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Making
things happen - with integrity. A weekly CyberMemo designed to keep you on task. Monday July 8, 2002 Volume IV Number 27 |
FOCUS - Finish Well
For Abraham Lincoln, the last days were the best.
As a schoolboy, I remember Presidential rankings. There was the youngest President. The oldest President. We knew the Presidents by their number in sequence (Eisenhower was the thirty-fourth). It seemed terribly subjective even then, but in those days we also ranked the Presidents in order of greatness.
There was considerable debate as to where more recent Presidents would appear on the greatness scale. It seemed the highest prize of all. It was a general measure, to be sure. It had to do with stature, with wide approval and acclaim, with accomplishments that would be considered historic, momentous, bringing the country through times of fearful crisis, articulating a vision of the future that would inspire the nation and bring out the best in our nature.
A Great President. What did that mean?
Greatness is not measured by some objective test. Greatness is something you just know when you see it. It’s an intuitive judgment. And there was little doubt about who was our greatest President.
George Washington was the first President. Franklin D. Roosevelt served the longest (four terms). But we didn’t consider either of them the greatest. That title belonged to Abraham Lincoln.
Lincoln’s life was snatched away at the peak of his popularity. From that day forward, April 15, 1865, he was immortalized by a grieving nation. Certainly, to this very day, those who suffered defeat at the hand of the mighty Union Army in that final year of the Civil War would be filled with bitterness and heartache at the loss, and would consider President Lincoln the ultimate perpetrator of the crimes against their homeland. But to the rest, as the nation grieved over his untimely death, he became a symbol of all that is good and right. In life, he was larger than life (six foot four without the top hat). In death, he was exalted to the status of legend.
But up until the summer before he died, he would hardly be considered a candidate for greatness.
November 1864 was time for election. Up until the fall of that year, Lincoln himself believed he would be defeated. His support in the Republican Party was sketchy; the opposition considerable. Democrats felt they had a golden opportunity to wrestle the White House away from the Republicans. The nation was weary of war. Generals would go months at a time without engaging the enemy. After three years of fighting, the losses of life and limb and property staggered a beleaguered nation. The national debt mounted. Even the “victories” seemed hollow; the toll too high, most thought.
Lincoln was frustrated with his generals. Sherman stalled outside Atlanta. Grant could not seem to penetrate Petersburg, much less Richmond. Months passed without any real progress. Many objected that the Emancipation Proclamation went way too far, meddling with the internal affairs of Sovereign States and shifting the purpose of the war from preservation of the Union to abolition. Others complained that it did not go far enough. Abolitionists considered Lincoln too soft. Many believed he had abused his war powers, that he ignored the Congress, and that he turned the Presidency into a Monarchy. Cartoonists caricatured him as a boney country bumpkin. Editorialists decried the absence of an end-game to a war that only got worse under Lincoln’s leadership. Even the city of Washington itself was under threat of imminent invasion by the Confederacy.
The summer prior to the election, he was only fifty-five years old but he looked ten or even fifteen years older. He stood well over six feet tall, and was always lean, but now his deep set eyes and hollow cheeks and protruding cheekbones appeared gaunt and gray. His eyes, tired. Lincoln slipped into melancholy periods of dark depression. His wife, Mary, was no consolation. She lived in her own world of grief (she never really recovered from the loss of her little boy Willie who died during the White House years at the age of twelve). Terribly self-conscious as the First Lady, she racked up enormous personal debts on New York shopping sprees and personal, unfunded renovations of the White House.
Many predicted that Lincoln’s first term would be his last.
Lincoln thought they were right.
He prepared to wind down his work, and turn the affairs of his office to new administration. It went against his nature. He wanted a second term. He believed in the cause that took form as he matured in the office. He built a solid Cabinet. Understood the military machine. Instituted a draft. Built an army. During those years, the Northern States developed into an industrial force. Support for troops on the front lines improved. There were uniforms and ammunition and weapons pouring out of factories and foundries and delivered by a burgeoning system of railroads and cargo vessels.
Up until this time, Lincoln was only vaguely religious. But now, he turned to his Bible, and deepened his understanding of God’s involvement in the affairs of human history. He developed a genuine personal devotional life. He cultivated a belief that the outcome of this terrible conflict was in the good hands of the Almighty. His new found theology made its way into his speeches.
But it wasn’t until the news came from Atlanta that Lincoln’s prospects of a second term made a complete turnabout. On September 1, 1864, Sherman’s army took the city. Most consider this to be the real turning point in the war. Atlanta had been the primary source of support for the Confederate Army. Sherman’s troops tore up the city’s factories and railroads, and cut off the lines of supply. In Washington, Lincoln finally had something to celebrate – as did the Congress and all the Union States. Everyone could now see an end to this terrible war. Lincoln’s popularity climbed sharply.
And in the November election, he proved unbeatable.
* * * * * *
My mentor is now eighty-six years old. His eyesight is fading. For most of his career, he disciplined himself to read a book every week. It was a priority for him. He believed that reading not only expanded his knowledge base, but it sharpened his verbal skills. Acquainted him with the big ideas. Made him a better decision maker. Helped him to understand people. Made him a more effective communicator.
