Inauguration
As today's events unfold in Washington, D.C., I'm reminded of events from 20 years ago.
Prelude
As the school year was starting in August of 1997, as a school principal, I was privileged to meet with a mom who was considering enrolling her daughter in our building, Lewton Elementary, in Lansing, MI. She had heard "good things", she said, and was considering moving her daughter, Jessica, from the private Montessori school which she had attended since Kindergarten.
We chatted about our program, and since school hadn't yet started I was able to introduce her to our two fourth grade teachers. We talked about Montessori, as of course I'd read the founder's works and knew the philosophy. We were able to connect a bit as principal and parent, and at a parent-to-parent level as well. That's when she shared they were "horse people", and that Jessica was an accomplished barrel racer, and that they were part of an equestrian group that rode in a lot of parades.
And, mom ultimately decided to have Jessica start with us when school began in September.
A couple weeks of classes went by and Jessica's teacher came to me. It seemed Jessica had failed a math test, and her mom wanted to meet with the teacher, and the teacher was hoping I'd sit in. I was happy to do so. I entertained all parent "inquiries" coming directly to me with a quick, initial question to the parent, "Have you talked to the teacher about this?", so it was positive that the parent-teacher connection had already been made. It was also a plus that I had several years experience with elementary school math as a teacher.
Mom brought Jessica to the conference, and the teacher had the test in hand, and the tone was cordial. Being the person I am, I asked to see the test so that I might have some sense of what errors Jessica might have been making. It was clearly a review test, results of which would tell the teacher where to begin with each student and with the class as a whole. There were, of course, a multitude of various types of problems to be solved: the basic four operations, fractions, geometry, etc.
Somewhere on page two, as I recall, Jessica had correctly completed problem 12, let's say, but problems 13, 14, and 15 were blank.
I turned the paper to show it to Jessica, and I asked her why she hadn't done those ensuing problems.
"Oh. Well, I knew I did number 12 right, and the next ones were the same type of problem only with different numbers, so I didn't think I'd need to do those, 'cause I already showed I could do that kind of problem," she said, and turned the paper back around to my view.
None of the adults spoke, and I sort of let the moment settle for a bit. The body language was, in a word, entertaining. Jessica, matter-of-fact. Mom, suppressing triumph and pride. Teacher, recognizing instantly her own error and the challenge ahead. Me? Knowing the "Montessori Way", and having performed countless error analyses at this instructional level... I was pleased to have a student with such moxie, a mom with such class, and a teacher willing to accept responsibility and relish the year ahead.
Election and Invitation
In early November, Bill Clinton was elected to the Presidency for the second time. His second term, Monica Lewinsky and the impeachment were still ahead of us.
A week or two after the election, Jessica and I chanced to chat in the hallway, and she said her mom wanted to know if I would like to ride in a parade with them. I of course said, "Sure!" even though my equestrian skills were, to be charitable, pretty much on the beginner side of the scale.
A couple weeks after that encounter, sometime in late November, prior to Thanksgiving, Lewton had parent-teacher conferences. Jessica and her mom caught me in the hallway, on their way either to or from their conference, and mom said to me, "So you're going to D.C. with us!"
I've not been as dumbstruck as I was at that moment. While not in a panic, my face was surely a complete blank, as I racked my brain to make sense of what she'd just said. She looked at Jessica and said, "Honey, I thought you said you invited him to ride in the parade with us,"
"I did, Mom..." Jessica replied, eyes cast down a bit. "I just.. I couldn't remember... that word..."
"Inaugural?" her mom said, and Jessica nodded vigorously.
It turned out that Jessica and her mother were members of the OO Riders, the double-O rising from Dr. Odell Nails, the founder, and his son Odell. The elder had a ranch on the east side of the state. Dr. Nails was a long-time employee of the Pontiac Public Schools, having served in a variety of roles up to and including Superintendent. He ran the ranch and had founded the equestrian group as a hobby (arguably; most felt the ranch and horses were his true vocation), and the members routinely visited schools in Detroit and nearby. They dressed in period costumes to tell the story of the Buffalo Soldiers, African-Americans who served in the Civil war. Most were comparatively successful professionals, doctors and lawyers and employees at the State of Michigan and various educational institutions.
