As some discussions tend to do, this one turned bitter. It was about power, about status, about influence. In short, the argument had turned political. Three ambitious visions were involved, and prestige and maybe survival were at stake. Talk had started among these boom towns several years before. The disagreement got heated; somebody called for a vote to solve the problem. The ballots were counted, a winner declared, and the rule of law was put in place. But in politics, things aren’t always what they seem. Sometimes, it takes a little force.
This particular vote was about which town was to be the county seat of Grand County. Lulu City, a bustling silver mining camp, claimed it first. Hot Sulfur Springs, an upstart ranching town, wanted the prize badly. And Grand Lake, a resort town between the two, won the vote fair and square. But there is more to this story. Back in the 1800s, a county seat meant lots of things besides bragging rights – it meant a new jail, a bigger post office, a new county courthouse, a little sophistication and commerce.
Some people don’t take no for an answer, and some don’t care much for voting anyway. So folks down valley in Hot Sulfur changed the situation. The big guns included the sheriff, deputy sheriff and a county commissioner, upstanding citizens all. On a warm July 4th in 1883, the hit men rode into Grand Lake looking for trouble, and found it. The powers that be in Grand Lake included two leading county commissioners and the county clerk. These three were on a celebratory walk that patriotic day. Unfortunately, the Hot Sulfur Springs committee was waiting with guns drawn and black bandannas hiding their faces. A hail of gunfire immediately killed two best friends on opposite sides of the dispute. The other four died painful deaths over the next days. And the county seat, well, you can guess where it eventually ended up.
The point here is not to besmirch the reputation of the good people of Hot Sulfur, or to embarrass the law-abiding citizens of Grand Lake. Violence like that doesn’t happen here anymore. In fact, there hasn’t been a massacre before or since. The point is, there is a difference between politics of power and statesmanship in solving disagreements: different ideals with different goals. Thomas Jefferson wrote about it. Our country was founded on it. We keep our liberty because of it. Statesmanship is the act of leadership. In the democratic process, violence is the last resort. On the other hand, politics is the process of getting things done. Force is always a viable option.
Jefferson valued statesmanship in seeking what he called “the common good.” It’s about service in difficult times, about selfless leaders without expectation of payment or status. It involves listening to people with differing opinions, valuing those differences, discerning best solutions, earning the respect of the folks you represent, then doing the right thing and serving those you were chosen to lead.
I worry a little bit, because for the last decade or so, from the nation’s capital to the gold-domed statehouse, it seems like politics as usual. When it’s just about politics, things get ugly and people get hurt. When statesmen emerge (or stateswomen, as my daughter reminds me), then there is a different way of doing business. It’s no longer about single interests, or selfish individuals, it’s about what’s good for all. Someone once wrote about “liberty and justice for all.” So maybe we need to go back to the way things were framed in a hopeful time 250 years ago.
Statesmanship is the hallmark of a free country. Without it, “We the People” perish. So when will the virtues of statesmanship return? And whom would we trust with that imperative – how would we know? Our leaders could start with passion tempered by forethought. Or how about leading with confidence that doesn’t exude arrogance? Maybe calm discussion about issues of substance, perhaps transparent honesty when tragic mistakes get made. And maybe it’s learning lessons from mistakes: openness to change even when it hurts, beliefs aligned with actions, a willingness to risk doing right even if it isn’t popular. That was our founders’ leadership vision – what will keep this country strong. It’s a good way to avoid a massacre.
Paul Johnson (pjohnson@turnleaf.com) renovates old houses and spends most of his time in the mountains.
