Lend Me Your Ears: Great Speeches in History

by Unknown

  He must learn them again. He must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid; and, teaching himself that, forget it forever, leaving no room in his workshop for anything but the old verities and truths of the heart, the old universal truths lacking which any story is ephemeral and doomed—love and honor and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice. Until he does so, he labors under a curse. He writes not of love but of lust, of defeats in which nobody loses anything of value, of victories without hope and, worst of all, without pity or compassion. His griefs grieve on no universal bones, leaving no scars. He writes not of the heart but of the glands.

  Until he relearns these things, he will write as though he stood among and watched the end of man. I decline to accept the end of man. It is easy enough to say that man is immortal simply because he will endure: that when the last ding-dong of doom has clanged and faded from the last worthless rock hanging tideless in the last red and dying evening, that even then there will still be one more sound: that of his puny inexhaustible voice, still talking. I refuse to accept this. I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance. The poet’s, the writer’s, duty is to write about these things. It is his privilege to help man endure by lifting his heart, by reminding him of the courage and honor and hope and pride and compassion and pity and sacrifice which have been the glory of his past. The poet’s voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail.

  President John F. Kennedy Assures West Germany of America’s Steadfastness

  “All free men, wherever they may live, are citizens of Berlin, and, therefore, as a free man, I take pride in the words Ich bin ein Berliner.”

  Six weeks after the failure of American-backed rebels at Cuba’s Bay of Pigs, President John F. Kennedy met General Secretary Nikita Khrushchev in Vienna and apparently impressed him as indecisive. The Soviet leader first tested him on Berlin, forcing the issue of the Allied power’s access to that divided city. Kennedy went on U.S. television to say that he would take the nation to war, if necessary, to defend Berlin. Khrushchev’s response was not to risk a war but to erect the Berlin Wall. A year later, in the Cuban missile “eyeball to eyeball” confrontation, Kennedy rebuffed another Communist probe.

  By 1963, the youthful American president had established his bona fides as a staunch defender of the West against Communist expansionism. On June 26, 1963, as more than a million Berliners lined the streets to shout “Ken-ned-dee,” and with red cloth hanging from the Brandenburg Gate to prevent East Berliners from seeing the reception, he addressed a throng in Rudolf Wilde Platz.

  The short, almost shouted speech—implicitly based on John Donne’s idea that no man is an island—employs repetition skillfully, both in the “Let them come to Berlin” lines and the “Ich bin ein Berliner” theme stated fore and aft.

  ***

  I AM PROUD to come to this city as the guest of your distinguished mayor, who has symbolized throughout the world the fighting spirit of West Berlin. And I am proud to visit the Federal Republic with your distinguished chancellor, who for so many years has committed Germany to democracy and freedom and progress, and to come here in the company of my fellow American General Clay, who has been in this city during its great moments of crisis and will come again if ever needed.

  Two thousand years ago the proudest boast was Civis Romanus sum. Today, in the world of freedom, the proudest boast is Ich bin ein Berliner.

  I appreciate my interpreter translating my German!

  There are many people in the world who really don’t understand, or say they don’t, what is the great issue between the free world and the Communist world. Let them come to Berlin. There are some who say that communism is the wave of the future. Let them come to Berlin. And there are some who say in Europe and elsewhere we can work with the Communists. Let them come to Berlin. And there are even a few who say that it is true that communism is an evil system, but it permits us to make economic progress. Lass’ sie nach Berlin kommen. Let them come to Berlin.

  Freedom has many difficulties and democracy is not perfect, but we have never had to put a wall up to keep our people in, to prevent them from leaving us. I want to say, on behalf of my countrymen, who live many miles away on the other side of the Atlantic, who are far distant from you, that they take the greatest pride that they have been able to share with you, even from a distance, the story of the last eighteen years. I know of no town, no city, that has been besieged for eighteen years that still lives with the vitality and the force, and the hope and the determination of the city of West Berlin. While the wall is the most obvious and vivid demonstration of the failures of the Communist system, for all the world to see, we take no satisfaction in it, for it is, as your mayor has said, an offense not only against history but an offense against humanity, separating families, dividing husbands and wives and brothers and sisters, and dividing a people who wish to be joined together.

  What is true of this city is true of Germany—real, lasting peace in Europe can never be assured as long as one German out of four is denied the elementary right of free men, and that is to make a free choice. In eighteen years of peace and good faith, this generation of Germans has earned the right to be free, including the right to unite their families and their nation in lasting peace, with good will to all people. You live in a defended island of freedom, but your life is part of the main. So let me ask you, as I close, to lift your eyes beyond the dangers of today, to the hopes of tomorrow, beyond the freedom merely of this city of Berlin, or your country of Germany, to the advance of freedom everywhere, beyond the wall to the day of peace with justice, beyond yourselves and ourselves to all mankind.

  Freedom is indivisible, and when one man is enslaved, all are not free. When all are free, then we can look forward to that day when this city will be joined as one and this country and this great continent of Europe in a peaceful and hopeful globe. When that day finally comes, as it will, the people of West Berlin can take sober satisfaction in the fact that they were in the front lines for almost two decades.

