist against nuclear power and nuclear weapons. He did this work with style and humor. He wrote a book entitled “Steal This Book.” It did not make him or his publisher much money. Too many readers took the title seriously. He co-founded the Youth International Party (“Yippies”) and was a member of the Chicago Seven. He was also a leading proponent of the Flower Power movement.

The painting is Black & White acrylic on 20″ x 20″ stretched canvas. The edges are painted gray, titled and signed in white.

Price: $200 plus postage

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