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Arthur M. Schlesinger Jr.’s declining health over the past few years was not exactly a secret, but he managed to stay so sharp and funny up to the end that it was still a shock to hear of his death last week. I went to two events in his honor in the past few months, both in Boston. At the Massachusetts Historical Society, a tribe of academics and ancient friends of the Society showed up to hear a speech that we all knew to be a valedictory, even if no one wanted to admit it. When introduced, Arthur had a little trouble standing, and even after he succeeded it was not entirely clear that he had, because he had become so diminutive in advanced age. But then the old confidence returned, and he gave a speech that blasted the arrogance of the Bush administration — the personification of the imperial presidency Arthur warned against in his book of that name in 1973. It was feisty and great. I felt a little like I was listening to Orestes Brownson, the subject of Arthur’s senior thesis and obscure first book, an early sign of a lifelong interest in unorthodox thinkers working in the public realm.A few weeks later, at the JFK Library, Arthur was in fine fettle. The crowd was large, unruly, and unacademic, and he clearly drew strength from it. This time he gave his speech seated from a wheelchair, and despite the sedentary position there was no holding him back. He lit into Bush and the people loved it. These were not ad hominem remarks, however; they were a spirited assault on a president who has committed blunder after blunder because of a proud ignorance of history. That to Arthur was unforgivable. It’s one thing to make a bum decision — all presidents do that. But to do so out of a belligerent misunderstanding of how we all got to this point in the life of the United States — that seemed especially unforgivable, especially from a president born in New England.
Surprisingly, Arthur was not himself a native, although his smarty-pants demeanor and almost comically enlarged bow ties made him seem like one, or at least like the stereotype of the New England academic that many Americans hold. He was born in Columbus, Ohio, where his father was a young history professor before coming east to Harvard, after a stint at Iowa City, when Arthur was all of seven. It’s true, he enjoyed a rather privileged education, attending Phillips Exeter Academy, then Harvard, and then joining the Society of Fellows in its peak years.
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