Longing For School

Yesterday, August 25, 2022, was the thirteenth anniversary of when Edward Moore Kennedy, Senator of Massachusetts for forty-seven years, brother of the late President John F. Kennedy (1917-1964), New York Senator Robert F. Kennedy (1925-1968), and Ambassador Jean Kennedy Smith (1928-2020), died at the age of seventy-seven in the year of 2009. I wanted to go pay my respects when he lay in state at the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum, but I was unable to go. At that time, I was going through a very dark period in my life since I had recently dropped out of school when I was in my early twenties. I had wanted to meet Senator Kennedy when he was alive. After all, he had witnessed memorable events in history, was acquainted with ten presidents since he entered the senate and was the youngest sibling of his family’s generation.    

Yesterday was also Move-In Day at Harvard University, in which the incoming first- year students would move to campus during the last two weeks of August. This also made me feel sad as well because I remembered being a young college student looking forward to the future and now, I feel as though I am wasted potential. I wish I was in their shoes because at least they have promising futures ahead of them whereas mine seems to be behind me. Because of this, I am going to write what is going to be a personal blog entry because I’m going to talk about something that has been bothering me for years. Several years ago, I dropped out of school because of a combination of different factors. To summarize, I didn’t have enough money, I didn’t work hard enough as a student, and the fault is my own. I can’t gloss over my failures. If I had worked harder, I would have gotten a lot more accomplished. As a result, I’m in a stage in which I’m trapped in a situation I don’t know how to get out of.

When I first entered college as a first-year student at the age of twenty, I was scared because I was bullied at high school, and I didn’t know how if I was going to experience that again. I was also very shy and timid. However, to my surprise I became popular on campus over the course of three years. I took up an interest in politics and I was encouraged to pursue that career by both professors and students. I used to listen to the speeches of John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, and Bill Clinton to memorize what they said to quote them, learned techniques of how they spoke effectively, and took inspiration from their words. My nickname on campus was “Mr. President” and would often times shake people’s hands in the same way a politician would when they were campaigning for office. I was friendly to everyone, although a few times it was not always reciprocated. Despite this, for the first time in my life, I felt loved and appreciated because among my own relatives I was seen as an outcast because I wanted to engage in a higher level of discussion and was interested in subjects that were intellectually stimulating. On the campus of the university I attended, I felt as though I belonged, appreciated, and that I had a future to look forward to.

I loved school so much that I hated going home for the holidays or summer break because I felt trapped among my small-minded relatives. Each time I had to return to my hometown, I felt isolated and lonely. I couldn't wait to return to campus. I have to say that I also miss the diversity of thought at the university and people’s readiness to express themselves. That's one thing I'm starving for here, an outlet to really chew on ideas and learn in a peer centered setting. I miss sharing ideas and building on them. Learning from my peers helped me to see that there was a world outside of my hometown and of the university waiting to be explored. I had dreamed of graduating from school (which was supposed to take place in 2010), traveling to different places and different countries like Rome, Italy, and meeting with and having a photo op with President Obama in the Oval Office of the White House among other dignitaries. Even the tough days were good days for me because I felt that I still had a future.

The greatest day of my college life took place on December 2, 2008, when I got to meet with Senator John Kerry of Massachusetts. He came to my college that evening to talk about the economy, in a setting much like a Town Hall Meeting. Before he arrived, I asked a friend named Meagan, who happened to have a camera to take a picture of me and the Senator. She said that she would. Senator Kerry then arrived at 6:30pm to the sound of applause. I thought "Oh my goodness, it's really him." After the mayor introduced him, he then stepped forward to speak and spoke for about an hour. Then he took about 5 or 6 questions from the audience. He mentioned that he had to go to Charleston for another event, so he had to leave. In my mind I said, "You're not leaving until I get picture with you, mister." When the meeting ended, I noticed the crowd was going through the front entrance so there wasn't a lot of people around Kerry. As he was stepping through the doorway to leave, I shouted "Senator!" He looked up. Then made my way toward and then I said in a lower voice, "I'm actually down here.” When I finally got his attention, I then said, "Senator, I know that you have to leave right away, but could I please have a picture taken with you." "Oh sure," he said. I then took his hand and motioned for Meagan to take the picture. When she did take the picture, Senator Kerry then said to me, "Good luck in school." "Thank you, Sir." I replied as we shook hands once more. Then he was gone.

