At 17, on the Lower East Side of New York, I became Abbie Hoffman's protege in rebellion: he liked to call me "The Littlest Yippie." And one of the core-truths that Abbie embodied -- whether it was fist-fighting pro-war thugs in the streets of New York or marching through clouds of tear-gas at the Pentagon -- was to never look for mercy in any kind of fight.
One night when we were shooting a game of eight-ball in an old...
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