Randolph Bourne

by Ben Reiner

  In a small row house long since demolished, between 16 and 22 8th street, a small and misshapen person was born in 1880. Randolph Bourne body had been deformed by a "messy' birth, as it was called. Then it was further wrenched out of shape by spinal tuberculosis when he was only four years old. Bourne's growth was stunted, he was a hunchback, whose face was twisted. Randolph Bourne went on to push American Intellectuals into the truly deep waters that lay beyond easy platitudes and constant wishful thinking. He was one of the most important writers of the new 20th century.

  He graduated Columbia University in 1913. The next year saw him join the staff of The New Republic, which had just been founded as a journal dedicated to social introspection. Bourne wrote over 300 articles on various topics which gained him the respect of all radical Village intellectuals.

  His small twisted frame, draped in his customary black cloak was a welcome sight on Charles Street, where Bourne lived as an adult. In person, he sparked the minds of others, as he also did in his writing. He was forever introspective as he detailed in his noted essay, " A Philosophy of Handicap". Bourne's primary theme was the conflict between Individualism and Social Democracy. He vehemently opposed all restrictions on dissent, bringing him into sharp conflict with the rising pro-war hysteria that preceded America's entry into World War One. Bourne viewed Woodrow Wilson's neutrality as a sham, and that led him to quit the increasingly hawkish New Republic.

  Bourne's biting attacks on government repression began to appear in Seven Arts Magazine, giving birth to rumors that the publisher, Mrs. A.K. Raskine, was supporting a pro-German magazine. She actually withdrew her support, which closed the magazine down. After the war, as America attempted to sort out its values, Randolph Bourne was stricken with influenza during the worldwide epidemic that took some 600,000 lives in our nation during the 1918-1919 winter. He was cared for by friends at 18 West Eighth Street , near his birthplace, when he passed at the age of thrity-two on December 22, 1918. The Village, which was reeling from so many flu related deaths, went into mourning for this sparky man, so full of integrity. For this hunchback whose integrity dwarfed the giants of that time.