I grew up in the Commonwealth of Virginia, a beautiful state, that has been graced by nature with areas of truly awe-inspiring geography. From the tidal waters of the Chesapeake Bay to the endless ribbons of wooded mountains and valleys stretching down its spine.
In 1783, Thomas Jefferson traveled to Harper’s Ferry (then Virginia) and upon seeing the confluence of the Shenandoah and Potomac River remarked that this natural wonder “is as placid and delightful as that is wild and tremendous. For the mountains being cloven asunder, she presents to your eye, through the cleft, a small catch of smooth blue horizon, at an infinite distance in that plain country, inviting you, as it were, from the riot and tumult roaring around to pass through the breach and participate in the calm below…This scene is worth a voyage across the Atlantic.”
But Jefferson never traveled west of the Appalachians. He could only imagine what his Corp of Discovery, led by Lewis and Clark had witnessed and seen on their journey to the Pacific and back. As a teenager, I too hiked high above Harpers Ferry and like Jefferson meditated with the beauty of the confluence. But Jefferson never saw the sunrise in Eastern Montana, the sunset and alpenglow on the Mountains in Glacier National Park. If Harper’s Ferry is “worth a voyage across the Atlantic”, then Montana is worth low bagging to get to. Montana is worth all the pains of having your heartbroken while you’re a zit faced teenager knowing that things are going to be better. Montana is worth the late night insomnia of doubt about what you should do with your life. Montana is worth all this and more. Not just one view worthy, but thousands, from the soul swallowing immensity of the Missouri Breaks to every peak in the Spanish Peaks.
Thank God I was not born in Montana and never had these state backdrops of Montana infused into my life before consciousness. Every drive is a discovery, every trip across this state another opportunity to fall in love and realize the promise of life. Montana, worth a voyage from anywhere.
Some places are so iconic that they exist only in our memory and on movie sets. Gruene Music Hall is an exception. Nestled on the hill above the Guadalupe River in central Texas this little piece of Americana has the smell, feel and look of everything that is good about Texas, Country Music and America.
Just a few miles west of Johnson City, Texas, is the LBJ Ranch. Then Senator Lyndon B. Johnson bought the ranch in 1951 a few years into his first US Senate term. The ranch became the center piece of LBJ’s political career, the backdrop to many visits by world leaders, national politicians and cultural icons. When Johnson became president the ranch featured an expanded runway that brought the president to his home. A scorching August day seemed like the perfect time to take a look.
The runway on the ranch was not big enough to handle the full size Air Force One so President Johnson sourced some JetStars to bring him from Austin to the ranch.
MK and I have been driving across the landscapes of life for the past 17 years.
What a difference patience, wisdom and maturity add to any situation. This has been the summer of waiting for those first reactions to pass. There is power in letting fierce emotion blast through your consciousness and waiting for the right and true response to develop. Caught between the poles of getting things done and getting things correct is a sweet spot that allows for you to be genuine.
This summer I bought a good microphone. A Podcast is coming. No great theme, no great mission. Me talking to people. I love good stories, interesting people and intelligent arguments. Stay tuned.
Douglass referred to the Civil War (1861-1865) as the Slave Holders Rebellion. No state’s rights, no question about the role of federalism, no war of northern aggression, he called it for what it was, the Slaveholders Rebellion.
As a young man a fell for the myth of the lost cause. I was persuaded that there really was something more than slavery, something noble. Those blinders fell off for good when I read Stephen Sears’ Gettysburg and paused when I learned that large number of Southern soldiers invading Maryland and Pennsylvania in the summer of 1863 were tasked with rounding up freed slaves in these Northern states and sending them back into bondage. R.E. Lee knew this, tell me, where is the honor in that?
In this age of disinformation, fake news and a resurgence in White Supremacy let’s us honor Douglass by calling it for what it was, no ambiguity. Take a moment to watch this short video of United States Army Colonel Sy Seidel explain that slavery was the core of reason we fought each other to make this nation what it is today.
Years ago I was in a book club that read Lawrence Wright’s book The Looming Tower: Al-Queda and the Road to 9/11. I didn’t read the book then, but was fascinated during the discussion, particularly with the story of Sayyid Qutb, the Egyptian academic and political dissident who came to the United States in the 1950s to study at the Univesity of Northern Colorado, in Greeley. Shocked by the sexualized secularism and racism of this rural Colorado town, Qutb returned to Egypt and wrote a book titled, Milestones, that became the seed for the anti-western thought that fueled terrorists like Osama bin Laden, Sheikh Omar Abdul Rahman, Amman al-Zawahiri.