Of course I accepted the invitation to ride with them in Washington, contingent upon my wife's agreement and our being able to make the necessary arrangements. Our son was turning 5 in January, so the logistics had to include child care. I wasn't going to make a quick trip to D.C. without her approval.
No, and the idea of one white guy riding with the group didn't cross my mind until much later, and it was never an issue.
And so I had but weeks to prepare. Preparation consisted of riding lessons. The OO Ranch did not have an indoor ring, and the winter proved to be particularly brutal, so the OO Riders arranged for several of us to ride at a rented facility. They would load and transport the horses from the ranch to the ring, and I'd drive the hour or so from my house. They provided me with a mount that was a Tennessee Walker, which has a special gait. I was unable to remember my horse's name, Midnight, until I researched for writing this article. We spent a number of hours together, prior to the trip to D.C., and he taught me how to ride.
Tragedy
At some point in late December, Dr. Nails drove his family to an event, likely a church event. On the return home, the car slipped off the dirt road and was stuck in snow. It was close enough for the family to walk the rest of the way home, and Dr. Nails changed clothes and brought the tractor and chains back to the car to drag it out of the ditch, something he'd done many times before.
This time, however, the tractor tipped over, and he was killed at the scene. He was able to a save the ranch hand who was on the tractor with him, by shoving him off.
What had been a joyous ramp-up to a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity immediately became a tribute to the man who made it possible.
Travel
A local, African-American livestock transport company donated a semi to haul the horses to D.C. All the riders were to pay their travel and expenses for the three days and two nights planned. Most riders rode a chartered bus and traveled with the horse hauler, caring for the herd as they took a couple days to make the trip. A few drove, and a couple of us, me included, flew, due to work schedules. But we all stayed at the same hotel.
When I arrived, all my tack was in my room. It was 11 p.m. or so, and we'd been told to clean and prep everything, and to be up at 3:30 a.m., in order to load the horses, and then get to the staging area on the Mall by 7 a.m.
We were to wait there until it was our turn to get in the parade formation.
Everything went according to schedule, and we unloaded and saddled the horses pretty much at daybreak. It was then that I could see we were near the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum food court, on the Mall, in front of the Capitol.
Eventually, we would travel north on either 3rd or 4th St. SW, to join in our spot in the parade as it passed by on Pennsylvania Ave.
The Wait
Our turn in the parade was 4 p.m. We didn't know that, of course, upon our arrival at 6:30 a.m. Not that we could have breezed in later. No, the staging of this event and the rules and schedules were not flexible nor accommodating.
The OO Riders each dressed in black hats, bright red dusters, black jeans, and black boots. We had saddle "cloths" which were made of plastic, curiously to me, and they had a "OO Riders" graphic design.
We spent the day waiting, and waiting, and waiting. Luckily, it turned out to be a sunny day and temperatures climbed into the 50s. (Reality check - officially the high temp was 44 that day). We'd individually mount up and walk our horses around a bit, then dismount and socialize. I noticed a panel van in the parking lot adjacent to our staging area. It belonged to the D.V.M. assigned to the parade. It was his job to check on the health and welfare of the "animal acts" (parade organizers' term) in the parade, of which we were one. There was also a farrier stationed there, and I learned of several things I'd otherwise not have known.
First, all of the other horses, except ours, were on tranquilizers. It was common practice. Our group's leaders had to assure the vet that we had ridden these horses many, many times in parades, and we were confident that they would behave.
Second, there are shoe issues. One has to select the proper footwear, or hoofwear, as it were, for conditions. Our group had made the right choices, but the farrier had a very busy morning re-shoeing many other mounts. It turned out our expertise in the shoe department helped convince the vet that we knew what we were doing, and he did not order us to drug our mounts.
During this idle time, I noticed what I thought was a cell phone antenna on the vet's van. This was 1998, and cell phones were just coming into common use. The transition was in the process of moving from the mobile "bag phone" in vehicles to personal, handheld devices. His was a handheld, it turned out.
