I recently took it upon myself to spend some time exploring a well-known gem in downtown State College named Webster’s Bookstore Cafe. I was immediately captivated by the sights of bookshelves containing incredibly old and hard to find reads, the sounds of folk music playing through the speakers and the relaxing jazz from the live piano, and the scents of foods I generally did not expect to find juxtaposed within a bookstore, such as warm bowls of chili. After my eyes devoured nearly every title within the history section, my interest shifted towards the philosophy stacks, eventually leading me to spot a short but promising little book entitled Character is Destiny: The Value of Personal Ethics in Everyday Life, by Russell W. Gough. In his text, Gough reminds us of the Greek philosopher Heraclitus’ ominous lesson on the ethical sense of character, in his own words: ethos anthropos daimon. Translated, this means character, man, destiny—thus literally, man’s character is his destiny. We also learn of Aristotle’s concise definition of personal character: “We are what we repeatedly do.”
Over Thanksgiving break, I had the opportunity to watch Netflix’s new documentary Medal of Honor, which brilliantly captures the heroic valor and selfless sacrifices of several recipients of our nation’s highest honor and award. There are few things I enjoy more in life than speaking with and learning from our nation’s veterans, whose gallantry, as President Lyndon B. Johnson once described, “stirs wonder, and respect, and an overpowering pride in all of us.” This being the case, I was naturally enthralled by each one of these stories, though one in particular stood out to me among the rest. Episode 3 of the series focuses on Edward A. Carter Jr., who served in the United States Army during the second World War. African Americans wishing to serve in combat roles were forced to give up their rightly-earned ranks, and restart their careers as lowly privates—this was something Carter understood, and nevertheless, insisted on giving more of himself in this position. On March 23, 1945, the tank which carter was riding on was hit by enemy bazooka fire, while crossing into the Rhineland. Carter immediately dismounted and despite his low rank, led three soldiers towards the enemy, who was positioned in a warehouse across a wheat field. Of these three, two were killed and the other was severely wounded. Carter trudged on through the field, and despite being hit five times by heavy machine gun fire, managed to eliminate six of the eight Germans attempting to capture him, taking the other two as prisoners and human shields as he made his way back across the field, and interrogated them utilizing the German he had learned before the war. The information Carter managed to pry from the soldiers proved to be vital in defeating the German force as the US moved deeper into Germany. With Carter surviving, it would only be just to award him the Medal of Honor, correct?
In a perfect world, yes. Unfortunately, American race relations at this time were far from even acceptable, meaning Edward Carter—nor any other African American soldier of any branch—would ever be recommended for, let alone awarded, the nation’s highest award during WWII, despite their heroic acts. This was in spite of the fact that an African American soldier had been awarded the Medal of Honor in every conflict prior to WWII, including the American Civil War. The Clinton administration later investigated this mysterious happenstance, and found that it was not a lack of heroism displayed by such men, but that the gross racism of the time had actually increased from prewar times, and that their commanding officers felt they would be turned down anyway based on their skin color. This tragic irony was the most hard-hitting moment of the series for me. I find it hard to comprehend how someone—how a nation—could withhold the honor these men so deserved. Where is that character, and what does the abhorrent deficit of it in this case say of our destiny? Edward Carter would die in 1963, never knowing he would eventually be given the recognition he deserved. He is now buried in Arlington National Cemetery.
I was also able to visit the Tree of Life Synagogue in Squirrel Hill while I was home in Pittsburgh. I delivered flowers and paid my respects in front of the memorial the community had created for those lives who were stripped from the earth in an act of hate and violence—but I was surprised to find that I was not the only one still mourning weeks after the tragedy had passed. I was joined by many other community members, who also brought flowers, and who lit candles in memoriam of the souls of the dead. On my way back to my car, I walked past telephone pole after telephone pole, each with their own note and art of love, strength, and hope. Something deep in me was moved—never before have I felt so connected with the city of Pittsburgh, and with the people who reside in it. The resilience, the generosity, and the character of my hometown will forever set it among the greatest cities in the world.
Last week, I had the opportunity to attend the School of Music’s “Mosaic” at the Eisenhower Auditorium, which our very own Ellen Maple performed in. Considering I had never been to one of these performances, I didn’t quite know what to expect—I had been told by my new friend seated next to me, Gale, a 90-year-old alumni and music teacher, that there would be sudden bursts of excitement as the show moved from one spot of the auditorium to the next, leaving the audience on the edge of their seat in anticipation for what was to come. She was right! There were parts of the performance on the stage, some beside me, some in the balconies, and some even inside the walls. We never knew which direction our heads would jolt toward next to catch the next piece. This artistic Mosaic featured performing groups from all over the School of Music, and Gale was especially excited to tell me about her days studying and performing Operettas and the like.
“You know, when I taught singers Opera, I’d have them sing it by themselves before I’d give them the piano”, she told me. “There was a greater emphasis on the arts back then. It’s things like this that keep me going, especially when everything else in America seems to have gone down two notches.”
I asked her what in specific best displayed her interpreted degradation of the America she was raised in.
“Well, it starts with the education. There’s not much care for professional artistic development anymore. And the profanity! It’s disheartening to see the President tweeting all those bad words at people on there. It’s not a good look for our country.”
I told her how I also wish we would do a greater service to develop and employ the better angels of our nature, and asked if she appreciated the admiration for the arts displayed by our 35th President, John F. Kennedy. With a big grin and a hearty “Yes!”, she resounded her affirmation. I showed her photos of my January 2018 trip to Washington, including a tour of the Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts. She loved the discussion, and remarked how she wished younger people would appreciate the arts like myself and my friends involved in performing arts groups (it’s not like I could disagree considering the sea of white hair which lay before me). We shared some Twizzlers and enjoyed the rest of the performance.
Gale and I’s interaction kindled in my mind the fires of curiosity, and I soon began wondering just what all of these experiences have taught me about the character of America, and in turn, what they have taught me about its destiny. I have tried to inquire, what can we do to move our nation two notches ahead, instead of two behind? What are we lacking today that we once seemed so complete with in years past? Can we reverse this declination, if one truly exists? I think it does, and I think we can reverse it. I firmly believe that we do “have a rendezvous with destiny”—as President Ronald Reagan once remarked—and that that destiny must be faced with certainty that we have done good by our word, that we have set the example for peace and prosperity to all nations, and that we, at the end of the day, begin to add to the surplus of the world’s character, instead of prolonging its deficit. As individuals, yet for the greater good, we must remember the words of the Greek philosophers and repeatedly work to develop ourselves ethically and morally, and we must never stop in this effort. Our nation’s character is a mosaic of unique peoples, different cultures, unforeseen experiences, and unfound truths—but whose direction and destiny is, and must always be, forward.
Works Cited
Gough, Russell W. Character Is Destiny: the Value of Personal Ethics in Everyday Life. Crown Forum, 1998.
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