I resisted writing something on Ted Kennedy until after I had read a great deal more about him. And now that his body has grown cold, I am prepared to finally put into print what I think about Kennedy.
It should go without saying that I remain vehemently opposed to much of Ted Kennedy's legacy, even more so as I learned that he used to joke about Chappaquiddick. (
I see it as my duty as a native of the Bay State to work in whatever way I can to undermine that legacy, which with the exception of deregulation of the trucking and airline industries, has been responsible for much of the high cost of college education, unemployment among young people, and whole host of other maladies that uniquely make Massachusetts the butt of jokes virtually everywhere outside of its borders.
I find myself lamenting several things with his passing. The most important of which is that he died too soon. I would have preferred him to die ten years from now. Why might you ask? Because no Republican or Independent in Massachusetts has the courage to run against the Kennedy and I would have, assuming I had a considerable fortune behind me, thrown my hat into the ring. A fantasy of mine is to transform Massachusetts politics and I wouldn't have minded going up against the aged, greying Democratic machine. Turnover in Massachusetts is quite rare, given how corrupt and self-serving Massachusetts political culture has become.
In any event, everyone from the Bay State seems to have a Ted Kennedy story and I am no exception, for Ted Kennedy and I have something in common: We are both alums of
Milton Academy, one of Boston's best college preparatory schools.
And so I've taken his death as an opportunity to describe the kind of school we both attended. I have no idea if it was as left-leaning when he attended, but I figured now is as good a time as any to show the kind of place where his family sends its own -- while they damn much of the rest of us to mediocre (at best) public education.
Whereas Kennedy was scion of a wealthy family, I was just lucky to get some of the opportunities that my parents worked so hard to give me. I was on financial aid, with my family and me working vacations and holidays just to keep me there. A narrative, not too dissimilar to right now, given Kennedy and others love of throwing lavish subsidies on higher education that simply ends up pushing tuition higher. (He also severely mucked with the minimum wage, which has
led to youth unemployment at a record high. At 51%, it is the highest since they started keeping records in 1948.)
At Milton Academy, Kennedy boasted a C average and I routinely made honor roll and took some of the more challenging classes, despite having a sick mother and working two part-time jobs. I was editor of the school paper and wrote for nearly all of the campus publications; he was, by all accounts, a lackluster football player. Of course, Mr. Kennedy got into Harvard, while I got into
Claremont McKenna. But then again, I ain't no Senator's son, or rather the son of a
Nazi-accommodating ambassador, so perhaps things worked out as they should have. (Kennedy, to his shame, cheated on an exam at Harvard and so was expelled and then re-enrolled.)
When Ted Kennedy came to speak at the very far left prep school which I attended, Milton Academy, it was rumored that a Board of Trustee member took down a banner, displaying the school's motto, "Dare to Be True," from the podium when he spoke. (They also took it down for Bill Clinton.) And that banner went back up afterwards.
At the time, I took special comfort in this subtle little act of courage from an otherwise staid, yet oddly appeasing administration, given that I was among two outspoken conservatives on the entire campus. For many students, I was the first Republican (and likely remain) they had ever met. I imagine the sight of me as a conservative that didn't have horns and was articulate was a shock to a great many of them, some of whom went to surprising lengths to label me a nut or otherwise socially ostracize me for my views.
Being a conservative at Milton Academy was an ordeal that I was quick to put behind me. I tend to eschew the narrative that too many campus conservatives fall into of being persecuted, but I know of no other word that would do what I experienced there justice.
Such was the way the school treated conservatives. But I was not alone. Students who openly admitted and advocated conservative principles, were pilloried, mocked, threatened, and graded down on paper after paper. Our signs were defaced, and regrettably, in at least one instance, our lives were even threatened, with a member of the black student group threatening to do bodily harm on at least a few of our members. Punishment was not forthcoming, of course. This, at a school, that would call campus wide assemblies when some miscreant drew a quarter inch swastika on a bathroom stall.
