>New York Times Book Review
>July 9, 2000
>
>     The Spiritual Wobbly
>     ______________________________________________________________
>
>     The sociologist C. Wright Mills did not fit in with either Marxists
>     or liberals.
>
>By JOHN B. JUDIS
>
>C. WRIGHT MILLS: Letters and Autobiographical Writings.
>Edited by Kathryn Mills with Pamela Mills. Introduction by Dan Wakefield.
>Illustrated. 378 pp. Berkeley: University of California Press. $34.95.
>
>     The anxious, conformist 1950's, it now appears, were a high-water
>     mark in American social criticism -- from David Riesman, William F.
>     Buckley Jr. and Dwight Macdonald to James Baldwin, Paul Goodman
>     and, of course, C. Wright Mills. Mills, a hulking Texan who taught
>     undergraduate sociology at Columbia University, wrote at least two
>     books, ''White Collar'' and ''The Power Elite,'' that are still
>     well worth reading. He was, by his own description, one of those
>     ''outlanders who came late in life to big cities and 'discover
>     them.' ''His best books are about the transition from an older
>     Jeffersonian government of independent entrepreneurs and patchwork
>     federalism to a new America dominated by giant corporations and a
>     centralized government and staffed by a new middle class of
>     property-less white-collar workers.
>
>     Mills rode to Morningside Heights on a BMW motorcycle from a house
>     that he had built himself in the country. He wrote prolifically,
>     was married four times (twice to the same woman), quarreled noisily
>     and continually with his colleagues and died in 1962 at 45 of a
>     heart attack. He is a good subject for a biography, but has been
>     favored by only one extended work, ''C. Wright Mills: An American
>     Utopian,'' by Irving Louis Horowitz, which is primarily devoted to
>     the explication of his work. Now Mills's daughters, Kathryn Mills
>     and Pamela Mills, have published a selection of his letters and
>     unpublished writings, including an autobiographical series of
>     letters to Tovarich, an imaginary Russian friend. These letters
>     don't stand on their own as literature or as social analysis, but
>     they reveal parts of the man that are not readily apparent from
>     reading his books.
>
>     In a hostile review of ''The Sociological Imagination,'' the
>     sociologist Edward Shils described Mills as a ''burly cowpuncher on
>     the long, slow ride from the Panhandle of Texas to Columbia
>     University.'' But Mills had a far more ironic view of his
>     upbringing. He grew up in Waco (his father sold insurance on the
>     road), and he graduated from the University of Texas, after one
>     miserable year at Texas A & M. ''I did not grow up with cowboys on
>     a ranch. For this I shall always be grateful,'' he tells Tovarich.
>     He mocks the prevailing sentiment about the Texas cowboy: ''My God,
>     what men they are. Or were. Or must have been. Or ought to have
>     been. There is no movie like a cowboy movie.''
>
>                                BOOK EXCERPT
>
>     "There is no movie like a cowboy movie. All the cowboys on the ranch
>       in Texas where I could have grown up looked just like Gary Cooper.
>   They were tall and slim, and they had that same steely eye, those long
>    arms, and of course the great guns hanging. Every one of them, at one
>      time or another, had taken the long walk in the dusty street before
>      the wooden fronts of the stores behind which merchants trembled and
>   villains lurked unseen but well located for obscene aggression. All my
>    cowboys had come through that, and now they were men, quiet, unafraid
>         men. Tested in that way, certain of themselves, they were each a
>                  compact being, just like the voice of Marshall Dillon."
>
>                          -- from the first chapter of 'C. Wright Mills'
>
>     Mills's Texas was not distinguished by its frontier past, but by
>     its provincial backwardness. ''I sometimes think that during the
>     30's I was living in the 20's, and that during the early 40's, I
>     was living in the 30's,'' Mills tells Tovarich. When he comes to
>     Columbia in 1946, he doesn't fit in either among professional
>     sociologists or among the City College Marxists. ''What this means
>     . . . is that I have been intellectually, politically, morally
>     alone. I have never known what others call 'fraternity' with any
>     group, however small, neither academic nor political,'' he writes
>     Tovarich. His isolation probably contributed to the novelty of his
>     work, allowing him to avoid academic sociology's ''statistical
>     stuff'' and ''heavy-duty theoretical'' nonsense as well as the New
>     York left's celebratory liberalism and anachronistic Marxism.
>
>     Mills's political outlook was a visceral anti-authoritarianism.
