John Lewis, Quiet Superstar of Good Trouble

John Lewis left us last night and I feel like crying. Pancreatic cancer got him about eight months after  doctors discovered it.

Nothing will improve what's already been said, but I met him and I would like to tell you about it. There are few people who really deserve the moniker of "icon," but he deserved it 100%.

When you get to a place like the NEA, get elected to the Board of Directors and then to the Executive Committee, you get chances to meet famous people. The NEA has always been at the forefront of the effort to maintain human and civil rights--indeed, it's what attracted me to it--and it gets invited to celebrations and reminders of the same.

The Congressional Black Caucus Dinner is one of them. I attended whenever I could. I was in awe of those people, they who overcame prejudice and racism. It was especially true of superstars like John Lewis, though he never acted like one. He was, and remained until his death, a humble man who knew he had become a vessel of the essence of justice.

John Lewis always entered the room quietly and slowly. He was in no hurry. He had seen and been through some of the more momentous events of the Civil Rights Movement. People gathered around him to pay him well-deserved homage, so a white guy like me often found it hard to get near him.

In a way, he seemed astonished by all the attention, and seemed like he kind of wanted to get it over with. But he projected an aura that was unmistakeable. This was the walking, talking Civil Rights Movement, right here, right in front of you. It was a moment to be savored.

I don't recall what I muttered. It was something of an attempt to summarize what I thought of him and what he had done. It was quick, which might surprise some of my friends. But I knew others wanted to say hello, too. He was the kind of person who makes you feel better to know he's in the world, who reminds you of the serendipity of fame and how small you really are, compared to what someone else has dared.

He was not a large man, not one to take up a lot of space until he spoke--which was rarely as time went on, but had a greater impact because he said it with that powerful voice. All of the protests, all of the progress, all of the angst and challenges that remain, all of it followed him around until he died.

Much has been made of getting his head split open at the Pettus Bridge in Selma in 1965, and well it should. But that was the second time his head had been split open. The first was with the Freedom Riders in 1961.

He had already taken that enormous risk to desegregate bus terminals throughout the South. Racists burned the bus in Anniston, Alabama. The Riders were forced out and beaten. Others, like him, nearly died.

But in a lesson for all of us, he got back up and kept working, kept leading. He saw that the battle for civil rights would never be completely over in his lifetime, all the more necessary to keep working. His disappointments must have been enormous, not the least of which must have been the election to the presidency of a clear and convincing racist this far along, this long after so much has already been accomplished.

But he also lived long enough to see the impact of Black Lives Matter, lived long enough to know that within 45's administration, Secretary of Defense Espy's conscience wouldn't leave him alone. He declared, by default, that the Confederate flag would not be allowed to fly on any of our military bases from now on, ever. He may be fired for that by a twisted man. If he is, I think he'll be glad.

He'll be glad because he decided to follow Lewis' lead: If you see something, say something, do something. Get yourself into "good trouble" for a good cause. He decided to move to the better side of history. So, too, did the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, who told Congress the other day that the naming of military bases for Confederate generals needs a revamp.

The "lost cause," finally, may be actually lost. It may continue to live in some people's minds, but not officially. Statues are coming down. Minds are being adjusted. That it took that long is a testament only to the country's stubbornness to change that it has unfortunately displayed far too often.

But make no mistake: John Lewis took us this far. It's up to us to continue. It's up to us to turn this awful page, this desperation to preserve injustice and the wrong values. His cause, the cause, goes on: good trouble. This is a small comment of thanks to him, for his work, for his success, for his courage, for the beacon of real leadership.

Be well. Be careful. Wear a mask. With some luck, I'll see you down the road.


Mister Mark