I took this maxim to heart when I was a kid. I’m not sure how its author, Will Rogers, got into my head. Rogers was a rope trick vaudevillian from Oklahoma and became something of the Nation’s conscience through the Depression. He was killed in a plane crash before World War II but still his memory hung on so that I was well aware of him as a kid. I never saw his movies, I never read his newspaper columns. I only heard him in snippets. He was a gentle political commentator who said famously, “I don’t belong to any organized political party. I’m a Democrat.” He was so All American that he was part Indian. (I should go check Wikipedia to make sure I’ve got this all down right but if I’m wrong my Buddy or someone else will correct me and I’ll duly note it in some future blog post.)
My late night writing about Art Johnston, and Cheryl Lein and the current campaign for a new and improved school board must have been stewing in my head all night. I woke up with that quote in my head. The first time I heard it, back in my elementary school days, I decided that’s how I was going to be: I’d never meet a man I wouldn’t like.
Some men, and lately a few women, have made that a challenge. I’m not sure I ever saw any good in the kid I met in Junior high who made a point of kicking me in my privates while I was wrestling with another kid in my first week in a new town. Ten years later he was sent to prison for attempted rape. But, I’m sure if I could have gotten to know him, I could have found something redeeming to like about him. Will Rogers set a high standard.
Thinking my way through life wasn’t any easier when I was a kid than it is now two months from my Medicare eligibility. I wondered if Americans were really any different than the Germans who ran the gas chambers. What if we’d been born in Germany? Wouldn’t we have done what ever other German had done? I wondered if God would forgive Adolph Hitler. When my family went down South I wondered at the filthy doors of “colored” restrooms. I wondered why my neighbor wasn’t allowed to conduct swimming lessons in the motel swimming pool because he was teaching black kids how not to drown. We drove to those lessons past a billboard that proclaimed “Impeach Earl Warren.” This was in Topeka, Kansas, a few years after the Warren Court ordered it to desegregate its schools with a unanimous Supreme Court vote engineered by the California Republican. I think I understood the connection between my swimming lessons and Earl Warren back then. And I knew that my neighbor built a swimming pool in his back yard so he could keep teaching black kids.
I began the last post “I don’t think she deserves rescue.” That’s a qualified indictment. What I really mean is that I don’t think she deserves face saving. Another post, since withdrawn, began far more positively describing said women as a very good teacher. That’s the part Will Rogers would have focused on.
But being good in one aspect of your life doesn’t give you a pass on the darker things you do. Civility is a sham if its all flowers and butterflies.
Today’s paper has a story about Denfeld High School and its implementation of a program with the hopeful acronym SPIRIT. Its in response to the ugly incident last year of a kid drawn with a noose around his neck. The photo in the paper shows one of my favorite District employees, “Social Worker on Special Assignment,” Joan Sargent. This program is getting started with 88 volunteer students who are going to try to figure out how to improve the spirit of their school. I wish them luck and perhaps when the new school board forms in January we could ask them to advise us on how to get along ourselves.
There is one word that Duluth’s Civility Project emphasizes that has been a complete stranger to the School Board. “Apologize.” This is one of the most difficult things for anyone to do and as anyone watching our school board knows we should be due for a whole lot of them. My guess, however, is that it will be a cold day in hell before they make an appearance. You probably won’t be hearing one from me either any time soon.
While I hold Will Roger’s standard at bay I’ll continue to insist on accountability. There is a story that needs to be told. I may have to arm wrestle Art Johnston to tell it and I may never get his blessing to tell it. I can’t even say I take no pleasure in telling it. That would be a lie. I have taken deep satisfaction in beginning the process of telling it. I can’t see myself stopping the telling, at least not in the long run with a book or maybe a journal that my kids can burn when I die.
My old nut kicking classmate is still alive. It would be interesting to know how he’s getting along. After fifty years his offense is just one more interesting story for me. I hope he has redeemed himself. If so, I’m sure I could get to like him. The same holds true for everyone else who ever crossed my path and tested my faith in Will Roger’s.
