I have one outstanding memory of Abbie Hoffman. I was downtown with a friend during the weekday afternoon rush hour near the courthouse. The Conspiracy Trial must have concluded for the day as Abbie and Jerry Rubin, both colorfully dressed, appeared at the corner across the street. Cars were piled up, bumper to bumper, through the intersection. Rather than wait for the light to change, the crosswalk to clear, the two of them clambered over the cars in all four lanes. Still in high school, I was impressed.
Other than that, I saw Hoffman more as a comedian than as a political figure. Three of us had exchanged and read his first book with high hilarity as teens, but otherwise, until the Conspiracy Trial, I didn't take him seriously and even then it was the government that had given him the spotlight. Personally, I prefered the others, two of whom I got to know pretty well, to Abbie and Jerry, both of whom were, while sometimes funny, embarrassing.
This biography, written by one who had known him, displays the contradictions of Hoffman's life: Free! and capitalist drug dealer, manic and depressive, street person and bourgeois, feminist and abuser, etc.--the psychiatric diagnosis explaining, perhaps, a lot.