  All free men, wherever they may live, are citizens of Berlin, and, therefore, as a free man, I take pride in the words Ich bin ein Berliner.

  Senator Everett Dirksen Extols the Marigold

  “It beguiles the senses and ennobles the spirit of man.”

  Conservative Republican Dirksen of Illinois came to national attention denouncing moderate Thomas E. Dewey of New York at a GOP convention for having “led us down the road to defeat.” In later years, the senator became more likable, especially to journalists who enjoyed his colorful dramatics in a deep baritone and dubbed him the Wizard of Ooze.

  Here is an example of a “little speech” of little legislative import, but touching a chord of symbolism that reverberates long after speeches on weighty matters have lost their zing.

  Dirksen periodically submitted a bill to the Senate to establish a national floral symbol, much as the American bald eagle was the animal symbol (over the objection of Benjamin Franklin, who preferred the turkey). Others thought no national flower should be chosen, reflecting the idea of the United States as a bouquet of many states’ flowers, but Dirksen vainly plumped for the marigold. This speech was given on April 17, 1967; in 1986, Congress decided to adopt a national floral symbol, and President Reagan signed the bill so designating the rose.

  ***

  MR. PRESIDENT: ON January 8, 1965, I introduced Senate Joint Resolution 19, to designate the American marigold—Tagetes erecta—as the national floral emblem of the United States. Today I am introducing the same resolution with the suggestion that it again be referred to the Committee on the Judiciary.

  The American flag is not a mere assembly of colors, stripes, and stars but, in fact, truly symbolizes our origin, development, and growth.

  The A
merican eagle, king of the skies, is so truly representative of our might and power.

  A national floral emblem should represent the virtues of our land and be national in character.

  The marigold is a native of North America and can in truth and in fact be called an American flower.

  It is national in character, for it grows and thrives in every one of the fifty states of this nation. It conquers the extremes of temperature. It well withstands the summer sun and the evening chill.

  Its robustness reflects the hardihood and character of the generations who pioneered and built this land into a great nation. It is not temperamental about fertility. It resists its natural enemies, the insects. It is self-reliant and requires little attention. Its spectacular colors—lemon and orange, rich brown and deep mahogany—befit the imaginative qualities of this nation.

  It is as sprightly as the daffodil, as colorful as the rose, as resolute as the zinnia, as delicate as the carnation, as haughty as the chrysanthemum, as aggressive as the petunia, as ubiquitous as the violet, and as stately as the snapdragon.

  It beguiles the senses and ennobles the spirit of man. It is the delight of the amateur gardener and a constant challenge to the professional.

  Since it is native to America and nowhere else in the world, and common to every state in the Union, I present the American marigold for designation as the national floral emblem of our country.

  President William Jefferson Clinton Urges Memphis Churchgoers to “Make Our People Whole Again”

  “If Martin Luther King… were to reappear by my side today… what would he say?… he would say, I fought to stop white people from being so filled with hate that they would wreak violence on black people. I did not fight for the right of black people to murder other black people with reckless abandon.”

  At a reception in Washington, D.C., in 1994, President Clinton told the anthologist: “I have a copy of your collection of speeches on my night table, and I learn a lot from it.” (The President, known to flatter authors frequently in that way, is said to have a night table the size of a football field.) I replied that the next edition would have one of his speeches in it, and he quickly asked, “Which one?” Without the deliberation over the collected works that such a decision deserves, I blurted, “Memphis?” Mr. Clinton nodded approval, adding: “Especially toward the end.”

  On November 13, 1993, Mr. Clinton flew to Memphis, Tennessee, to make a noontime talk to five thousand ministers, mostly black, at the Convocation of the Mason Temple Church of God in Christ. Because he tended to ignore texts when speaking to audiences he knew, speechwriter Carolyn Curiel prepared only a three-page series of talking points, including highlights of addresses of the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr.; it was at this church that Dr. King had preached his last sermon before his 1968 assassination.

  However, on Air Force One flying to the event, staff members urged the President to stay “on message” to the traveling press corps, devoting some time to his support of the North American Free Trade Agreement. Preprinted signs about NAFTA were set to be held by children during Atlanta appearances. Accordingly, the President cobbled together half a speech that included a review of blacks appointed by his administration, reminders that poor families had been given a tax cut, and five long paragraphs about the job benefits of NAFTA. He delivered it uncomfortably and knew it was received only politely; none of that is included in the text that follows.

  But speaking in a Pentecostal church, in front of a white-robed choir, the person in the pulpit is expected to speak as the spirit moves him—which means no prepared text. Working from his terse list of prompts, but “winging it,” Mr. Clinton then gave the second half of his speech, which was the most moving long passage of his presidency. Daring to place himself in Dr. King’s shoes, he challenged the audience to assume moral responsibility to teach nonviolence to meet “the great crisis of the spirit that is gripping America today.”