Mr. Richard Hardy, our principal and later head of school, would refuse to let me or any other conservatives speak before the school about such conservative, despite allowing left-leaning students to advocate for their
preferred candidates. (He gave stirring speeches about leaders who dared to criticize President Bush.) Naturally, there were only two Republican speakers during the four years I attended there. One of them, talk show host,
Michael Graham, came at my invitation and the assembly was nearly canceled when he questioned the wisdom of defining ourselves all on the basis of race. He made a bunch of jokes about Bill Clinton, and others, and basically, brought down the house -- to the ire of the P.C. progressives who seemed to favor free speech for anyone but conservatives as I soon learned as editor of an online conference.
With some regularity, our online conference was shutdown and heavily regulated by nearly administrator after someone (me) had the temerity to suggest that America really wasn't a racist country (and this was
pre-Reverend Wright.) On the message board, despite being called a Nazi repeatedly, I defended free speech and said that given what I had read about the African subcontinent and the successes of black Americans (despite their high crimes rates), I found myself rather privileged to be living in America. For that, I was brought before a show trial that was orchestrated by then
Principal Richard G. Hardy. (He waited until our then Head of School, Robin Robertson was out of town to punish me. She had previously given me her word that no one would be punished for voicing their opinion while she was Head Master.)
Initially, I was told that I might be given a Discipline Committee or a DC, as we referred to them. This punishment carried a significant blemish as I would be suspended and a black note would be sent off to colleges and so I was very grateful that I would not be punished in this manner. Instead, I was given another punishment -- the highest one possible without an official letter being sent off to the colleges that I hoped to attend.
Despite guarantees in the student handbook that I had the right to an open hearing and to notice before the Deans Committee, I was called down, seemingly at random, and spent a good hour arguing for why I shouldn't be punished at all. My friend's mom, who incidentally is black, wanted to come in and argue on my behalf. She was not allowed entry. Neither was another character witness. No, in this, I was entirely alone, as a combination of my advisor, the Academic Dean, and Mr. Hardy wanted to be very clear that I understand that I thought wrong and therefore needed to be punished.
Of course, Mr. Hardy had already written why I was punished. It was verdict and then trial. Apparently, my commentary had made some students feel uncomfortable. When I asked which students I had made feel uncomfortable, he refused to give me any names. So much for confronting your accusers! (Hence my love affair with the Foundation for Individual Rights in Education!)
My punishment was to write two reflection pieces, one from my perspective and one where I had to interview a "student of color." I ended up interviewing my friend, Lucas Fowler, and my then-girlfriend, who was also a student of color. (She ended up leaving me after people criticized her for dating me.)
I thought that this whole assignment was mildly racist and even entertained going to the press, but thought better of it. (At the time, my mother was going through chemotherapy and so didn't need the stress and with one more year left of school, I needed to graduate.)
* * * *
I owe my political writing debut to a piece that I wrote about Ted "Chappaquiddick" Kennedy when I was the founding editor of the short-lived newsletter, The Bastion. It was so named because my co-editor, Ryan Sebastian, and I sought to bring a sort of balance to an otherwise totally unbalanced political discourse. My favorite piece was one I wrote, titled French Whines, which took to task France's lack of support for the Iraq War and how they had been waging some would say neocolonial wars in Africa. All in all, the newsletter was rather sophomoric, which was fine because I had founded it as a Freshman.
The piece I wrote about Kennedy challenged his reputation as a liberal lion and brought up such character blemishes as cheating at Harvard, using his dad to get out of combat in Korea, and the now infamous Chappaquiddick. At the time, I didn't quiet understand the economic rationales for why so many of the programs he seemed to favor winded up harming, rather than helping people, but it seemed clear to me that the minimum wage was an exercise in clossal stupidity.
The school tried to stop me from using school funds to print the paper, arguing that as a student currently attending Milton Academy was a member of the Kennedy family, she too might feel uncomfortable. Instead, I resolved a compromise. I printed it with my own money and handed it out. (Looking back as it, it was my first real foray into politics.)
In doing so, I resolved, after this, and many other brushes with that politically correct administration that two things would happen: I would one day become one of the best known graduates of Milton Academy and that I would do so by honoring its motto, "Dare to be True," even its most famous graduates would not.