“I come before you on this, our final meeting together, with the power of history foremost in my mind, the awareness that if we live only in the present, without consciousness of the past, we will have no future. Imagine, if you will, an America without Richard Nixon, a country without a past, a world in which it is truly every man for himself and there is no building of trusts, alliances between men and countries. Think of your own moment in time. Your history — your culture, your behavior — is perhaps more documented, scrutinized, than any previous generation. Your image is captured dozens if not hundreds of times per day, and the line you are expected to walk is thin and unforgiving. Consider for a moment the Internet posting that doesn’t go away — remains perpetually present, doesn’t allow for a kind of growth, progression, or forgiveness.”
I pause for breath.
“Today’s class marks a passage in my life: my last performance on the academic stage, a curtain call of sorts. I thought I’d take the opportunity to simply share my thoughts with you.
“But first I am going to ask you to turn off all your electronic equipment and imagine a morning meeting in the Nixon White House — the President, his Chief of Staff, Haldeman, Haig, Henry Kissinger, and a select handful of others — and imagine each of them holding in one hand a cup of Starbucks coffee with his name and the contents annotated on the side and in the other hand brandishing some kind of electronic device on which he is e-mailing, tweeting away, texting, whatever. Would Nixon think they weren’t listening? And instead of writing his thoughts, his middle of the night musings, in ink on legal pads, would Dick Nixon break out his smartphone and tweet away or text himself volumes of digression on the devolving state of the union?
“Think about it as you power down your devices — this is my last stand, and I want your full attention.”
I pause for an extended moment; assorted electronic goodbyes chirp around the room. “This is the nineteenth time I have stood before you — in a place that has been a center of learning for so many years, shaping minds and lives for generations. In all of my decisions, in the materials that I presented to you, I have tried to do what is best. I felt it was my duty to make every effort to introduce you to your history and the history of this country and to make every effort to educate you as to the relevance, the value of both knowing and questioning the past. Today is in some ways a resignation. In order to teach, one must have students, eager learners. I am aware that many of you took this class to fulfill a requirement that you take a history class. I know, via scuttlebutt, that this class is rumored to be “a fluff.” I am equally aware that many of you are the first in your family to even go to college, and that, instead of taking that privilege as a mandate to educate yourselves, you use it as time to hang out with friends and party. I have always thought of myself as a professor, a teacher, a mentor to the young. With no children of my own, I have perhaps wrongly allowed my students to act as surrogates. I have rallied for you, shown up for your football games, cheered you on. I believed in you. And despite shifts in the winds of academia, in the tides of the study of history, despite waning interest, I have always felt it was my duty to persevere. And let me make this perfectly clear … I would have preferred to carry on despite the personal hardship, the fact that a teaching obligation cuts into my hours of research and writing as a historian. I have never been a quitter, but, given the direction this institution feels the study of history is moving in, it would seem my effectiveness is coming to its conclusion. My own view of things is a long one. Here I note the contrast of the Nixon White House to that of Bush Senior and Dick Cheney, who makes Richard Nixon seem simplistic by contrast.
“It is my sense that Nixon was besieged with a guilt about his family, particularly the two brothers he lost early in life. And in the dark days of my own recent family drama, I think of my relationship to my own blood and the meaning of being thy brother’s keeper — literally. I think of my own marriage failing in this public debacle. I consider Dick and Pat and their fortitude in the face of all that we knew and didn’t know about them. I think of my rage at being trapped in this life, inexorably of my own making.”
I pause for breath.
“Pardon the digression.
“There are paths, forks in the road, journeys we must take. Sometimes it’s not a choice, but about what we do with what we are given. Today it is with mixed emotions, marking a beginning and an end, that I am leaving the university and will be working full-time on the Nixon Project and am looking forward to deepening my relationship with my subject matter. For those who have come to bid me adieus, our special guests: a young rabbinical student exploring the relationship of Jews to crime, Ryan, good luck to you; to the Chairman of this department, Ben Schwartz, whom I have known for many years, and who knows the depth of my feeling for him, I need not say more. Today I speak to you not only as students, but as men and women — citizens, I hope. Further, I pledge to you today that, as long as I have a breath of life in my body, I shall continue in that spirit. I shall continue to work for the great causes to which I have been dedicated throughout my years. There is one cause above all to which I have been devoted, and to which I shall always be devoted, for as long as I live. When I first took the oath, I made this sacred commitment, to ‘consecrate my office, my energies, and all the wisdom I can summon to the cause of peace among nations.’ I have done my very best in all the days since to be true to that pledge. As a result of these efforts, I am confident that the world is a safer place today, not only for the people of America but for the people of all nations, and that all of our children have a better chance than before of living in peace rather than dying in war. This, more than anything, is what I hoped to achieve. This, more than anything, is what I hope will be my legacy to you.”
Again I pause, and look around to see if anyone has caught on vis-à-vis the degree to which I have “quoted” or “sampled” some of Nixon’s most famous speeches, including of course his resignation. There is not a glimmer of recognition in the room. I conclude, as did the master, “May God’s grace be with you in all the days ahead.” The room explodes with applause. I nod, I bow, I almost fucking curtsy. Near the back of the room a hand goes up. Authorial guilt overwhelms me. “Before I take your questions, I must footnote that my comments were drawn quite extensively from speeches delivered by Richard Nixon — namely, his resignation broadcast live on television at nine p.m. on August 8, 1974.”
A girl in the front row laughs. “Nineteen seventy-four, I wasn’t even born yet,” she says.
“My point exactly. And now to the question from the rear.”
“Can you tell us, without being able to factor in a final exam, what you will grade us on?”
“I will be grading on a U-turn,” I say, smiling at my own wit. They look perplexed. “If you turned in your papers and participated in class discussions, you will pass the course.”
The clock strikes five, the students cheer; I’m not sure if it’s because this is the last class or because they know I will finally stop talking. Whatever it is, I choose to take it for myself. I leave victorious, holding my cassette recorder high above my head, and thinking aloud, “You never even knew me.”
A few days later, I am summoned to The Lodge for a “placement” meeting regarding George. When the administrative secretary calls to confirm, she advises me to bring extra clothing for George. “Think outdoorsy,” she says. “Jeans, heavy socks, wool sweaters.”
“It’s a done deal?”
“No idea,” she says. “I’m just reading what’s written on the Post-it. Also, I’m supposed to ask you if you’re planning to stay the night.”