Boyhood Fire
Recently, in Lincoln, Nebraska, I had occasion to visit the home of William Jennings Bryan. That is to say, I got inside the front room, visiting hours not available until later in the week. But being there rekindled the flame of boyhood hero worship. Of course, I had sports heroes like Carl Hubbell, Dizzy Dean, and halfback Pug Lund. But, oddly enough, my first stars were political figures. The very first was the flamboyant Governor of Minnesota. Dad took me to hear him at the Lincoln Park Midsummer Festival in Duluth a time or two. Then, once, to Chub Lake, not far from where we lived. Here was my hero, in flesh and blood, talking to farmers from the back of a truck. I was caught up blissfully in his fighting oratory. This red-haired radical, in a powder-blue suit and a straw hat, moved me profoundly. All of this came in the depths of the depression after I had often heard Dad and his friends fervently discussing what was wrong and how Governor Olson was going to turn things right-side up.
Of course, time tarnished my hero’s glory, not a little. His private life left something to be desired. But Olson’s passion for the underdog and the masses of poor started a fire in my belly. His advocacy put me on the trail of people like Clarence Darrow. So enamored was I with these blazing advocates that, having read Bellamy Partidge’s book, The Country Lawyer, I dreamed of hanging out my shingle in a small town to help people who were down. Corporation law would not have appealed to me in the slightest. Mixing it up with the foibles, failures, and dilemmas of the human lot would. Years in the ministry have helped me realize that dream in a different way. Yet, the maverick in me will not sit still; and whenever I think of that redheaded boyhood hero of mine, I wish I could start all over again.