Memories of Leon Shull
So many people have shared such wonderful stories about former ADA National Director Leon Shull who passed away August 25th we thought we should collect them to share with Leon's family and add to our knowledge of the many who contributed to ADA's legacy.
Please leave your thoughts and memories in the comment section.
Please leave your thoughts and memories in the comment section.
5 Comments:
I was saddened to learn of Leon's death. It's hard for me to imagine that his motivating ferment for liberalism suffused with deep seeded humanism is gone.
It was a distinct honor to have worked with Leon on issues of shared importance. His effectiveness and dedication were extraordinary so it is no surprise that his legacy is enlivening.
Rick Gilmore
It is obvious to me that Leon was a visionary leader who pushed the agenda and ADA out front throughout his tenure as executive director of the organization.
That kind of leadership is sorely missed.
test
Here are the remarks I prepared for Leon's memorial on Sept 28 on the Hill. I deviated from the text some but the sentiment is here.
How do you describe a man like Leon Shull, who meant so much to so many people? I can think of a lot of adjectives, but there is one aspect of Leon’s influence that is most important to me.
My wife, Nora, described Leon as a gentle mentor, who had a big influence in a formative stage of my career. I expect this is true of a great many people in this town. Leon was a mentor.
The first time I remember seeing Leon was in 1980. I had been a member of ADA for some time, but only on paper. I had just moved from my home in Colorado to seek my fortune in Washington, DC as an activist. I had volunteered to help with a fund raising dinner in honor of Millie Jeffrey on behalf of the local chapter of Michael Harrington’s Democratic Socialist Organizing Committee. Leon spoke at Millie’s dinner.
I don’t remember a lot of specifics about what Leon said that night. But I do remember him waxing romantic about some group house in Philadelphia in the 1930s. I think maybe Millie lived there. Or maybe Leon did. I recall a humorous story about making house calls on working families and telling them “President Roosevelt wants you to join the union.”
Now this dinner took place in 1980, and unions were not too popular with the public at that time. But I was a die-hard believer in the union cause, and I remember admiring Leon that night. Here was a man, who in his late 60s, was still standing up for the same principles that he had subscribed to in his 20s. I made up my mind that I wanted to grow up to be like him.
So at that dinner I learned the first of many lessons from Leon. That if something is worth struggling for in your 20s, it should still be worth struggling for in your 60s (now I would add, or 70s or 80s or 90s).
The next day I sent my resume in to ADA. And thanks to Amy Isaacs, I soon had a job. Leon said that he thought I was too old, but at Amy’s suggestion, he agreed to hire me--for a year--at the princely sum of $100 per week. The year stretched into a year and a half, so I had some time to learn a few more things from Leon. Here are some that I still remember more than 25 years later:
• There are no “new” ideas. This might sound a little extreme; of course Leon never intended to say that there was nothing new under the sun. But this was a time when lots of the young people who had been attracted into ADA, were saying that we needed to reinvent ourselves. Remember the so-called “Atari Democrats” who said we needed new ideas (but didn’t really offer any). Remember the media attention paid to Paul Tsongas’s speech at the ADA convention in which he told us to abandon our ways and find new ideas? And remember that Ronald Reagan was swept into power claiming that he had new ideas, but what he really wanted to do was repeal the Great Society and the New Deal and go back to the era of Hubert Hoover? Anyway, Leon didn’t buy into these calls for “new” ideas. He thought we had plenty of old ideas that simply hadn’t been adequately implemented.
• Don’t be timid about your political opinions. This was a time when lots of Democrats were, quite frankly, running scared. Some pretty good progressives had been defeated in the 1980 election. Some politicians who had been steadfast liberals were afraid to speak out. I remember asking Leon how he, and ADA, kept the nerve to be so controversially liberal in times like that. He said to me that we (meaning ADA) have to be outspoken, and take sometimes unpopular opinions because we can. We have a luxury that elected officials do not. Politicians have to face re-election, but ADA does not. So we can speak the truth, even when it is unpopular. And I am sure that Leon had faith that if we held steadfast to our principles, that eventually the tide would change, the public would see the wisdom of our views, and the wavering politicians would follow. (Let me assure the politicians in this room that I am not accusing all politicians of bending with the wind. ADA has always been fortunate to have a steadfast group of supporters on the Hill. We just need more of them.)
• Don’t be afraid of the word “liberal.” It has a long and honorable history in this country and there is no reason to abandon it. In the early 1980s, liberalism was under attack from all quarters. It wasn’t just the reactionary conservatives. I remember sitting in Leon’s office when someone handed him a leaflet from Citizen Action, a leading network of progressive citizen organizations. Its headline was “Tired of the Same Old Liberalism?” Leon picked up the phone and called Heather Booth, leading light of Citizen Action at the time. “We didn’t mean you, Leon,” he reported her as saying.
These are only a few of the lessons I learned from Leon…but you get the idea. I am sure you all have many to add to the list. I was destined to know Leon for a long time after this and never walked away from an encounter with him without learning something.
These lessons are not important because they happened in the past. They are important because we carry them with us today.
My children, Emma and Julia, have often asked me over the years what happens to us when we die. I have never been equipped to comfort them with an answer based on religious faith. But I have told them that when we die, we live on in the hearts and minds of those we have known. If they have left us a legacy, like that left by Leon, we live it out and pass it along to those who follow us. In that sense I have complete faith that Leon will live on forever, because we will pass his lessons on by our actions through the generations.
Recently, after hearing of Leon’s death, I was supposed to be helping my daughter Julia with her homework. My mind had wandered to the subject of Leon, and I guess I had a somewhat pensive look. Julia looked up and asked me why I had that expression on my face. I explained to her that my friend had recently died, and I was remembering him. She crawled up in my lap and said, “But you still have me daddy.”
