Mr. E. 2003

PREFACE All Americans—living by an honest motto of respect for the heritage of their homeland—are invited to share in this expressive reflection of one citizen's involvement in Ohio's 2003 Bicentennial Statehood celebration. As an elementary school teacher, I am practically known as Mr. E.—an abbreviated title bestowed upon me by the delightful children I have encountered over the past two decades. For young children, the title helps relieve the tension of an unfamiliar teacher on the first day of school. Nevertheless, familiarity soon breeds contempt. Into the first week of any new school year, the precious angels begin to mutter clever references and variations of Mr. E. such as Master E., Misery, and Mystery. Consequently, the precocious cherubs chalk up a lesson on homophones and proper nouns as their initiation into my classroom. As a professional musician and entertainer, Mr. E. has served as an appealing moniker in a variety of venues from libraries to theme parks. Be that as it may, the epithet of Mr. E. designated a more enchanting impression after the events of Ohio’s Bicentennial celebration passed into history. The lessons I learned from Ohio’s past and present were measured and manifested through heartfelt moments of magic and mystery. “man-i-fest \ adj. [from manus “hand” + -festus “struck”] (14c) 1: readily perceived by the senses and esp. by the sight 2: not obscure or hidden” (Mish, 1984, 724). One of the most satisfying duties of my teaching career has been relating Ohio's noble and ignoble history to fourth-grade citizens. My own examination of history provided a means to ponder the margins between mastery and futility; misery and bliss; mystery and enlightenment. As historian George Santayana wisely observed, "those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it” (1924, 284). More than 200 years of human activity in Ohio have contributed to the heritage of a state with the fitting distinction: The Heart of It All. The state’s more recent travel slogan—Ohio, So Much to Discover—promoted the essence of the former motto just the same. Indeed, my own bicentenary chronicle recounts much of what I discovered at the heart of it all—before, during, and after Ohio’s celebrated year of 2003. “bi-cen-ten-a-ry \ bī-'sent-ĕn-er-ē \ adj (1872): BICENTENNIAL\ n (1883) : a 200th anniversary or its celebration” (Mish, 148). From the cradle to the grave, humans measured time by remembering significant events in their lives. The average child enjoyed the annual version of a birthday celebration. The average adult enjoyed special anniversaries and also planned goals for the future in order to measure or realize success. Søren Kierkegaard, the nineteenth century existential philosopher, proclaimed, "Life can only be understood looking backward; but it must be lived looking forward” (1843/1996). In my early 20s, when the illusions of youth were more dynamic, I began looking forward in life by using a five-year strategy to measure my goals for success. The reference point for beginning any new five-year course was often ambiguous, since I would occasionally exceed my goals sooner than expected through some satisfying achievement or exploit. I have experienced success and failure. I have learned a great deal from my failings. After 50-plus years of living and learning, I have come to respect the frustrating brevity of life. Three-score and ten or 70 years will only allow for the possibility of a dozen or more five-year plans. How much more could an aged man achieve with 100 such plans? Given the progress of medical science in the twenty-first century, there is the remote possibility that I could celebrate my 94th birthday during Ohio's semiquincentenary celebration in 2053. Nevertheless, the start of a five-year plan in 1999 also initiated my ambitious enterprise to provide an account of Ohio's Bicentennial celebration in 2003. Additional momentum for the undertaking came from the Buckeye state’s organizers and leaders who remembered Ohio’s past with a vision of the future. These contacts were greatly appreciated for the inspiration they provided along the way. Their optimism was commendable in light of the anticipated and the unexpected events that subsequently affected the state, the nation, and the world. Ideas have consequences. Money, reputation, power, health, security, conflict, suspense, and self preservation all provide a fund of objective and subjective impressions for anyone to examine. So do moral character, sagacity, and good will. Therefore, it seemed appropriate to include sensational events and thought-provoking issues as a means to capture a particular state of mind in relation to the spirit of the age. Supported with such anecdotes and illustrations, Mr. E. 2003—Manifest Lessons from Ohio’s Bicentennial Celebration was written to inspire other patriotic citizens with an ideal Via Pulchritudinis or way of beauty for honoring their own beloved heroes, heroines, and homelands in the spirit of truth and goodness. I believed my integrity qualified as much as the least examination of my betters. In one other respect, I earned the qualification, since Ohio’s 200th anniversary celebration was the third such event that I experienced in my life and times. In the course of motivating others to generate their own bicentennial experiences at the start of the 2002/2003 school year, one fourth-grade student presented me with a text compiled in 1988 by The Cincinnati Historical Society. From the Introduction to The Bicentennial Guide to Greater Cincinnati: A Portrait of Two Hundred Years, author Geoffrey J. Giglierano motivated my ambitions even more. Those who accept the notion that they and the communities where they live have no history hold a sadly mistaken view of their own communities—and of themselves. Perhaps The Bicentennial Guide to Greater Cincinnati, with its histories of well-known figures and ‘everyday’ men and women can begin to demonstrate that every place is an historic site, every person is a unique and historic figure. (1988) Indeed, my focus on Ohio’s Bicentennial event directed my path to historic sites, unique figures, and memorable experiences. More momentous, the uncertain outcome of a short daytrip to Chillicothe, Ohio on March 1, 2003 stimulated a positive desire to make other journeys to signature locations across the state. My impromptu travels following that significant day in March brought me into simple and extraordinary situations—each energized with a magical quality and existential essence. Moreover, the death of my father on August 20, 2003 transformed the priority, perspective, and balance of my previous bicentennial designs. A constellation of thoughts and emotions associated with my father’s death subtly changed the direction of my narrative for children toward a more contemplative interpretation of Ohio’s Statehood celebration. A labor of love, this chronicle of Ohio's 2003 Bicentennial cultivated my obligation and duty to honor America's forefathers of all stripes for their courage, integrity, and sacrifice. All the same, I was compelled to reveal a more-than-likely, providential interpretation of the joy and sorrow that I encountered on my gratifying pilgrimage during Ohio's year-long celebration. At the heart of it all, Ohio’s Bicentennial was more than any story, saying, symbol, slogan, motto, or geographic location. The Bicentennial of Ohio was a state of mind in the dash of life with so much to discover. This state of mind—born from fatherhood and patriotism—was older and more majestic than any particular place or time. When all was said and done, my singular chronicle of Ohio’s Bicentennial celebration evolved from a storybook treatise of history to a passionate validation for a particular order of patriotism—where goodness is the only true success and all things are possible with God.