Another interesting note from the book is the role Jamal Khashoggi played as an interminteary sent by the Saudi Government to Sudan to lure bin Laden back to Saudi Arabia with the hope that he would give up his jihad rhetoric. Of course after 9/11 Khashoggi would begin to critique the Saudi royal regime for being undmeocratic, till he was eventually murdered by the Saudi Goveernment on the orders of Prince Mohammad bin Salman in October of 2018.
The book is a stark reminder of hubris that has marked America’s greatest blunders of the last 100 years. From Vietnam to Iraq the false superiority generated by technological military might has killed thousands upon thousands of Americans in the pursuit of policy that is created by people who have no idea who their enemy is.
On the other hand The Looming Tower also provides a stark assessment of how lucky Al-Qaddafi and bin Laden was time and time again. It was only the United States’ complete failure to understand the threat that allowed the timeline of horrors that began with the African Embassy bombings to continue. Bin Laden too misunderstood his enemy believing that the 9/11 attacks would propel the United States to disnegrate as a world power and withdrawal from the Middle East while also believing hundred of thousands of faithful Muslims would flock to Afghanistan to join Al-Queda and bin Laden.
Lawrence Wright is a gifted writer who has a unique ability to thread often complicated plot lines and unfamiliar concepts together while providing the reader with a narrative that never bogs down. Unfortunately, almost ten years after the death of bin Laden, most Americans have moved on from Al-QaedaQ and bin Laden. The lessons will be forgotten, even now I wonder what threat looms in the fog.
Life has a random, ironic and amusing way of playing out. For the past 16 years, my teaching career has primarily consisted of teaching seniors. These 17-18 years old spend senior year jumping headfirst into the hills and valleys of figuring out what happens after high school. Twenty-five years ago my college search was neither strategic or planned in fact I’m not sure if there was any point in my life where I was less dialed in then senior year of high school. I assumed I was going somewhere for college but really had no opinion about it. I’m pretty sure my parents grounded me one weekend in the fall of 1992 and made me apply to two colleges, Longwood and Radford. Longwood sent me the slim envelope of rejection and Radford accepted. My last semester of high school was focused on chasing girls and pretending I was cooler than shit. I have a vivid memory of being nervous as I waited in line to receive my actual diploma after the graduation ceremony knowing I might have to make up a class in summer school. I graduated.
My parents, in their wisdom thought that letting me go to college in the fall would be a fast track to failing out (a very safe assumption). They decided it would be best I defer going to Radford in the fall and instead attend community college and go to Radford in the spring. I was unmotivated, clueless and lazy.
A quarter century later my experience plays out in the back of my mind as I proofread a Stanford admission essay written by a senior student who wants to turn it in two months before it is due. But maybe I speak with the extra air of authority when I tell students to be on top of the process; knowing how poorly it can be done if you don’t have your ass in gear.
Of course, now I can look back and say that destiny was at play. My “gap” semester led to experiences that challenged and developed me. I’m often reminded of the Jon Kabat-Zinn book on mindfulness, “Wherever you go, there you are” when I’m talking to students who are in the midst of a mental breakdown regarding their futures. “It’s all going to work out” I want to tell them and somehow convince them that it will. Not to say that some will make terrible, even fatal mistakes but it will all work out, it always does. How did it work out for me? If I hadn’t been asleep at the wheel of life during my senior year of high school I probably wouldn’t have gone to Radford University.
If I had not gone to RU, I would not have been taught by Nick Pappas. Dr. Pappas was a football powerhouse at Shepherd University in the early 1960s. Though he was drafted to play professional football the New York Giants he instead enlisted into the Officer Training School for the United States Marine Corps. In 1965, the Vietnam War began in earnest and the Marines were off to DaNang. As recounted in Philip Caputo’s Vietnam classic A Rumor of War, Lieutenant Pappas was told by his commanding officer that there was a report that the North Vietnamese were laying mines around the airbase in DaNang and that Pappas should ascertain the validity of that report. I recall Pappas telling me that he left the briefing curious how he’d ascertain the validity.