I was beaming for the rest of the school year, I couldn't believe I shook hands with the same person who debated George W. Bush, sailed with John F. Kennedy, worked with Ted Kennedy, campaigned with Bill Clinton, and campaigned for Barack Obama and he was right in front of me in person. I was honored and fortunate to have that picture taken him. The next day, I watched jib-jab videos of "This Land," and YouTube videos of his speeches and debates with President Bush and I still couldn't believe it was him. Some people mentioned to me that because of this, I was even more determined to go into politics. They may have been right. I was at the peak of my happiness, and they were the happiest years of my twenties, but it did not last.

I often procrastinated and waited until the last moment to do my homework. I was attentive to the courses I liked and was indifferent to those I didn't care for. I was also focused on my social life at the school because I liked the positive attention I was getting from the students, and I was subconsciously filling a void of feeling unloved from my relatives. These are no excuses. As a result, I was put on academic probation and eventually with no more money for school, I had to drop out. I was devastated and I wanted to die in that moment because I knew of the consequences of the difficulties of finding enjoyable employment and the climb to get back to school would be as insurmountable as attempting to climb Mount Everest. It hurts more because I know I could have done better, and things could have been different. I should have focused more on my studies rather than deluding myself by fantasizing about being a great man remembered and loved at last throughout history. I know now that if I worked harder, I would have gotten a lot more accomplished.

Over the years, I attended forums and lectures on my days off from working at my dead-end job as a dishwasher. During these times, I had the privilege of meeting three governors of my home state, two senators, two mayors, two congressional representatives, two ambassadors, one prime-minister of another country (at Harvard University of all places), four presidential candidates, and had even received a letter from President Obama in early 2017. Attending these lectures and meeting these dignitaries made me feel as though I were back in school, intellectually stimulated, and helped me to briefly cope with the fact that I was a college drop out. Those were rare moments of triumph and happiness. However, I still felt inadequate in comparison to my former college friends who had now moved on with their lives. I felt like a fraud for crafting an image of success on Facebook with my photo ops while friends were assuming that I had a career in politics, which is what I wish I was doing all this time.

Now almost a decade later after reluctantly leaving school, I moved closer to the Boston area of Massachusetts where my college friends invited me to move out here to start over, look for better jobs in the area, and eventually find my way back to school. However, after all this time, I’m still stuck in the same situation with no money to continue and fewer prospects. Each day I seem to think I have no future and often wonder whether I should end my existence. I don’t want to have an aimless life working at dead end jobs for the ungrateful. The fact is I don’t want to live like this anymore. I want to go back to school more than anything.

What’s worse is that I have been subconsciously torturing myself for not finishing school. I live four miles from the campus of Harvard University where many notable people, including eight Presidents of the United States, have graduated from. Sometimes my intentions would be to go there to find peace and be surrounded by history, prestige, and to be intellectually stimulated. Lately, it became a place for me to mourn over my failures and of hoping to die if things don’t improve. It has become a place that I love and hate at the same time because it is everything that I wanted and yet am not allowed to be part of. I remember one weekday afternoon on a day I had off from work, I had just completed a job interview near the campus. I was walking on Harvard Yard, and I saw a group of students sitting a circle of chairs with a professor leading the discussion. I wanted to at least sit near them, take notes, and learn from the lecture, but I knew I would not be welcome as I was not a student there. I then went to another area at the campus and saw students eating together inside the Harvard Kennedy School and saw the comradery that made me wish I was 15 years younger, a lot more intelligent, and being a part of their community. I soon had to walk away because I was hurt from seeing what I could not be a part of. I then went to a private area on the campus where no one would see me and cried bitterly.