>     Even as a freshman at Texas A & M in 1935, he is complaining in a
>     letter to the school paper of the ''oppression and the suppression
>     of free thinking'' and of ''the feudal autocracy at college'' that
>     forces a rebel ''back into the folds of automats from which he
>     tried to escape.'' Two decades later, writing to Tovarich, Mills
>     calls himself a ''spiritual Wobbly'' who ''doesn't like bosses --
>     capitalistic or communistic -- they are all the same to him. He
>     wants to be, and he wants everyone else to be, his own boss at all
>     times under all conditions and for any purposes they may want to
>     follow up.''
>
>     This vision underlay Mills's separation of society into ''the
>     little man'' of ''White Collar'' and ''the high and the mighty'' of
>     ''The Power Elite.'' But it also contributed to his disastrously
>     simple-minded view of international relations. During World War II,
>     he regarded the Allied and Axis powers as bent equally upon
>     creating a new militarized corporate capitalism. Mills, who was
>     excused from service because of high blood pressure, expressed his
>     antipathy to America's role in the war tentatively in articles he
>     wrote for Partisan Review and The New Republic, but much more
>     clearly in his letters. ''It's a goddamned blood bath to no end
>     save misery and mutual death to all civilized values,'' he wrote
>     his parents in March 1945. During the cold war, Mills's
>     anti-authoritarianism led him to embrace an equally unfounded
>     equivalence between Eisenhower's ''Amerika'' -- Mills's spelling in
>     a September 1957 letter to Harvey Swados -- and Khrushchev's Soviet
>     Union and to romanticize the anti-American rebel Fidel Castro as a
>     spiritual Wobbly who was ''neither capitalist nor Communist.''
>
>     For most of his life, Mills was not a political activist, but a
>     writer and intellectual. During World War II, he most worried that
>     if called into the Army, he would ''lose touch with things
>     intellectual.'' Mills feels indignation, he writes his parents,
>     toward ''the sons of bitches who run American Big Business,'' but
>     he regards his own vocation as portraying vividly their and his
>     place in the American firmament. He describes ''White Collar'' to
>     his parents as ''my little work of art. . . . It has to be a thing
>     of craftsmanship and art as well as science.'' He labors over his
>     writing and worries that he is not up to the task. ''I'm a writer
>     without any of the cultural background and without much of the
>     verbal sensibilities of the 'born writer,' ''he tells Tovarich.
>     ''Accordingly I am someone who has worked for 20 years to try to
>     overcome any deficiencies in the practice of my craft, and yet
>     remain true to whatever I am and how I got that way and to the
>     condition of the world as I see it.''
>
>     Mills's view of his work as art and literature probably helped him
>     to attain a certain objectivity even in the midst of his
>     indignation. Only in the late 1950's, with the publication of ''The
>     Causes of World War Three'' and ''Listen, Yankee,'' in which he
>     writes with the voice of a Cuban revolutionary, does Mills begin to
>     see himself as a political activist whose words will lead directly
>     to deeds. When Mills describes ''Listen, Yankee'' to his former
>     student Walter Klink as ''a pivotal book for me, and not merely a
>     pamphlet,'' that really signals his undoing as a social theorist
>     and his emergence as an actor in the drama he is attempting to
>     depict. A year later, he is dead.
>
>     Mills's daughters have selected 150 letters from more than 600 that
>     are available. To protect the privacy of ''family and friends still
>     living,'' they have deleted parts of letters and entire letters
>     that touch upon Mills's personal life. That is understandable, but
>     it makes it harder to grasp the connection between Mills's life and
>     work. Mills hints darkly in one letter of ''monstrous tragedies''
>     in his life and writes in another of ''troubles I've usually
>     brought on myself,'' but we never learn what these are.
>
>     W hile the editors have published letters of questionable interest
>     -- for instance, a letter in which Mills details his travel
>     schedule to his publisher -- they have not published letters that
>     show Mills's legendary combativeness toward his colleagues and
>     erstwhile political allies. Mills himself refers in one letter to
>     the ''sociological brawl at Columbia,'' but we get to see very few
>     punches thrown. Such correspondence appears to exist -- Horowitz
>     quotes, for instance, from an exchange between Mills and Lionel
>     Trilling and also from Mills's correspondence with the editors who
>     published Shils's review of ''The Sociological Imagination'' -- but
>     these letters, and letters like them, are not included in the
>     current collection.
>
>     There may have been a good reason for excluding these sorts of
>     letters, but the effect of their omission is to produce what seems
>     like a sanitized version of the man. That's too bad, because C.
>     Wright Mills, like Paul Goodman, Dwight Macdonald and other social
>     critics of that era, was a kind of difficult genius whose vices
>     seem to have been integral to his virtues.
>     ______________________________________________________________
>
>     John B. Judis is a senior editor at The New Republic and the author
>     of ''The Paradox of American Democracy.''
>
>

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