I had an idea.
I approached the D.V.M. when he went to the van for something, about 11 a.m., and I asked him if I could make a call on his phone. I explained I was the school principal, and our fourth grade student was the reason I was there, and I wanted to have her call the school... and I offered to pay for the call.
He was agreeable, but said I probably wouldn't be able to get through as the circuits were jammed what with everyone in D.C.
I asked Jessica if she'd talk to the school, and she said, "What would I say?"
"Whatever you want... tell them what you see, how you're feeling..." I replied.
I put the call in. I waited until after the school lunch period - since no one knew when we'd be on camera, I knew most of the teachers had TVs on and were sort of monitoring the parade. I'd made quite an issue of Jessica being in the parade, and knew teachers were using the event for a lot of curricular connections. And of course, noon was pretty much the high point of the day in D.C. Our very capable secretary answered my call somewhere around 12:45. She activated the school P.A. system, locked the mic in the "on" position, and told everyone that Jessica was calling from Washington, D.C., and held the phone to the mic.
Jessica was of course a huge hit. She described our area, as she sat mounted on her horse. She noted she could see the Capitol and the stage but we weren't close enough to know what exactly was going on there. She talked about how we'd unloaded the horses in the dark, about how cold it was, that she could see the Washington Monument... in short, a perfect fourth-grade tour guide presentation.
It was the proudest moment of my career in education, to think that we had set up a real-time civics lesson, student-taught, long-distance, and personal.
The Parade
It was 3:30 or 4:00 p.m. when we finally got the call to "Mount up!".
It is hard to describe the thrill of riding a horse down Pennsylvania Ave. from the Capitol to the White House. Of course, there were people lining the parade route, and it had been a long day for them, surely.
But our bright red dusters and black hats were a visual statement, and our two-by-two entourage, while not loud or flashy, was greeted with lots of applause. Jessica carried the OO flag, at least for a time, as I recall. And now that I read the article in the paper from back then, she carried the Michigan flag. She was the only non-adult in the group. I don't know who carried the stars and stripes. I was at the back of the group, and I had my hands full managing my horse. He got all my attention, when I wasn't glancing in awe at the people and buildings as we made our way along the route.
I do remember a roar from one large group as we passed. Their colorful banners identified them as the Gay Alliance.
When finally we passed by the reviewing stand, of course Bill and Hillary were long gone. And our post-parade directions for re-staging and returning, for meeting our semi-truck, were a bit sketchy as I recall. I did get a chance to be interviewed by our local (Lansing MI) news team. I was still pumping adrenaline, the thrill of just having participated in the Inaugural Parade not yet settling for me.
And rather quickly, the sun set and it was dark, and the horses were taken care of, and the hoopla was over.
The Next Day
I was scheduled to fly home at 8 p.m. or so. Thus, the day was mine, and I was determined to visit a few choice spots along the Mall. I didn't feel pressure to "do them all" as I'd been to D.C. several times previously.
I wanted to visit the Hope Diamond. I'd never seen it, and the wry, ironic side of me thought that since that was the name of Clinton's home town, it was ordained. So that was one stop.
My other choice was the Lincoln Memorial. It was, as it turned out, rather emotional for me. On arrival, the place was crawling with kids and parents and yes, a few teachers. One group of students was clustered around the Gettysburg Address wall, and a student, perhaps third or fourth grade, was struggling to read it aloud, and his teacher coached him along the way. Gently leading him, softly pronouncing words with which he struggled...
To me, it symbolized many things. The virtue of the profession I'd chosen, the ideals upon which our country was founded, the profound sadness at the enormity of the Civil War, and the assassinations, not only of Lincoln but of King and the Kennedys... it was my second most profound moment as an educator, listening to that teacher gently leading that student through the Address.
I was struck by the chance, the gift that we've been given, to be able to try to impart some sense of wisdom, and compassion, and decency upon the next generation. As parents, as educators, and as citizens, the pomp and circumstance surrounding the succession of power stood as both a testament to our accomplishments to date, and a challenge to us for the future, that we might help create a world of acceptance and caring.