On another visit one Friday night in the springtime, I walked a little more than four miles from my apartment to Harvard Yard because I could not sleep. I went to exhaust myself and contemplate over the state of my life. When I got there, there were students hanging out together near the statue of John Harvard even though it was past 2:00 in the morning. I sat on the steps of Harvard Memorial Church, looked across to the Widener Library taking in the night scenery, and brooding bitterly over the state of my life. I noticed a young couple walking hand in hand up the steps of the library across from me. They soon began to laugh and chase each other up and down the stairs. I became more aware of my loneliness since I have never been married (or even had a girlfriend) and I also mourned over the fact that I could never open my heart to someone because of the emotional wounds that I carry within me. After some hours of sitting down and silently weeping, I finally walked back to my apartment emotionally drained, dehydrated, and defeated.

This was a difficult blog entry to write because it took me several times to complete. I believe it is because I had to face myself and my failures honestly for the first time in a public blog entry. I also had some fears that my future employers would see this blog entry and refuse to consider me for a position either in government, classroom, or in a museum and/or university. However, I needed this outlet to try to gain control of my emotions and to try to improve my mental health. In re-reading this, I feel that I have failed to fully articulate my sadness over this issue. I may return to edit this blog entry from time to time to order to better articulate my thoughts.

More than anything, I want to return to school to finish what I began, learn from the mistakes I made, redeem the time that I wasted, and finally graduate and move on with my life. Even if I do return, there will be some difficulties. One particular difficulty will be in connecting with other students since I will be considerably much older, but a positive outcome from it is that I will be able focus more on my studies. I will feel lonely though, but that will be the price I have to pay. I hope that by the time I do return, things will become much easier, and I will know what to do upon the completion of my studies. I am still hoping to be a historian, like one of my heroes David McCullough, write and publish at least nine books or more. I also hope that maybe I’ll get to meet some presidents and world leaders along the way.

And so, with all of this said, I don’t really know how to conclude this blog entry. After some searching, I decided to use some words from a speech that Senator Edward M. Kennedy made at the John F. Kennedy School of Government, located in Harvard University on October 25, 1991, in which he acknowledged his failures and promised to do better in the future. If he could do his best to redeem himself as he endured tragedy and faced his own struggles, maybe I could redeem myself as well. He knew what it was like to be humiliated, to suffer, underestimated, and to be considered the least, even within his own family. His story of redemption is one that I could look to for inspiration to become a better version of myself than I was before. I am grateful that he lived and that he was Senator of my home state.

He said, "Individual faults and frailties are no excuse to give in and no exemption from the common obligation to give of ourselves. I feel a special obligation to those who share my hopes for this state and nation who in the past have given me their help, and often even their hearts. My views on some issues that made some people angry over the years and frankly, I accept that as the price of fighting hard for my beliefs and I am painfully aware that the criticism directed at me in recent months involves far more than honest disagreements with my positions, or the usual criticisms from the far right, it also involves the disappointment of friends and many others who rely on me to fight the good fight. To them I say: I recognize my own shortcomings -- the faults in the conduct of my private life. I realize that I alone am responsible for them, and I am the one who must confront them. Today more than ever before, I believe that each of us as individuals must not only struggle to make a better world, but to make ourselves better, too and in this life, those endeavors are never finished."

My Tribute to David McCullough (1933-2022)

David Gaub McCullough

(July 7, 1933 - August 7, 2022)

Seventy years ago, President Harry S. Truman was giving his 311th news conference, held in the Indian Treaty Room (Room 474) in the Executive Office Building at 10:30 a.m. on Thursday, August 7, 1952. Though much of our nation’s attention was focused on the presidential election in November of that year, President Truman gave a series of statements beginning with an acknowledgement that “we have had a terrible drought situation in several States, and the Federal Government is going to do everything it can to help the farmers in those areas.” Secondly, he mentioned although “everybody is talking about the November election these days,” he shared his concern that “more than 29 million adult Americans were not even registered to vote. I think we should all be disturbed by the fact that all during this century more and more citizens are staying away from the polls."

