Michael Powell’s Final Thoughts For His Father, General Colin Powell

00:00:10
Speaker 1: And we continue with our American Stories. A funeral service was held on November 5th, 2021, for General Colin Powell at the Washington National Cathedral in Washington, D.C. Powell died from COVID-19 complications amid an ongoing battle with cancer. He was 84. Here’s his son, Michael, speaking at his father’s funeral service.

00:00:36
Speaker 2: My sisters and I were raised under the stars, the stars of the story General we eulogize today. Dad was famous for his 13 rules. But our family life was unregimented—no morning readily or marching drills. It was a warm and joyous and loving home, anchored by our strong and graceful mother, Alma. Our parents taught us right, they taught us wrong, and they taught us to take responsibility for our actions and never to blame others. Disappointing them was the worst punishment you could imagine. My father is frequently remembered as a problem-solver. While his solutions to world problems may have been elegant, his fixes around the house were a bit more cluegy. He believed he could cheaply fix anything with a little duct tape, some wire, and a can of spray paint. He’d even propose a solution for a non-existent problem just to satisfy his curiosity about how something worked, like the time in high school he decided that my cherished ’62 Chevy and Palla was making a noise. It definitely was not making a noise. Nonetheless, he pursued the phantom sound by pulling the engine—something he had never done before. He spent a whole weekend hanging chain and hoisting the engine and messing with who knows what. When he put it back together and started it, the car wopped like a helicopter. We rushed to the door and saw him backing out of the driveway with a big, proud smile on his face. But that smile faded quickly when he shifted the car into drive, and it would never go forward again. But he was always thinking, so he donated the car to the local fire department. To get it there, he literally drove the car backwards on public roads for three miles, smiling at astonished drivers along the way. His zest for life derived from his endless passion for people. He was genuinely interested in everyone he met. He loved a hot dog vendor, a bank teller, a janitor, and a student as much as any world leader. Not long ago, he was driving his Corvette on the Beltway and got a flat tire. A young disabled veteran saw him and pulled over to help with the tire fixed. The young vet sheepeshly asked if he could take a quick selfie, but my dad took time to ask about his family and his friends and his life, something no Instagram moment could ever uncover. A few days later, to thank him for his help, my father invited the vet and his entire family over to the house for dinner. Colin Powell was a great leader because he was a great follower. He knew you could not ask your troops to do anything you were unwilling to do yourself. One time I was walking into the PX with my dad. We came upon a corporal saluting a captain over and over again. My father walked up and asked this captain what he was doing. The captain replied, “Sir, this corporal failed to salute me, so I’m making him salute me a hundred times.” My dad said, “That’s fine, but you make darn sure you salute him back every single time.” The exchange of salutes is a sign of mutual respect. He loved the troops with all his heart. The morning I was flying to Germany for my first assignment as a new Army officer, he came into my room to say goodbye. He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek and whispered gently, “Take care of our soldiers.” Countless people have benefited from his mentorship. He could offer weighty wisdom and a few choice words. I recall when I was chairman of the FCC and having a very rough go in the press. I emailed him and asked, “Maybe I should consider stepping down?” The response was swift: “Powells don’t quit.” People will long forget the issues you’re dealing with. They will never forget how you conduct yourself. In “The Road to Character,” David Brooks draws a distinction between resume virtues and eulogy virtues. Resume virtues are your achievements and your skills. Eulogy virtues are those discussed at your funeral, the ones that exist at the core of your being. Whether you are kind, brave, honest, or faithful, this person has a quiet but solid sense of right and wrong. Not only to do good but to be good. He wants to love intimately, to sacrifice self and the service of others, and to live in obedience to some transcendent trust. That was my father. The example of Colin Powell does not call on us to emulate his resume, which is too formidable for mere mortals. It is to emulate his character and his example as a human being. We can strive to do that. We can choose to be good. One of my most powerful memories comes from holding my dad’s hand. I was hurt very badly and lying in an ICU bed following a bad accident. It was the middle of the night, yet my father was by my side after a long day of work. I was squirming in pain and anguish. Without a word, he just took my hand and squeezed it with a father’s love. It instantly relaxed and put me at peace. The last night of his life, I walked in to see him. Now he was the one lying and I see you bed. He could not see or speak to me, so I took his hand, just as he had taken mine decades before. I knew everything was not going to be okay. I wanted him to be at peace, but again I felt my father’s love in that hand. That hand that took my mother’s hand in matrimony; that hand that held me as a baby; that hand that signed report cards, tossed baseballs, and fixed old cars; that hand that signed treaties and war orders, saluted service members, and j just for joyfully whiles telling a story. That hand is still now, but it left a deep imprint on the lives of family and dear friends, soldiers and sailors, presidents and prime ministers, and a generation of aspiring young people. Ralph Waldo Emerson said that the purpose of life is not to be happy. It is to be useful, to be honorable, to be compassionate, to have it make some difference that you have lived and lived well. My father made a monumental difference. He lived. He lived well. I’ve heard it asked, “Are we still making his com?” I believe the answer to that question is up to us to honor his legacy. I hope we do more than consign him to the history books. I hope we recommend ourselves to being a nation where we are still making his kind. For, as he said in his autobiography, his journey was an American journey. Colin Powell was a great lion with a big heart. We will miss him terribly.

00:09:37
Speaker 1: And you’ve been listening to Michael Powell eulogize his father, and what words. There was no morning revee or marching drills in our house. Our parents taught us right from wrong, taught us to take responsibility for our actions. Disappointing them was the worst punishment you could imagine. He was a great leader because he was a great follower, Michael pointed out, and he loved the troops with all his heart. That story of that saluting commanding officer. What a rebuke! What a cautionary tale! What words of wisdom! And boy, did that reveal Powell’s character about power and rank and what its purpose is. And last but not least, that image of his dad’s hands, in all the different ways his hands, his heart affected so many people he came in contact with. We say here on the show that there are two kinds of eulogies: the kind in which a son or a daughter delivers that kind of message about a parent, and the ones that don’t. The life of Colin Powell: an American journey. Here on our American Stories.