My last stop was the wall. I'd stumbled upon it the night before, in the dark, with the accent lighting, and knew I had to go back when I could spend a few moments not worrying about getting a horse loaded and such.
Being there, and thinking of Arlington, and the cemeteries I'd visited in Europe, I could not help but recall my own brush with Vietnam, my student deferment, and later my medical exit from the Selective Service system (draft number 79, by the way). I'd gone for my physical after college, in Detroit, having had to take a day off from my real job in the Lansing School District. I brought my knee papers, hoping my high-school injury would keep me from having to serve. I was a hippie in college, more of a pacifist, helping People's Park residents (long story) shun the SDS radicals who were subsequently tear-gassed at Michigan State University. At that moment, in the induction center, though, I was more anti-being killed than I was anti-war.
So when the induction doc asked me about my knee, I presented my papers, and he looked them over and said, "That won't be enough to keep you out,"
And then he asked me if I wanted to serve.
I said, "Not really, but I suppose if I have to, I will."
I could have said, hell no, I won't go.
But the doc pondered for a moment, and finally told me that my high arches would preclude me from marching any distance with a 50 pound pack, and he wrote my "discharge".
I'm sure if I'd shown attitude, it would have gone the other way.
And standing at the wall, I thought about that moment at the induction center, and all the names, all the men and women who did serve, and die in 'Nam, or were wounded, and although that particular conflict didn't militarily threaten us as a nation, all the others did, pretty much. And all those that died, in service to our country... so that I might stand there, in our nation's capital, enjoying all the advantages I enjoyed... well, I go back to that time rather frequently now, and feel, or hope, that in some small way, my contributions have done right by them.
They fought and died for ideals, and an idea about a society and a government, that they barely were able to ponder, at 17, and 18, and 19 years of age.
It's humbling. And I'm so pleased to know that so many Jessicas are out there, now, preparing to march all over this country, and I so hope that we can continue to move forward with honor, and virtue, and decency, and deep respect for one another.
See also: https://stevehecker.blogspot.com/2017/01/inauguration-post-script.html
Prelude
As the school year was starting in August of 1997, as a school principal, I was privileged to meet with a mom who was considering enrolling her daughter in our building, Lewton Elementary, in Lansing, MI. She had heard "good things", she said, and was considering moving her daughter, Jessica, from the private Montessori school which she had attended since Kindergarten.
We chatted about our program, and since school hadn't yet started I was able to introduce her to our two fourth grade teachers. We talked about Montessori, as of course I'd read the founder's works and knew the philosophy. We were able to connect a bit as principal and parent, and at a parent-to-parent level as well. That's when she shared they were "horse people", and that Jessica was an accomplished barrel racer, and that they were part of an equestrian group that rode in a lot of parades.
And, mom ultimately decided to have Jessica start with us when school began in September.
A couple weeks of classes went by and Jessica's teacher came to me. It seemed Jessica had failed a math test, and her mom wanted to meet with the teacher, and the teacher was hoping I'd sit in. I was happy to do so. I entertained all parent "inquiries" coming directly to me with a quick, initial question to the parent, "Have you talked to the teacher about this?", so it was positive that the parent-teacher connection had already been made. It was also a plus that I had several years experience with elementary school math as a teacher.
Mom brought Jessica to the conference, and the teacher had the test in hand, and the tone was cordial. Being the person I am, I asked to see the test so that I might have some sense of what errors Jessica might have been making. It was clearly a review test, results of which would tell the teacher where to begin with each student and with the class as a whole. There were, of course, a multitude of various types of problems to be solved: the basic four operations, fractions, geometry, etc.
Somewhere on page two, as I recall, Jessica had correctly completed problem 12, let's say, but problems 13, 14, and 15 were blank.
I turned the paper to show it to Jessica, and I asked her why she hadn't done those ensuing problems.
"Oh. Well, I knew I did number 12 right, and the next ones were the same type of problem only with different numbers, so I didn't think I'd need to do those, 'cause I already showed I could do that kind of problem," she said, and turned the paper back around to my view.
