In 1802, at his inaugural address, Bowdoin College President Joseph McKeen committed the college to the common good thusly:
It ought always to be remembered, that literary institutions are founded and endowed for the common good, and not for the private advantage of those who resort to them for education.
It is not that they may be enabled to pass through life in an easy or reputable manner, but that their mental powers may be cultivated and improved for the benefit of society.
I heard often of “the college and the common good” both during my time there and in the ensuing years, yet it is only now, some three decades after graduating, that I finally am starting to practically and meaningfully understand what the common good is and why it’s so vital to society, to humanity.
A bit of backstory:
Andrea and I met early on in our first year at Bowdoin and were quick friends. We grew up near one another MA (she in the city, me in a nearby suburb), both of us were planning on playing basketball, and we shared a certain sensibility when it came to the pretense that seemed quite popular among many of our classmates. We’ve stayed friends over the years, in the way that comfortable old friends do—drifting in and out of each other’s lives yet always staying connected, ever-ready and able to fall back into those old patterns of belly laughing at all things ridiculous. Our time together over Thanksgiving was no exception, though the visit took place in the solemn shadow of her dad’s illness.
When he died of pancreatic cancer a few weeks later, my heart broke for her. For her siblings. For his wife. For his grandchildren. And today, after having attended his Celebration of Life and Dedication of the Simmons University Stephen D. London Center for Community Engagement and Social Justice) this past Sunday, well, my heart breaks for everyone he touched and for everyone who won’t be lucky enough to know him. But at the same time my heart explodes with happiness and hope over the the thought of all the good her father will continue to do through his profound influence on so many others and the resultant amazing work they are doing.
I’m at an age where (sadly) it’s not uncommon for parents of friends to be dying, and it just so happens that the last time I wrote on a feel-good Friday I was on my way to a celebration of life, and this time around I’m coming off of one—timing is everything. 🤦🏼♀️ Overall, though, despite the unavoidable sadness of the unavoidable circumstances, I’m quite grateful that I’m able to be in those moments of grief with my friends and I’m even more grateful that I am able to leave them with such a strong sense of possibility.
Which brings me to today’s post, about Andrea’s dad’s life, and about the common good. (Andrea was the fourth in her family to go to Bowdoin—first her grandfather, then her father, then her uncle. On a kind of cool note, they (we) all graduated in years ending in 4 and 9 so the year we all reunited together was a pretty special thing to be on the fringes of.) I know I’m not going to do his story justice, and I know I don’t have the biggest “audience” here, but still I feel a compulsion to share some of it, to raise awareness of his dedication, commitment, accomplishments, and impacts.
After 30+ years of knowing him as “Andrea’s dad,” in the days and weeks since he died I’ve learned so much about who he was as a person…and that learning went next level at the Celebration of Life. It’s a story worth sharing because it’s the story of a wise and visionary and humble man who walked the walk and who changed the world—without fanfare and without expectation, fueled by a steadfast belief in what is right and just. It’s a story that can teach us so much and it’s a reminder of the happy stories that go unreported in mainstream media, of all the good things in this world that often get overshadowed by the bad. Andrea’s dad saw light where others saw darkness, and saw hope where others saw despair, likely a life-long impact of his time with MLK. (More on that later.) I also happen to think the timing is particularly important—it often feels like we as a nation are regressing, particularly when in comes to civil rights, so calling attention to it can’t hurt.
For the most part, I think we think that we can’t make a difference. That the problem is too big for us to tackle, too complicated. Takes time that we simply don’t have. But Steve’s life illustrated for me how a rock thrown into water creates a ripple that inspires others to throw rocks to create other ripples that ultimate make waves that make tsunamis of change. It showed me firsthand how many people work tirelessly and in relative anonymity to make positive change for under-served individuals and for whole communities, action that ultimately makes positive change for whole societies. It showed me the owner of possibility and persistence.
It makes me sad that stories like this go untold to and unknown by the world at large, and it makes me frustrated that we focus so much of our time and attention bitching about what is wrong with the world, and not nearly enough time focusing on what is right about it or trying to make it better.
Sunday’s Celebration of Life was a true celebration—it celebrated his life and it also honored his legacy, tattooing that legacy onto Simmons U forever. I’m also sure it moved many people in attendance (myself included) to reflect on how we are living and what we are doing to drive change…and more likely than not, I suspect, many of us are concluding “not enough.” I don’t think it’s a coincidence that the event had a much greater impact than its primary intent—just as, I think, Andrea’s dad had an impact far greater than he might have expected.