Just before he took questions from reporters, he stated, "The privilege of voting is one of the most treasured rights on earth, as those who live in totalitarian countries can testify, but we cannot have a big vote in this country without a big registration.

"Newspapers, magazines, radio and TV, and other media can do much to enlist interest in this subject. So, too, can many nonpartisan organizations that exist in every community. A great decision will be made by the electorate on November 4 of this year, and I hope every American of voting age will participate in it."

On that same day, a young 19-year-old student named David McCullough, born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, was probably enjoying the last weeks of summer and preparing for his return to Yale University for his Sophomore Year as an English major. It was there that he would develop his skills as a writer and years after his graduation, he would become one of America's most celebrated historians, be awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom, and receive two Pulitzer Prizes for his biographical works on President John Adams (2001) and President Harry S. Truman (1992). It was on August 7, 2022, 70 years to the day in which President Truman gave his 311th new conference, that David McCullough would pass away at the age of 89, just one month after his final birthday in Hingham, Massachusetts.

Years ago, about thirty-six miles west of Hingham, in what was then still the town of Framingham, I was born and raised there with an interest in History. While my own parents did not encourage or even instill in me a love for History, it was fostered from my teenage years into adulthood indirectly through my viewings of history programs on PBS hosted, and sometimes narrated, by David McCullough. My first exposure to Mr. McCullough came through hearing his voice as a narrator when I first saw episode one of “The Civil War,” a PBS nine-part documentary series, produced and directed by Ken Burns, in a middle school classroom while I was in the seventh grade. While the other students were mostly disinterested, I wanted to see how the story would unfold. I had never seen programming like this before.

Years later, on one evening in February of 2001, months before I became a teenager, I stayed up to watch the premiere of “Abraham & Mary Lincoln: A House Divided,” a six-part PBS documentary series on the dual lives of President Abraham Lincoln and his wife, First Lady Mary Todd Lincoln. For the first time, I began to see that these historical icons as real and relatable human beings. I felt especially connected to Abraham Lincoln, who suffered from depression, and he became a person I could relate to. This was helped through the narration of David McCullough for this series. I had recorded the series on VHS and later bought a copy at a local video store where I would rewatch the series over and over again. It became a therapeutic balm while my parents were having their divorce.

I later went off to college where for the first time I was appreciated for my interest in History. During my third year in 2008, I was studying film and cinematography because I thought I wanted to be a movie director. However, I was not film driven and was more interested the subjects I wanted to film. In March of that year, I watched a short documentary on HBO called “David McCullough: Painting With Words,” in which I got to learn about Mr. McCullough, his life, family, works, projects, and dreams. Seeing the documentary made me want to be like Mr. McCullough and I came to the realization that I should be majoring in history. I wanted to become an author and historian like him. After consulting friends and professors, I then switched my major to History. I had started out well, my history professors liked my papers, and they all said I had potential. I was looking forward to the future. However, I did not have enough money to return to school and I did not do well the classes I was indifferent to, so I sadly had to drop out of school.

I entered into a dark period in my life. After dropping out of school, I became depressed. I worked at a series of dead-end jobs while still hoping for one chance to go back to school and finally graduated with a bachelor’s degree in History to write a book. While being trapped, there were some therapeutic balms that helped me cope with my loss of an education. The library of my hometown had book sales and from time to time, I would purchase secondhand books for only two dollars each. It was through the Framingham Public Library that I was able to purchase three used hardcover copies of books written by David McCullough. They were “1776,” “John Adams,” and “Truman.” Reading these books and viewing Mr. McCullough’s lectures and interviews helped me and inspired me to write in my spare time and to keep developing a voice in the written word as I was hoping to return to school. He became my indirect mentor and teacher during this time as I gleaned lessons from his words. I wish I could have taken a one-on-one master's class taught by him. I had also hoped to meet him someday.

