Gratitude Monday: We can do better

Ordinarily on this Monday I’d write something about my gratitude to the generations of workers who’ve shaped America’s history. But this time, I’m just going to have to point you to what I’ve said before on the subject. Because I’ve spent the past week thinking about the life of John McCain, whose passing has for some reason had me in tears.

If ever someone could be said to be sui generis, it would be McCain. You can read about his remarkable life of service pretty much anywhere, but there are a few things that have struck me.

We here and now all to often apply the term “hero” to all and sundry, but I do think of McCain as heroic. Not for being a naval aviator during the Vietnam War, and not even necessarily for having survived nearly six years as a POW in Hanoi after being shot down. But for having reached deep within himself to withstand torture for all that time, and for refusing the early repatriation offered him by his captors when they learned he was the son of an admiral.

He returned home in 1973, with his fellow prisoners. He never fully recovered from the injuries he suffered in captivity. He lived with the physical limitations and pain until his dying day. No one—no rational person—could ever accuse him of being a moral or physical coward.

McCain cultivated his image as a maverick; he used it to great effect in his political career—first as a Congressman from Arizona, then as a Senator and also as a presidential candidate. I have to say that I opposed many of his policies—one of my colleagues described him as a right-wing nut job, and I can’t disagree. I mean, I need only leave two words here to sum this kind of thing up: Sarah Palin. But one of his truly admirable characteristics was that—for all the mistakes he made—he was a man who could acknowledge his missteps and learn from them.

There was nothing small or petty about John McCain. This is rare among men these days. In politicians it’s almost unheard of.

As McCain made the journey to his final rest last week—from his ranch near Sedona to the Arizona Capitol to lie in state; a memorial service in Phoenix; lying in state in the US Capitol in Washington, D.C., on Friday; funeral service in the Washington National Cathedral Saturday; private service and burial in the cemetery at the US Naval Academy in Annapolis—I followed along.

(I had to smile writing that last bit. McCain’s record at Annapolis would have to take an elevator up about 15 floors to achieve less-than-stellar status. He graduated in 1958 number 894 out of a class of 899. But he balanced his abysmal academic record by racking up an astronomical number of demerits.)

On Saturday I was driving around the area running errands, when the funeral service was being broadcast. When Meghan McCain began her eulogy for her father, I parked and listened. It wasn’t long before I was sobbing. Ditto, later, listening to George W. Bush and then Barack Obama talking about a man who—while being a burr under their saddles—nonetheless earned their respect as a straight shooter who always had the interests of the country at heart.

One passage from Bush just set me in floods: “If we are ever tempted to forget who we are, to grow weary of our cause, John’s voice will always come as a whisper over our shoulder: We are better than this. America is better than this.”

The eulogy that struck me with such joy was Joe Lieberman’s. Rather than try to capture its affection, I’ll just let you watch it yourself.

You get the full sense of McCain’s energy, his drive, his curiosity and his capacity for friendship—genuine, heartfelt friendship.

One other thing struck me about the past week: the outpouring of affection, admiration for McCain from people who’d never met him. From Arizona to DC, to Annapolis, people lined highways and streets, in the dead of night and in August-heated days to pay their respects as his hearse passed. They queued up at the Arizona and national Capitols to file past his coffin. 

They held a candlelight vigil at the Vietnam War Memorial, saluting the old warrior one final time.

These were not organized efforts. Individual men, women and children made their way to the roads and memorial sites in their hundreds, hands to heart to honor a man they’d not met. They knew they will not see his like again..

Even his old Vietnamese foes expressed their admiration and respect for McCain—who, along with John Kerry, perhaps more than anyone else brought about normalized relations between the US and Vietnam.

The Secret Service's farewell tweet went straight to my heart. During his presidential campaigns, his protection code name was Phoenix. Not just as the Senator from Arizona, but as a man who'd been broken and risen stronger for the breaking.

One last thing—as with Lieberman’s eulogy, this tweet sums up his life:

I'm thinking that Saint Peter is gearing up for some misbehavior in heaven; well, he's been given 81 years of warning and time to prepare.

Today I’m grateful for the life and service of John S. McCain III.