I was saddened to hear about the passing of Howard Zinn. He was a remarkable man, a remarkable historian and a remarkable advocate for neglected people everywhere. Perhaps best known for his book A People’s History of the United States, Howard saw this country not through the eyes of its leaders but through the eyes of slaves, peasant farmers, textile workers, teachers, bus drivers and average people like you and me.
Shortly after 9/11, Mr. Zinn spoke at Reed College. The event hall was filled, of course, and the then seventy-something man came to the podium in his kaki pants and sweater and spoke, without notes for some two hours. And then he took questions. And the time passed like a few minutes. He didn’t just write history books, he was a history book.
After the event, at perhaps 11PM Pacific, Zinn was mobbed by students in the lobby. I made my way into the crowd to see him sitting on a bench in the foyer, students already sitting at his feet. I wanted to talk to him too, but there were too many people.
My friends and I left Reed and decided to get something to eat. We talked about his talk over a very late diner, and, perhaps motivated by Zinn’s hopeful idealism, drove down to the Red and Black, a little socialist bar off division. And it was while walking across the street to the Red and Black that I saw Howard Zinn, alone, turning the corner. Nobody saw him but me, so I went over and introduced myself and said how much I enjoyed his talk. It was already midnight, and 3AM his time (Zinn had flown in from Boston that afternoon) and I simply couldn’t believe he was out on the street. We talked for a few minutes and he said he had a friend who ran the Red and Black and was hoping to see him. So Howard Zinn and my friends and I walked into the bar. (Do you remember this, Penny?)
It happened to be open-mic night, and right next to the door was the microphone with nobody behind it. All the chairs in the bar were full and there were even people sitting on the floor in front of the microphone. And that’s when I did the most rude thing I’ve ever done. I wasn’t thinking at all. I walked through the door and straight to the microphone and said “Ladies and gentleman we have a special guest tonight: Mr. Howard Zinn, author of A People’s History of the United States.”
The audience gasped, looked over at Mr. Zinn who was looking blankly back at me, and then they began to clap. I felt terrible. But Mr. Zinn walked over to the microphone, thanked the crowd, and delivered a twenty-minute lecture on why artists are right, even referencing a local nurses strike that was taking place at that time.
And after that I bought the man a beer. It was the least I could do.
Howard Zinn, you’ll be missed. Thanks for teaching us that you can’t be neutral on a moving train. The train moves on without you.