Weeks turned into months and months turned to years until, when chance came, the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum was hosting a series of forums, one of which would include a presentation by David McCullough on his new book on the Wright Brothers. I registered immediately as I knew there would be limited space available. I became excited as my dream of meeting with Mr. McCullough would finally become true. When the day finally came, I was tired from having to run errands and took a nap in the early afternoon, when I woke up, I realized I was going to be late for the lecture, so I quickly got dressed formally, grabbed the books which I bought from my local library, and boarded a commuter train headed for South Station in Boston. From there, I took a cab to the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum and when I arrived after paying my fare, I entered inside with my books.

The lecture had already ended and there was a long line of people for the book signing, which was now taking place. I purchased a copy of his book on the Wright Brothers at the gift shop and made my way toward the back of the line and even let people cut the line because I wanted to be the last person to speak to him. At one point, there was a lady, about Mr. McCullough’s age, that was coming out of Smith Hall. I asked her if she would like to go ahead of me in the line for the book signing. She smiled and politely replied that it was okay and that was she just here for the presentation. I later realized that the same woman I had spoken to was Mr. McCullough’s wife. I internally felt embarrassed when I found out.

As I was waiting in line, I was nervous because I also wanted to take a photo with Mr. McCullough and I wasn’t sure if they were going to allow it, but I was determined to get this photo op because I wanted to have a visible reminder that I had met David McCullough and that dreams can come true. I had to think quickly. I soon saw a man with a badge with the last name of McCullough and realized that it was one of his sons. I smiled and motioned for him indicating that I wanted to speak with him. He came forward, probably thinking, “Why would this young man want to talk to me?” I then politely asked him if I could take a photo with his father. He said it would be fine and when it was time for the actual meeting, I could call him over and he even offered to take the photo with my camera. To this day, I am indebted to Geoffrey McCullough for taking the photo of myself with his father.

Finally, the time came, Geoffrey McCullough motioned for me to go behind the table where his father was signing books. The attendant who helping Mr. McCullough to sign the books stepped back and with a nod gave me permission to stand next to him while he was still seated. The Red Sea had parted, and the miracle was taking place before my eyes. “Hey Dad,” Geoffrey said to his father, “look up and smile. There’s a young man standing next to you who wants a picture with you.” “Oh,” Mr. McCullough asked, “do I know who he is?” I laughed because of course he wouldn’t. Geoffrey then took the photo with my camera.

As I went back into the line, I inspected the photo and to my relief it came out well. I thanked Geoffrey for taking the photo and told him how much I appreciate what he had done for me. Then came my turn for the signing. When Mr. McCullough looked up at me, I said, “Hello Mr. McCullough, I’m the young man that was standing next to you while your son was gracious enough to take the photo. I wanted to tell you that I switched my major to history because of you and I’m planning to become a historian just like you.” “Oh well bless your heart,” he kindly replied. I wanted to ask him for his advice on how to be a good writer and how to become a historian, but I didn’t because there were a few people behind me, and I didn’t want to take up too much time. After he signed my copies of his books, I then said to him, “Thank you, Mr. McCullough, it was nice to meeting you." And from there, I soon left the building with one of my dreams fulfilled.

I never saw him in person again after that. I acquired more of his books and had hoped to have him sign more of my copies of his books for my own collection and then I could ask him directly for advice, but this was not to be. He would live on for another 7 years, 1 month, and 16 days after our meeting at the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum on June 22, 2015. I am satisfied though that I at least got meet him, if only once. The impact of our meeting would have a lasting effect on me. I still thought of him when I visited Quincy, Massachusetts where I made a pilgrimage to the homes and grave to the protagonist of his book, John Adams, in October of 2017 and attended the Fourth of July celebrations held on the grounds of former President Adams' home where he died on the 50th Anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. When I moved closer to the Boston area, the very first items I brought with me were my copies of Mr. McCullough’s books while still hoping to go back to school. When I joined a book club on twitter in early 2020, I was deeply influenced by Mr. McCullough’s words to encourage my new friends that history could be their friend too and that it could be something they could learn from for their benefit.