  Clintonian oratory usually runs long. In some cases, as in his 1992 Democratic convention speech, the length seemed self-indulgent; it was as if he recalled his boring 1988 convention speech, in which the only applause came at the words “in conclusion,” and was determined to milk his winning convention for all the applause in it. Two other long speeches, however—on religious liberty, made to the James Madison High School in Vienna, Virginia, on July 12, 1995, and on affirmative action made one week later—were thoughtful, persuasive presentations of his views on these most controversial topics. (Clinton credited Ms. Curiel with the affirmative action drafting; Jonathan Prince worked on religious liberty.)

  The final portion of his Memphis speech, however, is what Clintonites like to think of as quintessential Clinton: personal, impassioned, anecdotal, self-questioning, colloquial (“bitty”), and—with Bible-quoting Southern Baptist cadences—uplifting. On Ms. Curiel’s wall is a picture of audience members, many with hands in chins, in pensive rather than revivalist mood. “This had not been billed as a major speech,” she recalled, “but on the way back, we all knew something major had happened.”

  Just before mounting the pulpit, Mr. Clinton listened to a lone saxophonist play the hymn “Amazing Grace.” He heard himself introduced as “Bishop Clinton” and immediately played off that in his opening.

  ***

  …YOU KNOW, IN the last ten months, I’ve been called a lot of things, but nobody’s called me a bishop yet. [Laughter.]

  When I was about nine years old, my beloved and now departed grandmother, who was a very wise woman, looked at me and she said, “You know, I believe you could be a preacher if you were just a little better boy.” [Laughter.]

  Proverbs says, “A happy heart doeth good like medicine, but a broken spirit dryeth the bone.” This is a happy place, and I’m happy to be here. I thank you for your spirit.

  By the grace of God and your help, last year I was elected president of this great country. I never dreamed that I would ever have a chance to come to this hallowed place where Martin Luther King gave his last sermon. I ask you to think today about the purpose for which I ran and the purpose for which so many of you worked to put me in this great office. I have worked hard to keep faith with our common efforts: to restore the economy, to reverse the politics of helping only those at the top of our totem pole and not the hard-working middle class or the poor; to bring our people together across racial and regional and political lines, to make a strength out of our diversity instead of letting it tear us apart; to reward work and family and community and try to move us forward into the twenty-first century. I have tried to keep faith….

  If Martin Luther King, who said, “Like Moses, I am on the mountaintop, and I can see the promised land, but I’m not going to be able to get there with you, but we will get there”—if he were to reappear by my side today and give us a report card on the last twenty-five years, what would he say? You did a good job, he would say, voting and electing people who formerly were not electable because of the color of their skin. You have more political power, and that is good. You did a good job, he would say, letting people who have the ability to do so live wherever they want to live, go wherever they want to go in this great country. You did a good job, he would say, elevating people of color into the ranks of the United States armed forces to the very top or into the very top of our government. You did a very good job, he would say. He would say, you did a good job creating a black middle class of people who really are doing well, and the middle class is growing more among African-Americans than among non—African-Americans. You did a good job; you did a good job in opening opportunity.

  But he would say, I did not live and die to see the American family destroyed. I did not live and die to see thirteen-year-old boys get automatic weapons and gun down nine-year-olds just for the kick of it. I did not live and die to see young people destroy their own lives with drugs and then build fortunes destroying the lives of others. That is not what I came here to do. I fought for freedom, he would say; but not for the freedom of people to k
ill each other with reckless abandon, not for the freedom of children to have children and the fathers of the children walk away from them and abandon them as if they don’t amount to anything. I fought for people to have the right to work but not to have whole communities and people abandoned. This is not what I lived and died for.

  My fellow Americans, he would say, I fought to stop white people from being so filled with hate that they would wreak violence on black people. I did not fight for the right of black people to murder other black people with reckless abandon.

  The other day the mayor of Baltimore, Kurt Schmoke, a dear friend of mine, told me a story of visiting the family of a young man who had been killed—eighteen years old—on Halloween. He always went out with little bitty kids so they could trick-or-treat safely. And across the street from where they were walking on Halloween, a fourteen-year-old boy gave a thirteen-year-old boy a gun and dared him to shoot the eighteen-year-old boy, and he shot him dead. And the mayor had to visit the family.

  In Washington, D.C., where I live, your nation’s capital, the symbol of freedom throughout the world, look how that freedom is being exercised. The other night a man came along the street and grabbed a one-year-old child and put the child in his car. The child may have been the child of the man. And two people were after him, and they chased him in the car, and they just kept shooting with reckless abandon, knowing that baby was in the car. And they shot the man dead, and a bullet went through his body into the baby’s body, and blew the little bootie off the child’s foot.

  The other day on the front page of our paper, the nation’s capital, are we talking about world peace or world conflict? No, big article on the front page of The Washington Post about an eleven-year-old child planning her funeral: “These are the hymns I want sung. This is the dress I want to wear. I know I’m not going to live very long.” That is not the freedom, the freedom to die before you’re a teenager is not what Martin Luther King lived and died for.