I just finished listening to An Unfinished Love Affair, a memoir by the renowned American Presidential historian, Doris Kearns Goodwin. On one level, it touches on her deep affection and respect for her late husband Richard Goodwin, a man who played an instrumental role in the political events of the turbulent 1960s. On another level, the work is a memoir about that troubled and yet unforgettable decade, the last in which the progressive impulses within our American political fabric held prominent sway.

I sometimes have mused about whose life I would have preferred to live as opposed to my own which, I must admit, hasn’t been all that bad. As a young man, my choices drifted toward athletes. You know, it would have been nice to trade places with Ted Williams, perhaps the greatest baseball hitter of his generation. A bit later in life, I aspired to trade places with Hugh Hefner of Playboy magazine fame. For sure, no young man bursting with excess testosterone would pass on the chance to enjoy his libertine lifestyle. On reading this memoir, however, I’m convinced Richard Goodwin had a near perfect life, at least now that I enjoy the gentle wisdom of some maturity. That is, now that I’m older than dirt.

‘Dick’ Goodwin was there at the side of John Kennedy, Lyndon Johnson, Eugene McCarthy, and Robert Kennedy during many of the salient moments when America redeemed the unfulfilled promises made at its founding. It was a time when universal suffrage became a possibility, and when legal apartheid was rendered an anathema in public policy. The graceful and uplifting words of Dick Goodwin, as expressed through a host of memorable speeches back then, amplified the heartening possibilities that were spawned during those irreplaceable times. Just one of Dick’s oratorical creations, Lyndon Johnson’s We Shall Overcome speech given to the nation to commemorate passage of the Voting Rights Bill, has stood the test of time as a testimony to human freedom and dignity. The message in Johnson’s address resonated across the subsequent decades despite the fact that Goodwin cobbled it together in a few hours just before its scheduled delivery. His heroic efforts were necessary when Johnson rejected a prior draft done by others.

That was an era, a decade, when words and ideas mattered. Our leaders would uplift their audiences with grandiloquent oratory that oft would evoke or recall the great sentiments and ideals of past genius. It was a time when perfectability seemed plausible because our national icons preferred to lift our thoughts and aspirations rather than debase our public rhetoric with short-term, self-serving swill. The greater men of that era chose to elevate the public, not appeal to their darker sides.

The words of Dick Goodwin supported the optimism and energy of those brief shining moments in the 1960s. They helped launch a War on Poverty and inspire a vision for a Great Society in which all might realize their potential to be what they could. That spirit enabled a rough, working-class kid like me to work in a hospital and with poor kids before trekking halfway across the world to help impoverished farmers in India as a Peace Corps Volunteer. On returning, I could easily work my way to a doctorate and a career as a respected policy-wonk and academic. Reaching for your dreams was easier then. The times, along with the words and ideas that flowed from them, inspired so many in my generation to be more than their humble beginnings warranted.

Those times and words spawned a host of new movements and inspired greater dreams. They liberated the shackles that ensnared women and other disenfranchised groups. Soon, they would address a growing ecological catastrophe, among other critical issues. Wealth inequality and poverty reached historic lows as policies bent finally toward the needs of average families. The 89th Congress, in particular, witnessed huge investments in health, education, and cities that lifted the potential of those oft left behind in our political discourse.

As we well know, the decade was not without its dark side. Addressing racial oppression ripped open raw, festering wounds that released deeper emotions through riots and violence. An ill-considered conflict halfway around the world sapped our treasury and diverted our energies from the domestic challenges being addressed in Johnson’s vision of Great Society. That war tore our social fabric apart in raw and desperate ways. Fearing where this national tragedy was taking the nation, Dick Goodwin took his oratorical skills from Lyndon Johnson to first work with antiwar Presidential candidate Eugene McCarthy and then to John Kennedy’s younger brother Robert or ‘Bobbie.’ As much as he loved what Johnson had done on the domestic side, he saw (like a younger version of me also did) the Greek tragedy aspect of the President’s war in Vietnam. It was a conflict that ultimately destroyed so much in southeast Asia as well as so many hopes and possibilities at home.

Violence and rage were endemic by the end of the 1960s. There were escalating protests against the war along with bombings and periodic eruptions of violence, including a few fatal bombings. The apogee of the insanity might well have been the bombing of Sterling Hall on the University of Wisconsin campus, the Physics building that was located a block from where I would soon spend most of my professional life. The bombing had taken place because research for the Department of Defense presumably was being carried out there. The spouse of a graduate student killed in that bombing eventually worked at the research entity I helped manage later in my career

That was the sad side of the era. Inchoate rage and internal divisions erupted periodically to tear at our social fabric. I sat in a remote Indian town in Rajasthan, India at the end of the 60s. From that remote perspective, it seemed as if the country was imploding. We seemed destined to succumb to our worst instincts. There was a poignant moment in the book as Doris and her (then) dying husband poured over boxes and boxes of memorabilia from his days as an advisor to those great men. They found a message from Jackie (Onasses) Kennedy to Dick when he was working with Robert Kennedy as the liberal Senator from New York labored to secure the 1968 Presidential candidacy. Her message was something along these lines … “You know, Dick, Robert will end up like my husband did. There is just too much hate in this country.“ Sadly, she proved to be prescient.

The lessons embedded in that book, and from the teachings emanating from that tortured decade, are similar. Life is a continuing battle between our better angels and the other side. We saw both in the 1960s. Today, our lesser angels dominate, flooding our political discourse with greed, oppression, division, and hate. Our lesser angels seem dominant today. They appear unlikely to diminish their hold on the apparatus of government and the media again in my lifetime. Still, I had those moments of hope so long ago, even if only for a few moments.

Those precious days of Camelot, when dreams seemed authentic and aspirations possible, are unforgettable. The memories of Doris about her late husband and about those times bring a warmth to my worn-out soul. That feels good. It is a feeling I need so much in these discouraging times