None of the adults spoke, and I sort of let the moment settle for a bit. The body language was, in a word, entertaining. Jessica, matter-of-fact. Mom, suppressing triumph and pride. Teacher, recognizing instantly her own error and the challenge ahead. Me? Knowing the "Montessori Way", and having performed countless error analyses at this instructional level... I was pleased to have a student with such moxie, a mom with such class, and a teacher willing to accept responsibility and relish the year ahead.
Election and Invitation
In early November, Bill Clinton was elected to the Presidency for the second time. His second term, Monica Lewinsky and the impeachment were still ahead of us.
A week or two after the election, Jessica and I chanced to chat in the hallway, and she said her mom wanted to know if I would like to ride in a parade with them. I of course said, "Sure!" even though my equestrian skills were, to be charitable, pretty much on the beginner side of the scale.
A couple weeks after that encounter, sometime in late November, prior to Thanksgiving, Lewton had parent-teacher conferences. Jessica and her mom caught me in the hallway, on their way either to or from their conference, and mom said to me, "So you're going to D.C. with us!"
I've not been as dumbstruck as I was at that moment. While not in a panic, my face was surely a complete blank, as I racked my brain to make sense of what she'd just said. She looked at Jessica and said, "Honey, I thought you said you invited him to ride in the parade with us,"
"I did, Mom..." Jessica replied, eyes cast down a bit. "I just.. I couldn't remember... that word..."
"Inaugural?" her mom said, and Jessica nodded vigorously.
It turned out that Jessica and her mother were members of the OO Riders, the double-O rising from Dr. Odell Nails, the founder, and his son Odell. The elder had a ranch on the east side of the state. Dr. Nails was a long-time employee of the Pontiac Public Schools, having served in a variety of roles up to and including Superintendent. He ran the ranch and had founded the equestrian group as a hobby (arguably; most felt the ranch and horses were his true vocation), and the members routinely visited schools in Detroit and nearby. They dressed in period costumes to tell the story of the Buffalo Soldiers, African-Americans who served in the Civil war. Most were comparatively successful professionals, doctors and lawyers and employees at the State of Michigan and various educational institutions.
Of course I accepted the invitation to ride with them in Washington, contingent upon my wife's agreement and our being able to make the necessary arrangements. Our son was turning 5 in January, so the logistics had to include child care. I wasn't going to make a quick trip to D.C. without her approval.
No, and the idea of one white guy riding with the group didn't cross my mind until much later, and it was never an issue.
And so I had but weeks to prepare. Preparation consisted of riding lessons. The OO Ranch did not have an indoor ring, and the winter proved to be particularly brutal, so the OO Riders arranged for several of us to ride at a rented facility. They would load and transport the horses from the ranch to the ring, and I'd drive the hour or so from my house. They provided me with a mount that was a Tennessee Walker, which has a special gait. I was unable to remember my horse's name, Midnight, until I researched for writing this article. We spent a number of hours together, prior to the trip to D.C., and he taught me how to ride.
Tragedy
At some point in late December, Dr. Nails drove his family to an event, likely a church event. On the return home, the car slipped off the dirt road and was stuck in snow. It was close enough for the family to walk the rest of the way home, and Dr. Nails changed clothes and brought the tractor and chains back to the car to drag it out of the ditch, something he'd done many times before.
This time, however, the tractor tipped over, and he was killed at the scene. He was able to a save the ranch hand who was on the tractor with him, by shoving him off.
What had been a joyous ramp-up to a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity immediately became a tribute to the man who made it possible.
Travel
A local, African-American livestock transport company donated a semi to haul the horses to D.C. All the riders were to pay their travel and expenses for the three days and two nights planned. Most riders rode a chartered bus and traveled with the horse hauler, caring for the herd as they took a couple days to make the trip. A few drove, and a couple of us, me included, flew, due to work schedules. But we all stayed at the same hotel.
When I arrived, all my tack was in my room. It was 11 p.m. or so, and we'd been told to clean and prep everything, and to be up at 3:30 a.m., in order to load the horses, and then get to the staging area on the Mall by 7 a.m.
We were to wait there until it was our turn to get in the parade formation.
