A personal remembrance of John Lewis
“My philosophy is very simple, when you see something that is not right, that is not fair, that is not just, say something, do something, get in trouble, good trouble, necessary trouble.”
A— Rep. John Lewis
s he battled stage IV pancreatic cancer, and now, as much of our nation and the world mourn his passing and praise his remarkable life — concurrent with a once-in-a century pandemic and tumultuous presidential election year — I have been reflecting on the resonance of a few fortunate and poignant interactions with civil rights pioneer and epitome of public servant Rep. John Lewis.
They reveal a humility and commitment to community and service too often absent in an age of hyperactive individualism, social media sensationalism, dangerous distrust of experts and the perilous devaluing of politics, public service and civic engagement.
I will cherish these fleeting and profound experiences as long as I am blessed to breathe.
I first crossed paths with Mr. Lewis in Atlanta in 1999, when I was in his adopted hometown to present a conference paper on presidential rhetoric at the annual meeting of the American Political Science Association. Rep. Lewis gave the Pi Sigma Alpha political science honor society lecture, the signature inaugural formal address of the conference. Like a few hundred other political scientists, I stayed after his speech so he could sign my copy of his moving memoir (co-authored with Michael D’Orso), “Walking With the Wind,” which I had procured and devoured earlier that year during winter break at Miami University in Oxford, Ohio.
To say that it was thrilling to hear and meet a historic figure I studied and admired as a student, nascent educator and social scientist would be an understatement.
Five years later our paths crossed again at Clarion University in rural Pennsylvania when Rep. Lewis gave the commencement address. As a young political scientist and part of the university’s welcoming committee, I had the honor of meeting the congressman at the local Holiday Inn and driving him to campus. When I bent down to fetch his suitcase to pop in my hatchback, he thanked me profusely but gently insisted on picking it up himself and placing it in the car.
I thought: Here I am, an obscure young academic in a Honda Civic with John Lewis. Mr. Lewis — who put his life on the line as a Freedom Rider and Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee chairman, had his skull cracked for basic voting rights at the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Bloody Selma, was arrested over 40 times, and was only the second Black member of Congress elected in Georgia since Reconstruction — and he carried his own luggage.
In my 40 years ensconced in the study and practice of political institutions and elected officials, he was the most gracious, gentle and humble public servant I’ve encountered.
During our short drive to campus — Bob Dylan’s line in his 1981 song “Lenny Bruce” (“I rode with him … only for a mile and a half/seemed like it took a couple of months”) immediately comes to mind — we chatted about matters in Congress and the nation (it was a presidential election year then as well). I expressed my sincere gratitude for his visit to a rural state school off the beaten path, especially one whose mission is rooted in educating poor, working- and middle-class Pennsylvanians and that produced generations of teachers. I inquired how and why, as a civil rights pioneer and iconic congressman from Atlanta, he accepted our invitation to bring his message to small-town Pennsylvania.
I will never forget his answer: “It’s extremely important to visit students and regions that may not know as much about the civil rights struggle. It is an honor and privilege to share my experiences with anyone, anytime, anywhere … but it is especially essential to be with young people and go to rural areas and small towns.”
A few months later in Boston, serving as a faculty leader with a cadre of colleagues at an experiential political science course at the Democratic National Convention, I attended the DNC labor caucus meeting where Mr. Lewis was a featured speaker. After listening to AFL-CIO Secretary-Treasurer Richard Trumka, President John Sweeney and Mr. Lewis, I approached him after his rousing address to the delegates. Before I could say anything, he said, “You’re from Clarion — good to see you again. Thank you so much for the ride to campus, Kevan.” He then promised to speak to my Clarion American government students if I ever brought them to Washington. Mr. Lewis kept his promise. In the fall of 2005 I brought my American government class — most of them first-generation college students — to the nation’s capital along with my dear friend and colleague’s education class. We had a full slate of exceptional speakers, museums and landmarks to hear and visit, including tickets to the new National Museum of the American Indian, but I did not want to leave Washington without having our Pennsylvania students hear from Mr. Lewis.
While it was a very close call — a special House session had been called at the last minute, the representative was in a necessary rush, and his incredible staff had to switch conference rooms at the Cannon House Office Building at the last minute to facilitate his evolving schedule — he and his indefatigable Capitol Hill staff made certain that he shared his message of service, love, justice and making good trouble with my Clarion University students.
The year prior to Mr. Lewis’ transcendent commencement address at my home institution, another towering figure delivered a provocative address at our graduation ceremony: Pittsburgh-born playwright, August Wilson.
After cataloging a litany of injustices and challenges facing the nation and world, Wilson’s repetitive refrain asked, simply and profoundly: What are you going to do?
The selfless and courageous life of Rep. John Lewis answers Wilson’s trenchant chorus: He gave the United States 60 years of enlightened and vigilant service in his authentic, almighty, truth-telling, soul-stirring, bridge-crossing, bridge-building 80 years.
Freedom Rider. SNCC coordinator. Voting rights activist. Congressman. An 18-year-old son of Troy, Ala., sharecroppers who wrote Martin Luther King Jr., was sent a roundtrip bus ticket by King to visit the Southern Christian Leadership Conference director in Montgomery … and never looked back.
Bullied, beaten and bloodied in Rock Hill, S.C., in 1961.
Bullied, beaten and bloodied at the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Ala., in 1965.
The youngest speaker at the historic March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom in 1963.
Awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom by President Barack Obama in 2011.
How prescient that award-winning filmmaker Dawn Porter’s inspirational, sublime documentary about Mr. Lewis, “Good Trouble,” hit our streaming home screens two weeks before he left for higher ground.
John Lewis was, and remains, the Conscience of the Congress.
May we somehow summon a semblance of his remarkable courage to march forward in pursuit of the common good and do the heavy, persistent work of love, coalition-building and voting necessary to build and sustain his beloved community.
Rest in power, righteous servant and civil rights pilgrim, the Honorable John Lewis.