I am of the generation that read The Communist Manifesto before we read the Constitution. Well, not exactly. I did the read the U.S. Constitution and The Federalist Papers, mostly in student-outline versions, so I could get a decent grade in high-school American history and get into a good college. But I really read The Communist Manifesto. It was my samizdat, my underground literature. I can still recall the experience now, well over 50 years later—the intense, almost breathless feeling as I pored over the dog-eared, slim, cheap blue paperback with the prematurely yellowing pages until the small hours of morning.