Now that Kitzhaber is considering a run for Governor, I wonder if teh public remembers his promotion for an eco-terroism novel called The Monkey Wrench gang which goes out and destroys and sabotages forestry equipment.
“The one-time science nerd developed a uniform of tight-fitting blue jeans (he still wears 32W and 32L), cowboy boots and a rodeo-sized belt buckle. River rafting became his favorite sport, and his Chevy Blazer sported the bumper sticker “Hayduke Lives.” That was the main character from Edward Abbey’s book “The Monkey Wrench Gang,” which chronicled ecoterrorists who blew up a dam. Kitzhaber said he never endorsed Abbey’s politics, but the author’s plea to not let one’s soul be captured “by those desk-bound men with their hearts in a safe-deposit box” clearly appealed to the rebel in him.”
— Jeff Mapes, “Solitude, systems both suit Kitzhaber”,
The Sunday Oregonian, October 18, 1998
From the book:
Hayduke, rejoicing, scarfing up more beer, concluding his Flagstaff six-pack, wheels down to the river on the narrow road at a safe and sane 70 per, bellowing some incoherent song into the face of the wind. He was indeed a menace to other drivers but justified himself in this way: If you don’t drink, don’t drive. If you drink, drive like hell. Why? Because freedom, not safety, is the highest good. Because the public roads should be wide open to all””children on tricycles, little old ladies in Eisenhower Plymouths, homicidal lesbians driving forty-ton Mack tractor-trailers. Let us have no favorites, no licenses, no goddamn rules of the road. Let every freeway be a free for all.
–Ibid., p. 23.
“We need a guide,” the doctor said.
“I know the country,” Smith said.
“We need a professional killer.”
“That’s me,” Hayduke said. “Murder’s my specialty.”
“Every man has his weakness.” Pause. “Mine,” added Doc, “is Baskin-Robbins girls.”
–Ibid., p. 58.
“We gotta shoot back.”
“No bloodshed.” The doctor stood fast.
Again Hayduke was outvoted, again by a vote of three to one. So for the time being he kept his own weapons concealed, as best he could, and carried only the revolver hidden in the inner pocket of his pack.
–Ibid., p. 61.
It became a question of subtle, sophisticated harassment techniques versus blatant and outrageous industrial sabotage. Hayduke, as usual, favored the blatant, the outrageous. The others the other. Outvoted as usual, Hayduke fumed but consoled himself with the reflection that things would get thicker as operations proceeded. For every action a bigger reaction. From one damn thing to another worse.
–Ibid., p. 62.
They crawled all over a Caterpillar D-9A, world’s greatest bulldozer, the idol of all highwaymen. Put so much sand in the crankcase that Hayduke couldn’t get the dipstick reinserted all the way. He trimmed it short with the rod-and-bolt cutter. Made it fit. Sand in the oil intake. He climbed into the cab, tried to turn the fuel-tank cap. Wouldn’t turn. Taking hammer and chisel he broke it loose, unscrewed it, poured four quarts of good high-energy Karo into the diesel fuel. . . . They finished with the D-9A. The siphon hose and the matches remained inside Hayduke’s pack. For the time being. Having done all they could to sand, jam, gum, mutilate and humiliate the first bulldozer, they went on to the next . . . .
–Ibid., p. 73, 75.
“The war has begun,” says Hayduke.
–Ibid., p. 80.
Hayduke was tempted for a moment by the notion of walking down to the work site and asking for a job. If you were serious about this wooden-shoe business, he tells himself, you’d get a haircut, shave off the beard, take a shower, put on some clean work clothes and get a job, some kind of a job, any kind of a job, with the construction company itself. Then””bore from within, like the noble cutworm.
–Ibid., p. 86.
Paranoid as always, Hayduke preferred the discussion held well away from the public campground.
–Ibid., p. 92.
“George, we don’t know exactly what we’re doing. If constructive vandalism turns destructive, what then? Perhaps we’ll be doing more harm than good. There are some who say if you attack the system you only make it stronger.”
“Yeah””and if you don’t attack it, it strip-mines the mountains, dams all the rivers, paves over the desert and puts you in jail anyway.”
“You and me.”
“Not me. They’ll never put me in one of the their jails. I’m not the type, Doc. I’ll die first. And take about ten of them with me.”
The sensation of freedom was exhilarating, though tinged with a shade of loneliness, a touch of sorrow. The old dream of total independence, beholden to no man and no woman, floated above his days like smoke from a pipe dream, like a silver cloud with a dark lining. For even Hayduke sensed, when he faced the thing directly, that the total loner would go insane. Was insane. Somewhere in the depths of solitude, beyond wildness and freedom, lay the trap of madness.
–Ibid., p. 94.
“Goddamn Mormon, ” Hayduke muttered. “Why don’t you go back to B.Y.U. where you belong?”
–Ibid., p. 140.
“The loggers bid for the right to log an area, sure. [Hayduke said] The top bidder writes a check to the U.S. Treasury. The Forest Service takes the money, our money, and spends it building new logging roads like this one, all banked and graded for the loggers to run their timber hauling rigs on to see how many deer, tourists and chipmunks they can kill. A deer is ten points, chipmunk five, tourist one.”
Ibid., pp. 189-90.
“But America does need the lumber. People need some kind of shelter.”
“All right,” [Hayduke] said, “people need shelter.” He said it grudgingly. “Let them build their houses out of rock, for chrissake, or out of mud and sticks like the Papagos do. Out of bricks or cinder blocks. Out of packing crates and Karo cans like my friends in Dak Tho. Let them build houses that will last for a while, say for a hundred years, like my great-granpappy’s cabin back in Pennsylvania. Then we won’t have to strip the forests.”
“All you’re asking for is a counter-industrial revolution.”
“Right. That’s all.”
–Ibid., p. 190.
“Okay. Here’s one for you. A real conundrum. What is the difference between the Lone Ranger and God?”
Bonnie thought about it as they rattled through the woods. She rolled a little cigarette and thought and thought. At last she said, ” What a stupid conundrum. I give up.”
Hayduke said, “There really is a Lone Ranger.”
–Ibid., p. 204.
“Listen,” murmured George W. Hayduke. . . . “You know we don’t have to go on like we been. You know?”
She opened her heavy eyes. “Don’t have to what?”
“Don’t have to keep on risking our necks. They’re gonna catch us you know. They’ll kill me. They’ll have to.”
“What? Who? Who is?”
“If we keep on. We could go to Oregon. I heard there’s human beings there.”
–Ibid., p. 206.
Hayduke had only a vague notion of what ought to happen next. Should he begin shooting? Shoot to kill or shoot to maim? With that cannon he held in both hands now it would be hard to merely maim; any hit would remove something substantial.
–Ibid., p. 217.
Even a man who wants to be Governor can’t be that dumb.
–Ibid., p. 304.
–bumpersticker on John Kitzhaber’s car when he was a state legislator.