This week I visit a man who, for me, is arguably one of the most interesting men to grace American history: Thomas Jefferson.
There are so many reasons for my saying this, aside from the fact that Jefferson’s refined political philosophy fundamentally shaped our nation, his preamble to the Declaration of Independence, it has been said, “is regarded as one of the most enduring statements of human rights and the phrase ‘all men are created equal’ is considered one of the most well-known expressions in the English language.”
I intercept Jefferson industriously tending one of his many gardens, an avid horticulturist, Jefferson cultivates 330 varieties of more than 70 species of vegetables from around the world at his sprawling Monticello homestead. Of these, he grows 15 varieties of the English pea, which he considers his favorite. He was also the first president to grow tomatoes in North America–great if you love tomatoes . . . which I do.
He stands remarkably erect for a man in his 80s, his white locks waving my arrival, set beneath a utilitarian wide-brimmed hat, worn primarily for protection from the sun, I imagine. He has every appearance of antiquity about him as one might expect of a man enjoying his retirement attending to his grandchildren playing in the expansive yard; exploring the woods, creeks and streams as he himself did as a red-haired, freckle-faced boy.
How simple, yet noble and esteemed, this good and great man that looms large before me, dressed down at this stage in his life.
I can’t help but recall John F. Kennedy’s famous quip, at a dinner honoring 49 American Nobel Prize winners, back in the early ‘60s, “I think that this is the most extraordinary collection of talent, of human knowledge, that has ever been gathered together at the White House, with the possible exception of when Thomas Jefferson dined alone.”
I am taken back by the thought that we are often inclined to see these compelling historical figures, not as real human beings with flaws and foibles, struggles and worries–as we all have– but as unfeeling, uncaring, cold marble statues void of humanity; pawns in our ongoing struggle for political supremacy.
The farther away we distance ourselves from great men and women like Jefferson, the more we diffuse the lessons to be learned. I am of the opinion there are few men who exemplify this more clearly than Thomas Jefferson.
In a recent commentary by Jarrett Stepman, co-host of “The Right Side of History” podcast, he states, “America is suffering through a crisis in education, especially when it comes to history. Historically, repression has become the norm, not the exception. It’s hard to have a substantive and productive debate on the issues of the day when even the most basic facts of history are unknown to those doing the debating. Platitudes begin to sound like profound insights when one has an extremely narrow view of history and world events.”
History was never intended to be revised for political gain; rather, to reflect the story of our existence in the annals of truth. For it is in the remembering that we often find our salvation. Quite frankly, our willful imaginings assign motive and meaning to words and actions that, in actuality, did not exist. We say we “seek truth,” but in fact, seek only the “truth” we are willing to accept.
In 1823 Jefferson wrote, “The letters of a person, especially one whose business has been chiefly transacted by letters, form the only full and genuine journal of his life.”
I’ve always referred to this as “opening a window into a person’s soul.” Jefferson would “open” some 50,000 “windows” in his lifetime.
“Quite the garden, Sir!” I observe as I interrupt my musings.
“Well,” he squints and smiles as he brings himself to full stature, “I’m an old man; but, truth be known, a young gardener. As I live in the midst of my grandchildren– as you can readily see–I enlist them in the task at hand, whenever possible. I tell them flowers are like performers in a play . . . tulips come on the stage and they have their words and then they leave and they’re replaced by the daffodils and so forth and so on. I well expect I’ll soon be leaving the stage myself.”
It was apparent this genteel man revered family–a man who knew what it was to lose what he held dear. Of the six children born during his 10-year marriage with Martha Wayles Skelton Jefferson, only two daughters would live to adulthood. Martha herself would die one month shy of age 34, never having recovered from the birth of their last child–20 years before Jefferson would be elected president. It further revealed something of the depth of the man and his rightly aligned priorities.
Where to begin, as I watch the quintessential Renaissance man remove his gardening gloves and brush the soil from his loose-fitting overalls.
Without fanfare, introductions are made and then I begin, “I would imagine it daunting to be entrusted with the imposing responsibility of drafting a document you knew would be subjected to the scrutiny of your peers (there were 86 alterations, made at various stages by Jefferson, by Adams and Franklin, by the Committee of Five, and by Congress) as well as by a nation?”
His mouth, well formed and still filled with teeth– unlike Washington–is strongly compressed, bearing an expression of contentment and benevolence. His voice, to me, seemed rather soft spoken for one who writes with such acknowledged authority.
“It was my father,” he reflects, “whom I lost at the age of 14, due to illness, who instilled within me a love for liberty. His endearing words were ever present in that rented second-story room in Philadelphia where I sequestered myself for 17 days to draft the document.”
He spots and promptly plucks an invading weed growing next to one of the his prized pea plants, then freely confesses, “I was not seeking to find new principles, or new arguments, never before thought of, not merely to say things which had never been said before; but to place before mankind the common sense of the subject in terms so plain and firm as to command their assent, and to justify ourselves in the independent stand we were compelled to take. Neither was I aiming at originality of principle or sentiment. The document was intended to be an expression of the American mind, and to give to that expression the proper tone and spirit called for by the occasion.”
“I value highly, Sir, that you were able to articulate such a foundational document in a way that people could understand and in a way that transcends time and place.” I begin reciting,
“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.–That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed . . .”
“Yes, yes,” he acknowledges, his eyes had ventured off to the vista of Charlottesville in the valley below . . . “‘the consent of the governed.’ ”
To be continued . . .
Former Cook County Commissioner Garry Gamble is writing this ongoing column about the various ways government works, as well as other topics.
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