Everything went according to schedule, and we unloaded and saddled the horses pretty much at daybreak. It was then that I could see we were near the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum food court, on the Mall, in front of the Capitol.
Eventually, we would travel north on either 3rd or 4th St. SW, to join in our spot in the parade as it passed by on Pennsylvania Ave.
The Wait
Our turn in the parade was 4 p.m. We didn't know that, of course, upon our arrival at 6:30 a.m. Not that we could have breezed in later. No, the staging of this event and the rules and schedules were not flexible nor accommodating.
The OO Riders each dressed in black hats, bright red dusters, black jeans, and black boots. We had saddle "cloths" which were made of plastic, curiously to me, and they had a "OO Riders" graphic design.
We spent the day waiting, and waiting, and waiting. Luckily, it turned out to be a sunny day and temperatures climbed into the 50s. (Reality check - officially the high temp was 44 that day). We'd individually mount up and walk our horses around a bit, then dismount and socialize. I noticed a panel van in the parking lot adjacent to our staging area. It belonged to the D.V.M. assigned to the parade. It was his job to check on the health and welfare of the "animal acts" (parade organizers' term) in the parade, of which we were one. There was also a farrier stationed there, and I learned of several things I'd otherwise not have known.
First, all of the other horses, except ours, were on tranquilizers. It was common practice. Our group's leaders had to assure the vet that we had ridden these horses many, many times in parades, and we were confident that they would behave.
Second, there are shoe issues. One has to select the proper footwear, or hoofwear, as it were, for conditions. Our group had made the right choices, but the farrier had a very busy morning re-shoeing many other mounts. It turned out our expertise in the shoe department helped convince the vet that we knew what we were doing, and he did not order us to drug our mounts.
During this idle time, I noticed what I thought was a cell phone antenna on the vet's van. This was 1998, and cell phones were just coming into common use. The transition was in the process of moving from the mobile "bag phone" in vehicles to personal, handheld devices. His was a handheld, it turned out.
I had an idea.
I approached the D.V.M. when he went to the van for something, about 11 a.m., and I asked him if I could make a call on his phone. I explained I was the school principal, and our fourth grade student was the reason I was there, and I wanted to have her call the school... and I offered to pay for the call.
He was agreeable, but said I probably wouldn't be able to get through as the circuits were jammed what with everyone in D.C.
I asked Jessica if she'd talk to the school, and she said, "What would I say?"
"Whatever you want... tell them what you see, how you're feeling..." I replied.
I put the call in. I waited until after the school lunch period - since no one knew when we'd be on camera, I knew most of the teachers had TVs on and were sort of monitoring the parade. I'd made quite an issue of Jessica being in the parade, and knew teachers were using the event for a lot of curricular connections. And of course, noon was pretty much the high point of the day in D.C. Our very capable secretary answered my call somewhere around 12:45. She activated the school P.A. system, locked the mic in the "on" position, and told everyone that Jessica was calling from Washington, D.C., and held the phone to the mic.
Jessica was of course a huge hit. She described our area, as she sat mounted on her horse. She noted she could see the Capitol and the stage but we weren't close enough to know what exactly was going on there. She talked about how we'd unloaded the horses in the dark, about how cold it was, that she could see the Washington Monument... in short, a perfect fourth-grade tour guide presentation.
It was the proudest moment of my career in education, to think that we had set up a real-time civics lesson, student-taught, long-distance, and personal.
The Parade
It was 3:30 or 4:00 p.m. when we finally got the call to "Mount up!".
It is hard to describe the thrill of riding a horse down Pennsylvania Ave. from the Capitol to the White House. Of course, there were people lining the parade route, and it had been a long day for them, surely.
But our bright red dusters and black hats were a visual statement, and our two-by-two entourage, while not loud or flashy, was greeted with lots of applause. Jessica carried the OO flag, at least for a time, as I recall. And now that I read the article in the paper from back then, she carried the Michigan flag. She was the only non-adult in the group. I don't know who carried the stars and stripes. I was at the back of the group, and I had my hands full managing my horse. He got all my attention, when I wasn't glancing in awe at the people and buildings as we made our way along the route.
