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Remembering John Gardner
BY: Lloyd Morrisett
April 2002
We
are here today to celebrate John Gardner’s life and honor his
memory. I believe also that we are here in response to a terrible
longing that cannot be satisfied. In Tennyson’s words, “…But,
oh, for the touch of a vanished hand and the sound of a voice that
is still.”
My father died over twenty years ago, but on some Sunday mornings
I still wake up thinking I will call him to relate some news of
interest, or, simply, to talk. By sharing our individual memories
of John we each may have a more complete memory to live on in our
hearts and minds. By sharing our feelings we may, perhaps, ease
our burden of grief.
In the spring of 1959, after a first luncheon meeting, John Gardner
took a chance and hired me as one of his junior staff members at
Carnegie Corporation. It was a critical turning point in my career
and life. It was also the beginning of a friendship that lasted
for more than forty years. The five years from 1959 until John left
Carnegie to become Secretary of Health, Education, and Welfare,
were golden years—not only for me but for others on the staff
as well. Every day I went to work smiling and with eager anticipation
for the day ahead. John had created, both by example and design,
an organization that demanded excellence, encouraged growth, and
exemplified high standards.
As this was a time very early in my career, I came to believe that
the standards and values I found at Carnegie were common to foundations
and, perhaps, other organizations as well. Later I came to know
that rather than being a common exemplar, Carnegie was unique. The
heritage that John passed on to me, to Alan Pifer and other colleagues
at Carnegie, to Margaret Mahoney who became President of the Commonwealth
Foundation, and to Eli Evans who became President of the Revson
Foundation, was characterized by a strong sense of public responsibility
in a private organization, stewardship of a great trust from a man
long dead, civility and grace in organizational and personal relationships,
a continuing search for creative ways to solve social problems,
and an unceasing demand for excellence. After 1964 as I watched
the development of John’s career, I always recognized these
qualities and values emerging in what he did.
John Gardner was a man of serious intent. This may have been partly
due to innate temperament, but I also think it was an outgrowth
of his exposure as a young man to the rigors of the depression and,
later, to the horrors of World War II. The titles of his books give
a roadmap to the values he lived by: Excellence, Self Renewal, No
Easy Victories, Morale, and On Leadership. He was a student of organizational
behavior and believed that organizations needed leaders and that
those who could lead had the responsibility to do so. One result
was his decision to leave Carnegie and become Secretary of Health,
Education, and Welfare.
Despite his often-serious demeanor, John could enjoy a good joke.
During the early years of the Johnson administration we were asked
to help put together a commission on higher education. John and
Jim Perkins, who was then Vice President of Carnegie, thought very
highly of Meredith Wilson formerly President of the University of
Oregon and later of the University of Minnesota. Upon our recommendation
Meredith Wilson was appointed to the commission, but in the labyrinthine
ways of bureaucracy, the government appointed Meredith Wilson the
bandleader. That fiasco was sorted out by naming two Meredith Wilsons
to the commission.
John was a true friend to me and to many others. One day when he
was already suffering from prostate cancer, John called me and said
he was worried about Caryl Haskins. Caryl Haskins was one of John’s
oldest and dearest friends. Caryl’s wife, Edna, had died a
short time before. John was worried that Caryl was sinking into
despair and depression and not being sufficiently mentally stimulated
to have any desire to live. John asked if I would look into the
matter. Caryl Haskins was being cared for by a extraordinary woman,
Alice Dadourian. She only needed someone to help advise her, and
she was able to put into effect measures that led Caryl to use talking
books and again take some interest in life. John tried to help his
friends even though his own life was ending.
I have been, and always will be, grateful for John’s willingness
to take that risk in hiring me in 1959. I am deeply grateful to
him for the training he gave me and the personal growth he encouraged
at Carnegie. Most of all, I prize our friendship that endured throughout
his life.
David Wagoner wrote a wonderful epic poem entitled “The Labors
of Thor.”* This poem speaks of the inevitable gap between a
man’s dreams and his actual accomplishments. It also speaks
of the difference between a man’s own judgment of his work
and the judgment history may render.
In the poem, Thor goes north to the halls of the ice kings to display
his gifts that seemed almost superhuman. Goaded on by Loki, he strives
to prove himself in three contests. Despite his mighty efforts he
drinks merely an inch of mead from the horn-cup; in the test of
weight lifting he is only able to budge one paw of a gray-green
cat, and in the final wrestling match he cannot throw a feeble old
woman.
The last lines of the poem are these:
He went back south, casting his bitter lesson,
Moment by moment, for the rest of his life…
Meanwhile, the Ice Kings trembled in their chairs
But not from the cold—they’d seen a man hoist high
The Great Horn-Cup that ends deep in the ocean
And lower all Seven Seas by his own stature;
They’d seen him budge the Cat of the World and heft
The pillar of one paw, the whole north corner;
They’d seen a mere man wrestle with Death herself
And match her knee for knee, grunting like thunder.
John Gardner was a truly great man. It was a rare privilege to know
him and have him be my friend. I believe his achievements will remain
untarnished and that his influence will grow with time.
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