Yes. I do still have Julia. And I also still have Leon, in the sense that I still remember the example that he set about how to live one’s life. And with luck, maybe I will be able to pass this along to my daughters, and they will in turn pass it along to those who come after them. Goodbye Leon. And thank you.
Bob Lucore
Director of Research & Policy
United American Nurses, AFL-CIO
Those of us who are really lucky are blessed with parents who look out for our well-being, love us and nurture us, who take pride in our achievements even when they disagree with us.
Susan and Jane, you were among the lucky ones. Leon loved and cherished you – and, of course Anne, Ed and Ruth. He simply beamed when he spoke of you. I, too, was among the lucky ones blessed with a father and mother dear beyond measure.
But I was doubly blessed when in 1969, as a young graduate student looking simply to fulfill a degree requirement, I came to Americans for Democratic Action as an intern and found another caring, gentle, mentoring soul who would become a central part of my life – with apologies to Susan and Jane, a second father.
I did not have an auspicious debut at the ADA office. The staffer, who had hired me, had left the organization and neglected to tell anyone I was coming. No one was prepared for my arrival and there was general consternation and confusion until Leon arrived. Leon promptly took matters in hand and assigned me to file the mounds of paper that Stina Santiestevan and Susan Weber had accumulated. This was not necessarily the most exciting job around but it was the first of many lessons that I learned from Leon: that even when dealing with the mundane, one could learn.
You have heard from others about his political acumen, his unswerving dedication to ADA and espousing of liberal ideals. All true but Leon was above all a teacher. He relished the chance to exchange ideas with the young people who crossed his path, and there were many.
How many of you in this room benefited from that wisdom in your youth?
Leon was a teacher but he was not pedantic; he never lectured; he taught by personal example so none felt threatened and all felt enriched. One of those people, who couldn’t be here today, told me that she earned her undergraduate degree in college but her master’s degree in politics came from Leon. She, today, is a lawyer dealing in elder law – something she believes would not have happened without Leon’s example and, to the best of my knowledge, he never knew.
For Leon, all politics was personal. It was never theoretical. It was never an academic political science course. It was always about people. He liked the game; loved the legislative process and he relished the people he got to meet through that process.
When he retired, he said that heading ADA had been the best job that anyone could have. That was true for him but it was also true for the millions of people who never met him whose lives he touched in pursuit of the American dream – full employment at a living wage, universal health care, equal opportunity under the law, a quality education, freedom of speech, a sane foreign policy and so much more were the goals he strived for. He, more than anyone else I have ever met, knew that sometimes, in order to get the ideal, we need to work for what is possible. And, because he helped achieve the possible, we all benefited.
It wasn’t all serious either and, as the language and rhetoric changed, some of us turned into the teachers of the perpetual student Leon Shull. In the 1970s, with the rise of the feminist movement, the language changed as well and that wasn’t always easy for Leon but we persisted. We knew we were successful when, at an ADA convention, challenged about the participation of certain members of the board, he read down a list until he got to Congresswoman Holtzwoman. How can you not love someone who comes up with that?
That was the professional but there was a personal side to Leon which deserves to be honored as well. My husband John and I have been the fortunate recipients of his and Anne’s friendship. Leon nurtured and mentored me professionally but he also took a very personal interest in my well-being. In the early 1970s, he and Anne somehow got two extra tickets to the New York City ballet – this at a time when there were NO extra tickets to be had anywhere, anyhow. John and I were invited to join them. Matchmaking was in the air. And, there ensued a pas de deux offstage as the two of them maneuvered to ensure that the two of us sat together and I had to drive John home from the Kennedy Center. Unbeknownst to them, we had already been dating for a year. Yes, even in ADA, it is possible to keep some secrets.
When our daughter Rachel was born three months after Ruth, Leon had already had Jane’s example and I brought Rachel into the office in a bassinet for the first months of her life. Once again, it was all about ensuring opportunities at a time when doing so wasn’t all that fashionable. Leon understood the challenges of working and parenthood and was determined to meet the need. When Stanley was born three year’s later on Anne’s birthday, that sealed the deal.
When Leon “retired” he promised to remain active in ADA but he also was wise enough to keep his distance and not interfere in his successors’ work even though that must have been difficult at times for him.
He was retired but not retiring and he, most definitely, was not mired in the past. He, more than anyone else, pushed ADA to enter the computer age and develop an ADA web site.
When I returned to ADA, one of the first things (and I might say) one of the smartest things I did was to ask Leon to return to the office as a full time volunteer. At the time, many asked if that wasn’t difficult. They didn’t know Leon. It wasn’t a problem; it was a joy. My friend, my teacher, my advisor and I were working together again. And, what fun we had!
I was selfishly less than thrilled when he and Anne left Washington to return to Philadelphia. But we made full use of phone, fax and e-mail. I was going to hold on to this jewel as long as possible.
Toward the end, we were all saddened when the Leon we knew and loved began fading from our presence. Through it all, however, he retained both a sense of dignity and a puckish sense of humor.
Just months ago, he fell, struck his head and was taken to the emergency room. When the doctor there asked what bothered him the most, his immediate response was, “George Bush.”
John and I were fortunate to see Leon less than a month before he died. I will acknowledge it was painful for us. Leon, though clearly in distress, asked questions about ADA and the people he knew. He was delighted by the success of our Working Families Win project and the promise it holds.
When the nurses entered the room and insisted he go to the bathroom, his dignity and sense of propriety were affronted. He didn’t want to go because, “I have people here and it’s not right.”
Now, he has gone and it’s still not right. The man, who once told me he thought sleep was over-rated and a waste of time, is now at rest. He deserves it. The rest of us weep.
From Leon's memorial service,
ADA National Director, Amy Isaacs
Post a Comment
<< E-Liberal Home