Just as seventy years ago President Truman expressed his concern that not enough Americans were registered to vote in 1952, Mr. McCullough expressed his concern that not enough Americans know enough about their own history. In Brian Bolduc's opinion piece in the Wall Street Journal from June 18, 2011, he reported that "the Department of Education released the 2010 National Assessment of Educational Progress, which found that only 12% of high-school seniors have a firm grasp of our nation's history. And consider: Just 2% of those students understand the significance of Brown v. Board of Education."

In that same opinion piece, Mr. Bolduc sat down with Mr. McCullough "in a quiet meeting room at the Boston Public Library." Mr. McCullough recounted in a story that years before, he had given a lecture a university in the Midwest in which a young "college sophomore" came up to him and said that "Until I heard your talk this morning, I never realized the original 13 colonies were all on the East Coast." Mr. McCullough was indeed shocked by the answer and was genuinely concerned by the historical illiteracy that even now plagues students of all ages across America. Mr. Bolduc also wrote that " 'History is a source of strength,'" citing Mr. McCullough, "'It sets higher standards for all of us.' But helping to ensure that the next generation measures up, he says, will be a daunting task."

It will be a daunting task, but I don't want to give up either. Since Mr. McCullough's passing, I feel a sense of obligation to read more history and biographical books to educate and inspire people in letting them know that they too have a part to play while they are still living, have their vitality, and as they are developing their talents and skills. He once cited child psychology Professor Margaret McFarland of the University of Pittsburgh, "What she taught in essence is that attitudes aren't taught, they're caught. If the attitude of the teacher toward the material is positive, enthusiastic, committed and excited, the students get that. If the teacher is bored, students get that and they get bored, quickly, instinctively." If we love history, we need to teach it in such an enthusiastic way that captures the attention of our students and we can show them that history is not merely about facts and dates, but about life and people. There is an audience for history, but we need to present it as fresh and alive. We have to teach it better then we have before.

“History isn’t just something that ought to be taught, read, or encouraged only because it will make us better citizens," Mr. McCullough once said, "It will make us a better citizen and it will make us more thoughtful and understanding human beings. It should be taught for the pleasure it provides. The pleasure of history, like art or music or literature, consists in an expansion of the experience of being alive."

As for me personally, all I have from David McCullough is the photo of myself with him and four copies of his nine books that he personally signed for me. However, he gave me more than just those personal items that I will treasure for the rest of my life. He also indirectly left to me and those who love books and history all over the world, his words. He lives on through his words, both vocally in his narration for PBS documentaries and through the printed pages of his books. He painted with his own words the history of America and showed us all that ordinary people can do extraordinary things throughout their ordinary lives. I am indebted to Mr. McCullough for helping me to appreciate history and I hope that someday that I can find ways to honor his memory as I try to return to school, to finally graduate, become a writer/author/historian, and I hope to be at least as half a good storyteller and as a good person as he was in life. I hope that I would have made him proud.

As Secretary of War Edwin Stanton said of President Abraham Lincoln when Lincoln breathed his last, so true it will be said of David McCullough: "Now He Belongs To The Ages."

To conclude this blog entry, I want to share a passage from "The American Spirit: Who We Are and What We Stand For," which is a collection of speeches given by Mr. McCullough beginning from 1989 to 2016. He once said,

“The lessons of history are manifold.

Nothing happens in isolation. Everything that happens has consequences.

We are all part of a larger stream of events, past, present, and future. We are all the beneficiaries of those who went before us--who built the cathedrals, who braved the unknown, who gave of their time and service, and who kept faith in the possibilities of the mind and the human spirit.

An astute observer of old wrote that history is philosophy taught with examples. Harry Truman liked to say that the only new thing in the world is the history you don't know.

From history we learn that sooner is not necessarily better than later ... that what we don't know can often hurt us and badly ... and that there is no such thing as a self-made man or woman.

A sense of history is an antidote to self-pity and self-importance, of which there is too much in our time. To a large degree, history is a lesson in proportions."