After a lengthy recovery at Bethesda Naval Hospital in Maryland. The disabled Nick Pappas received a doctorate in Political Science from the University of Virginia. In the 1980s he became a tenured professor in the Political Science Department at Radford University in Radford, Virginia. In the spring of 1994, I signed up for Introduction to International Relations taught by Dr. Pappas. The I think the reading list was Plato’s Republic, maybe Eric Voegelin‘sScience, Politics and Gnosticism: Two Essays.
Pappas usually wore the same thing, every day. A blue oxford shirt and blue work pants. In the winter he would hobble into class with a fur-lined bomber hat and he would announce his approach with loud bird calls from down the hallway or immediately outside the door. He took the time to figure out what his students did: if on a sports team there was usually talk about that upcoming or recently past contest and some discussion of the opposing team’s mascot. He learned that I grew up not far from the Quantico Marine Corps Base, where he had done his Officer Training. He would often describe a place on the base and ask if I knew if it was still there. His primary instrument of teaching was a handout known as a Raptorgrasp. Using quotes, thought bubbles and pictures he would draw the outline of his lecture, make connections and graphically plot out his thoughts. Every class I took from him followed the same basic format, he’d lecture and assign a writing prompt. We would write an essay in blue books for the following class. He would hand back the previous weeks marked up and the grade would always be assigned a Greek word. The Greek word for excellence, “Arete” was the highest score, they were rare.
Pappas was my teaching ideal, mysterious, irreverent, and inviting. Most of what he taught was unknown to the recent high school graduate. Or, perhaps Plato, Hagel, Marx, and Nietzsche were on the syllabus and I slept through them. He had a fantastic way of making our ignorance accessible. He’d say, “Don’t you remember Book VII of The Republic, Plato describes the Cave Allegory”? We didn’t, he knew we didn’t but rather that simple introduction allowed us to pretend we did and no time was lost. It was effective.
Many times I’d stop by to see him in his office. A turn of the century railroad house a block off campus, home of the Political Science Department. Even if you hoped to drop off a late paper, the creaky wooden doors and floors would betray your presence. Pappas would often either be asleep or deep in a book when you crossed the threshold into his office. More often than not he would have a chew in and he’d look up, his eyes would open super wide and he’d make the “one second/one minute” signal with his index finger as he swiveled around to spit out the chew into a white paper cup that he always had on his desk.
He was always willing to visit. And would suggest books to read, movies to watch, songs to listen to. He once gave my girlfriend at the time a Country Gentleman mixtape, he was obsessed with the song “Matterhorn” and would sing, “Men have tired and men have died to climb the Matterhorn” every time we walked into his office to see him. Like most good friend and teachers much of what he said to me has taken decades to sink in. He made me want to understand Thucydides and he showed me that an academic didn’t have to be some stuffed shirt. His influence made me the teacher I am today.
My wish for my students is that there is a Dr. Pappas out there for them. He changed my life in immeasurable ways. Life is short we are often told. I am strictly JV kids stuff when compared to this mountain of a man, but I like to think that a little of him rubbed off on me.
Dr. Pappas died aged 77 on September 5, 2017. I miss him terribly and wish I could thank him for all that he did for me, one more time.
It was on this day, the 29th of November, 1781 that the white crew of the slave ship Zong began murdering slaves by throwing them overboard. The crew hoped to claim the murdered slaves as part of an insurance policy that allowed slavers to make claims for cargo that was jettisoned in order to save other cargo. Due to faulty navigation, the Zong had sailed past their intended port in Jamaica and had run out of drinking water after the mistake had been identified. The plan for murder was made after the slavers feared the starved slaves would die a natural death.
On 29 November, the crew assembled to consider the proposal that some of the slaves should be thrown overboard. James Kelsall later claimed that he had disagreed with the plan at first but it was soon unanimously agreed. On 29 November, 54 women and children were thrown through cabin windows into the sea. On 1 December, 42 male slaves were thrown overboard, and 36 more followed in the next few days. Another ten, in a display of defiance at the inhumanity of the slavers, jumped into the sea. Having heard the shrieks of the victims as they were thrown into the water, one slave requested that the remaining Africans be denied all food and drink rather than be thrown into the sea. The crew ignored this request. In total, 142 Africans were killed by the time the ship reached Jamaica. The account of the King’s Bench trial reports that one slave managed to climb back onto the ship.[
The horror of the Atlantic slave trade inflicted on humanity should never be forgotten. Let us resolve to know this history. To honor this history and to ensure that it will not happen again.