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."