Poor headless Midnight... me at the staging area, Smithsonian to the right.
I do remember a roar from one large group as we passed. Their colorful banners identified them as the Gay Alliance.
When finally we passed by the reviewing stand, of course Bill and Hillary were long gone. And our post-parade directions for re-staging and returning, for meeting our semi-truck, were a bit sketchy as I recall. I did get a chance to be interviewed by our local (Lansing MI) news team. I was still pumping adrenaline, the thrill of just having participated in the Inaugural Parade not yet settling for me.
And rather quickly, the sun set and it was dark, and the horses were taken care of, and the hoopla was over.
The Next Day
I was scheduled to fly home at 8 p.m. or so. Thus, the day was mine, and I was determined to visit a few choice spots along the Mall. I didn't feel pressure to "do them all" as I'd been to D.C. several times previously.
I wanted to visit the Hope Diamond. I'd never seen it, and the wry, ironic side of me thought that since that was the name of Clinton's home town, it was ordained. So that was one stop.
My other choice was the Lincoln Memorial. It was, as it turned out, rather emotional for me. On arrival, the place was crawling with kids and parents and yes, a few teachers. One group of students was clustered around the Gettysburg Address wall, and a student, perhaps third or fourth grade, was struggling to read it aloud, and his teacher coached him along the way. Gently leading him, softly pronouncing words with which he struggled...
To me, it symbolized many things. The virtue of the profession I'd chosen, the ideals upon which our country was founded, the profound sadness at the enormity of the Civil War, and the assassinations, not only of Lincoln but of King and the Kennedys... it was my second most profound moment as an educator, listening to that teacher gently leading that student through the Address.
I was struck by the chance, the gift that we've been given, to be able to try to impart some sense of wisdom, and compassion, and decency upon the next generation. As parents, as educators, and as citizens, the pomp and circumstance surrounding the succession of power stood as both a testament to our accomplishments to date, and a challenge to us for the future, that we might help create a world of acceptance and caring.
My last stop was the wall. I'd stumbled upon it the night before, in the dark, with the accent lighting, and knew I had to go back when I could spend a few moments not worrying about getting a horse loaded and such.
Being there, and thinking of Arlington, and the cemeteries I'd visited in Europe, I could not help but recall my own brush with Vietnam, my student deferment, and later my medical exit from the Selective Service system (draft number 79, by the way). I'd gone for my physical after college, in Detroit, having had to take a day off from my real job in the Lansing School District. I brought my knee papers, hoping my high-school injury would keep me from having to serve. I was a hippie in college, more of a pacifist, helping People's Park residents (long story) shun the SDS radicals who were subsequently tear-gassed at Michigan State University. At that moment, in the induction center, though, I was more anti-being killed than I was anti-war.
So when the induction doc asked me about my knee, I presented my papers, and he looked them over and said, "That won't be enough to keep you out,"
And then he asked me if I wanted to serve.
I said, "Not really, but I suppose if I have to, I will."
I could have said, hell no, I won't go.
But the doc pondered for a moment, and finally told me that my high arches would preclude me from marching any distance with a 50 pound pack, and he wrote my "discharge".
I'm sure if I'd shown attitude, it would have gone the other way.
And standing at the wall, I thought about that moment at the induction center, and all the names, all the men and women who did serve, and die in 'Nam, or were wounded, and although that particular conflict didn't militarily threaten us as a nation, all the others did, pretty much. And all those that died, in service to our country... so that I might stand there, in our nation's capital, enjoying all the advantages I enjoyed... well, I go back to that time rather frequently now, and feel, or hope, that in some small way, my contributions have done right by them.
They fought and died for ideals, and an idea about a society and a government, that they barely were able to ponder, at 17, and 18, and 19 years of age.
It's humbling. And I'm so pleased to know that so many Jessicas are out there, now, preparing to march all over this country, and I so hope that we can continue to move forward with honor, and virtue, and decency, and deep respect for one another.
As interesting as the content is, what's special to me is that that's my father's handwriting for the date notations.
See also: https://stevehecker.blogspot.com/2017/01/inauguration-post-script.html
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