What David McCullough Wanted Congress to Hear About History

This is Lee Habib, and this is Our American Stories, the show where America is the star and the American people, coming to you from the city where the West begins, Fort Worth, Texas. The late David McCullough was a legendary historian and author of many award-winning works, such as The Great Bridge, John Adams, The American Spirit, The Wright Brothers, and 1776, the last two of which you can find at Our American Stories. He also received numerous honors and awards, including the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the nation’s highest civilian award. In 1989, McCullough addressed Congress to celebrate the 200th anniversary of the first meeting of Congress back in 1789 in New York City. He talked about many things, none more interesting than his discussion about John Quincy Adams, who, after serving as the nation’s president, returned to Congress to do his part to end slavery. Let’s take a listen.

On a June afternoon in 1775, before there was ever a Congress of the United States or a United States of America, a small boy stood with his mother on a distant knoll, watching the Battle of Bunker Hill. That was Adams, John Quincy Adams, diplomat, Senator, Secretary of State, President of the United States, who in his lifetime had seen more and contributed more to the history of his time than almost anyone, and who, as no former President ever, had returned here to the Hill to take a seat in the House of Representatives in the 22nd Congress, and was thrilled at the prospect. Most importantly, it was here that this extraordinary American had his finest hours. Adams took his seat in the Old House in what is now Statuary Hall in 1831. Small, fragile, fearing no one, he spoke his mind and conscience. He championed mechanical improvements and scientific inquiry. To no one in Congress are we so indebted for the establishment of the Smithsonian Institution. With Congressman Lincoln of Illinois and Corwin of Ohio, he cried out against the Mexican War, and for eight long years, almost alone, he battled the infamous Gag Rule imposed by Southerners to prevent any discussion of petitions against slavery. Adams hated slavery. But he was fighting, he said, more for the unlimited right of all citizens to have their petitions heard, whatever their cause. It was a gallant fight, and he won. The Gag Rule was permanently removed. Earlier this year, at the time of the Inaugural Ceremonies, I heard a television commentator broadcasting from Statuary Hall complain of the resonance and echoes in the room. What resonance? What echoes? John Quincy Adams is a reminder that giants come in all shapes and sizes, and that at times they have walked these halls; their voices have been heard, their spirit felt here. Listen, please, to this from his diary from March 29th, 1841.
“The world, the flesh, all the devils in hell are arrayed against any man who, now in this North American Union, shall dare to join the standard of Almighty God to put down the African slave trade. And what can I, upon the verge of my seventy-fourth birthday, with a shaking hand, a darkening eye, a drowsy brain, and with all my faculties dropping from me one by one, as the teeth are dropping from my head? What can I do for the cause of God and man? Yet my conscience presses me on; let me but die upon the breach.”
And how he loved the House of Representatives, the forms and proceedings of the House. He writes: “This call of the States for petitions, the colossal emblem of the Union over the Speaker’s chair, this historic news at the clock, the echoing pillars of the hall, the tripping Mercuries who bear the resolutions, amendments between the members and the chair, the calls of ayes and noes, with the different intonations of the answers from different voices, the gobbling manner of the clerks in reading over the names, the tone of the Speaker in announcing the vote, and the varied shades of pleasure and pain in the countenances of the members on hearing it would form a fine subject for a descriptive poem.”
Some nights he returned to his lodging so exhausted he could barely crawl up the stairs. In the winter of 1848, at the age of 80, after 17 years in the Congress, Adams collapsed at his desk. A brass plate in the floor of Statuary Hall marks the place. He was carried to the Speaker’s office, and there two days later he died. At the end, Henry Clay, in tears, was holding his hand. Congressman Lincoln helped with the funeral arrangements. Daniel Webster wrote the inscription for the casket.

And a terrific job on the editing of this story and curation by Reagan Habib. And you’ve been listening to David McCullough, who in 1989 addressed Congress to celebrate the 200th anniversary of the first meeting of Congress back in 1789. And that first meeting took place not in Washington, D.C., but in New York City. And then the most poignant part of that story is the part about John Quincy Adams and what a life lived! I mean, to have experienced what he experienced so young. In June of 1775, this small boy, McCullough said, with his mother stood on a distant knoll and watched the Battle of Bunker Hill. Talk about being born into, well, let’s just say, a real legacy. And how his life ended in the winter of 1848, after 17 years in Congress. At the age of 80, Adams collapsed at his desk. A brass plate in the floor of Statuary Hall marks the spot. He was carried to the Speaker’s office, and there two days later he died. The story of John Quincy Adams here on Our American Stories. Lee Habib here again, and I’d like to encourage you to subscribe to our podcast on Apple Podcasts, the iHeartRadio app, or wherever you get your podcasts. Every story we hear is uploaded there daily, and your support goes a long way to keeping the great stories you love from this show coming again. Please subscribe to the Our American Stories podcast at Apple Podcasts, the iHeartRadio app, or wherever you get your podcasts.