So he read books, a countless number of books. He wrote them, too. Over fifty have been published.
And now he reads with great difficulty. He doesn’t like to talk about it. He hates it. He misses his books.
With the help of an able writer, he just published one more. It’s a book about passion. In a nationally aired radio interview, he spoke about the book’s theme. He said that one of life’s great tragedies occurs when increasing age results in declining passion. He made an observation – many of his good friends, wonderful people who lived productive lives, retire, and then as the years pass, passion fades. “It troubles me deeply… these people have lost their passion!” he says.
So he wrote a book. He called it – “How to Maintain Your Passion Until You Draw Your Final Breath.” The publisher changed it. (Book buyers won’t like the reference to that last breath thing, they said.)
While his body weakens, and his ability to get around slows, he remains a passionate man. He is passionate about friendship. Passionate about goal setting. Passionate about impacting the world for Christ. Passionate about higher education. Passionate about family. Passionate about his marriage. Passionate about the young men and women he’s known who are in a growing position to influence the world in positive ways.
This most recent book just may be his best seller.
* * * * * *
With the fall of Atlanta under Sherman, his re-election secured, events began to roll in Lincoln’s favor. Grant penetrated and defeated Petersburg, leaving Richmond nearly defenseless. Robert E. Lee informed Confederate President Jefferson Davis that he must, for the sake of survival, flee the Confederate Capital (Richmond). Lee’s army could no longer protect him.
The rebel army (as Lincoln called it) dwindled. Sherman’s Union troops marched on to Savannah, destroying everything it their path. Sherman determined to disable every means of support for the Confederate Army. It was a cruel but effective crusade.
Grant’s march went on to Richmond. He raised the American flag over Jefferson Davis’ empty office.
Lincoln
solidified his relationship to Congress. The mood of Washington turned
hopeful. Against the advice of his staff, Lincoln ventured south to visit
Grant’s troops. In February, he traveled all the way to Richmond. On his own,
accompanied by his son Tad, he asked directions to the State House.
Immediately, he was recognized by a crowd of newly freed slaves who fell to
their knees to honor their “savior.” Lincoln graciously acknowledged their
appreciation, but let them know he was not a savior. He encouraged them to
thank their Father God in Heaven for their liberation. As he and his son made
their way to the center of the city, the crowd grew. At the Statehouse, the
Headquarters of the Confederacy, Lincoln was welcomed by General Grant. Grant
led him into the executive offices where Lincoln found Jefferson Davis’ desk.
He smiled, and then sat down in the exiled President’s chair. There he
remained for two full hours, chatting with his victorious officers and
reminiscing over the battles that led to this unprecedented moment. An
historic moment.
Finally, Lincoln savored victory.
A short time later, General Robert E. Lee met in a farmhouse in Appomattox with General Ulysses S. Grant and signed an unconditional surrender. It was April 9th.
Back in Washington, Lincoln seemed energized. He took time with his family. He laughed more. He went for carriage rides with Mary. He attended the theater.
On Friday, April 14th, word got out that the President, his wife, and his guests would occupy the box seats at Ford’s Theater for the popular “Our American Cousin.” Scalpers sold tickets to eager Washingtonians, anxious to be in the same room as the celebrated President. A well known actor, a familiar face in the back hallways of the theater, a man who secretly conspired to make his own wartime assault, hid in the shadows outside the balcony seats reserved for the President. General Grant had planned to be with the President, but was called away.
John Wilkes Booth, dagger in one hand, and derringer in the other, waited for the laughter of the audience at an anticipated punch line in the play, broke into the box seat parlor and fired a single shot.
The President never knew what hit him.
* * * * * *
Eight months before he died, Lincoln believed his political life was over. Lincoln had served a single four year term. Only in retrospect did much of his work become known as legendary. At the time, the President agonized over war-time issues, against considerable opposition. He didn’t really know his work had been effective until his final days.
* * * * * *
It’s Monday morning. You are a leader.
Chances are you are still waiting to see where your efforts are really going. You face opposition. Competition. Sometimes you are misunderstood. Sometimes, you second guess yourself.
Lincoln’s greatness, really, emerged from his perseverance. His character. His commitment to principle. His loyalty to his cause. His mastery of language.
The Gettysburg address seemed an afterthought at the time it was given. Lincoln shortened it because the speaker who preceded him carried on before the large audience for over two hours. It’s genius was recognized much later.
We all want to finish well. Lincoln did.
My mentor is finishing well. He’s an octogenarian who reminds us to maintain our passion. That’s the main thing. Lincoln’s passion nearly ran dry. But he stayed the course.
So must we.
Posted in Valley Center, Calfornia
© Copyright Kenneth E. Kemp 2002
Special Thanks to my good friend David Belcher, owner of Rhino Media Group and creator of WisdomGram
LeaderFOCUS is a service of Good Stewardship Associates
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