[NOTE: I hit “publish” too late on January 7th, 2020, apparently, so this post is unfortunately date-stamped January 8th. Murray Rothbard passed away on January 7, 1995, 25 years ago “yesterday.”—Anthony Flood]
Twenty-five years ago the world lost Murray Newton Rothbard; someday, maybe, it will find him. He died pre-Y2K, pre-9/11, heck, even pre-Oklahoma City Bombing. What he would have thought about subsequent events is the subject of educated conjecture, but no more.
I’m embarrassed that this anniversary just struck me. The best I can do last-minute is offer my post from last May, “Murray Newton Rothbard: Notes toward a Biography” and “Murray Rothbard: on my late friend’s lamentable error,” originally published a year ago today (now Appendix A of Christ, Capital & Liberty: A Polemic):
“I was sure I was going to predecease him.”
That’s how my friend Father James A. Sadowsky (1923-2012) confirmed the news of the passing of Murray Newton Rothbard (1926–1995) two dozen years ago today [written in 2019].
It was after Sunday Mass at St. Agnes. Finishing breakfast with friends in a 42nd Street coffee shop, I excused myself to call (using a 20th-century pay phone) my wife who, enduring a cold, couldn’t join me in Manhattan that wintry day.
“Father Sadowsky called,” she said. “Murray Rothbard died yesterday.”
It’s now been almost 36 years [now 37] since the first chat that began my friendship with Murray, which continued through his last dozen years. His writings, illuminated by conversations, formed a major part of my education in economics, history, and politics. His personal influence makes it difficult to make a selection among the many memories.
In 1943 Murray Rothbard, then a high schooler in his 17th year, wrote a 7,000-word autobiography. The Ludwig von Mises Institute made it available about a year ago. 
I can’t recommend it highly enough to those interested in the formation of a future (six years later!) student of Ludwig von Mises and author of Man, Economy & State, Power and Market, The Logic of Action (One and Two), An Austrian Perspective on the History of Economic Thought (two volumes), Conceived in Liberty (five volumes), and thousands of articles.
In “Anatomy of the State” (1965) Murray summed up his insight into the State, his lifelong object of demystification:
Briefly, the State is that organization in society which attempts to maintain a monopoly of the use of force and violence in a given territorial area.
In particular, it is the only organization in society that obtains its revenue not by voluntary contribution or payment for services rendered but by coercion.
While other individuals or institutions obtain their income by production of goods and services and by the peaceful and voluntary sale of these goods and services to others, the State obtains its revenue by the use of compulsion; that is, by the use and the threat of the jailhouse and the bayonet.
Having used force and violence to obtain its revenue, the State generally goes on to regulate and dictate the other actions of its individual subjects.
One would think that simple observation of all States through history and over the globe would be proof enough of this assertion; but the miasma of myth has lain so long over State activity that elaboration is necessary.
How ought we evaluate this insight? It seems to suggest, rather un-Rothbardianly, that a collective called “the State” has intentions (and agency to carry them out) over and above the individuals who comprise it. But let’s attribute this inaccurate suggestion to the need for an efficient (if roundabout) way to refer to the State’s constituent individuals. That is, the need for shorthand. There is, however, a less tractable problem with this historical generalization.
To me, it is plain that the same sin-warped mammalian species that has for millennia generated polymorphic structures of compulsion, regulation and dictatorship—parasitic upon free, peaceful and voluntary markets—is unlikely to ditch those structures for any meaningful interval. The same all-too-human material is found both in markets and in their hampering. Or rather, in the individuals who are both market actors and governmental aggressors and/or victims. 
The legacy of Murray Rothbard is primarily one of polymathic erudition in the service of the natural right to liberty, suffused with optimism and humor. I’ve reluctantly come to the conclusion, however, that his conceit that sustained statelessness is possible—and worth devoting one’s life to achieve—was an error. But it is also my conviction that we can learn more from Rothbard’s viewing of history through that conceit’s lens than from statists who never took that inspiring possibility seriously.
Murray’s error, if error it be, is nearly inexhaustibly instructive.