Here are some pieces I picked up over the last few weeks that I think paint a picture of a truly inspirational unsung hero among us:
He descended from the lone branch of a family tree that escaped Europe and the horrors of the Holocaust. It sounded to me that his parents passed on a deep appreciation for the true gift that life really is, and he both used and shared that gift limitlessly and unconditionally. That kind of commitment from a white, suburban, Jewish man may have been surprising to and off-putting for some—but it never stopped him. All in the name of fairness.
As a student at Bowdoin, his social awareness and consciousness took further shape. He was at the March on Washington in 1963 and listened to MLK’s “I have a dream” speech from a spot right in front of the Lincoln Memorial. He listened to the speech, and he truly heard what MLK was saying. As a result he wholly and unconditionally believed the dream could be a reality. He was a driving force behind both Bayard Rustin’s (the March’s organizer) and MLK’s visits to Bowdoin in 1964 and after graduation he attended the University of Chicago, where he became even more actively engaged in the civil rights movement—working both locally and nationally with Dr. King and the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. He was decidedly anti-otherness. He was anti-racist long before Ibrahim X. Kendi was a twinkle in anyone’s eye.
His first job in academia was at Wellesley College where he led the push for the founding of one of the first Centers for Black Studies in the country. It also was where he started a community engagement program between East Boston and the college—also among one of the country’s first. One of his students (and occasional babysitter of Andrea and her brother Jonathan) was Hillary Rodham, later Hillary Clinton…yes, that Hillary Rodham Clinton. Andrea’s dad influenced her worldviews long before a woman running for President was anything more than a very-distant dream. (In fact, a very touching note of condolence from her to his wife and family was read at the Celebration. It made my tear ducts leak.)
(You may see a pattern emerging in these three bullet points—but if you haven’t, let me call it out for you. He was a man way (way!) ahead of his time.)
Most likely due to taking unpopular positions on uncomfortable issues, he was told that he’d never be tenured at Wellesley. No matter. His life’s work continued uninterrupted. He led Harvard’s Phillips Brooks House Center for Public Service and Engaged Scholarship for several years, creating more community engagement and service-learning programs before finding his forever academic home at Simmons College (now University) in 1975 (where he taught for 41 years). He led with empathy. He set clear expectations with his students and was equally clear that he believed they were capable of meeting and exceeding them. He became even more involved in the community, building new programs and supporting existing ones. He was a trusted professor, adviser, and leader. He was an encouraging and supportive colleague. When workplace drama arose (as it inevitably does in all workplaces), he encouraged people to resist the distraction, to remember their purpose, and to keep their eyes on the prize. He influenced and touched generations of students and colleagues, and how far into the future that impact will be felt is both immeasurable and incomprehensible.
He was an avid Boston sports fans (except for the Bruins, but I won’t hold that against his memory!) and a very very avid (avid!) runner. Up before dawn for decades, logging countless miles, and completing an unthinkable 37 (!!!) consecutive Boston Marathons. That is how foundational his discipline and dedication was. It’s mind boggling. (Andrea and her sister Jessica are running Boston this year in his memory to fundraise for Dana-Farber. ❤)
I’m telling you all this because on Sunday I was blown away by something I previously was aware of in a distant way but didn’t fully understand and appreciate—that so many people work tirelessly and make so many sacrifices to make the world a better place. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. We owe it to these unsung heroes, these champions of change, to quit our bitching about everything that is wrong with things and devote a fraction of our complaining energy to improving them, even in the smallest ways. We think we can’t make a difference, and we are wrong. We can. If we make a conscious choice and a commitment to doing so, and if we act on our words.
When we were walking to the car after the post-event reception Sunday, Kerri recalled the sole time she met him, sitting there at the table on the patio of the house we’d all stayed in for Andrea’s 50th, and said “He really made me feel special. And it sounds like he made everyone else feel that way too.”
Apparently, that was his gift. And what a gift it is.
As we headed home to watch a “first,” that of two Black QBs facing off in the Super Bowl, we couldn’t help but smile, pretty sure that somehow, somewhere along the way, Steve had a hand in it
Andrea’s dad died, but this isn’t a post about death. It’s about life, it’s about legacy, and it’s about the belief in a dream. It’s about hope and the hard work needed to make that dream come true.
Dream big. Act bigger.
Thanks as always for being here with me. I for one am glad I have you to share this amazing story with.
Have a great weekend.
Love you too.
(This new version of this old song feels right, right here, right now. (In case you needed more proof that things can be changed and reimagined.))
Wow, thank you for sharing this incredibly inspirational accounting of all that one man contributed to the greater good. What a passionate man who touched so many lives. And now one more.
Beautiful Nicole. Thank you. Here is the link to the video of the memorial. It was great seeing you. 💜
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