History Big and Small

Imagine sitting beside a gentle and wise uncle as he chronicles the lives and times of men and women who had an impact, large or small, on our country.

That’s something like the experience of reading History Matters—author David McCullough is rigorous with facts yet generous in his storytelling. There is much to appreciate and learn from him.

History Matters is a collection of essays, some previously unpublished, along with speeches McCullough delivered at commencements and memorials. McCullough was twice awarded the Pulitzer Prize, for his biographies of Harry Truman and John Adams, and won the National Book Award for Nonfiction twice for other books. He passed away in 2022 and left behind a trove of written wisdom.

In the first essay, “Why History,” McCullough explains the central importance of studying and understanding our history. “History shows us how to behave. History teaches, reinforces what we believe in, what we stand for, and what we ought to be willing to stand up for. History is—or should be—the bedrock of patriotism.” Despite the great value McCullough places in history, he does not preach but rather illustrates how individuals made a difference during the course of events.

McCullough writes with grace and amenity in presenting historic figures. George Washington, a man with faults and strengths, is revealed in one essay through the eyes of his contemporaries as they experienced him, not on a pedestal or a visage on Mount Rushmore. Architect Benjamin Latrobe, designer of the U.S. Capitol, believed Washington had a commanding presence and stature. Thomas Jefferson said Washington’s mind was powerful though not of the very first order. Washington did not talk or smile much, according to Gilbert Stuart, who would paint his (famously unfinished) portrait. Abigail Adams wrote that Washington was “polite with dignity, affable without familiarity…modest, wise, good.” And there was the press, which called him a pompous spendthrift.

McCullough offers all this information and trusts the reader to sort through it, though also providing his own thoughts: “He was a leader, and he could inspire people to do things beyond what they thought they have the capacity to do.”

McCullough also turns his attention to individuals who are less known today than George Washington or Harry Truman, but who nevertheless made a lasting impact. The painter Thomas Eakins is one example. Born in 1844 in Philadelphia and trained in France, Eakins was 52 by the time he was given his one and only one-man art show. No articles or reviews of his work were written in his lifetime. McCullough explains that Eakins was not interested in high-paying commissions to paint flattering portraits of public figures, but rather in carefully selected subjects where he could reveal a psychological complexity or a deeper aspect of a personality. He focused his painting on his circle of friends in Philadelphia, crafting intimate portraits that McCullough calls “works of surpassing range and power” due to Eakins’ ability to analyze his subjects, their character, inner strengths and weaknesses, and to reflect those aspects in his paintings.

In a painting measuring only 16 by 20 inches, he captured his wife, Susan Macdowell Eakins. Critics and art appreciators today rank the portrait as “one of the most penetrating psychological portraits of all time,” according to McCullough, capturing her essence and soul while portraying her as deep in contemplation.

“In most every portrait Eakins painted, one feels a brave if lonely resolution in the face of time and mortality,” McCullough writes. He also quotes a prescient Walt Whitman in assessing the enduring importance and relevance of the artist: “Eakins is not a painter, he is a force.”

Given the near dozen books and hundreds of articles that McCullough researched and wrote, it would be reasonable to think he had a staff of researchers, clerical assistants, and draft writers. It was just the opposite, which endears the man to me. He wrote in a small cottage in his backyard with no running water and no telephone. McCullough wrote every word of every book on a 1941 “old Royal typewriter” that he purchased secondhand in 1965 when he was writing his first book, The Johnstown Flood. The “roller has to be replaced now and then,” as McCullough explained in an interview reprinted from The Paris Review. He was told frequently that a computer would be quicker. McCullough was good-natured, so I imagine he smiled when told this. His approach to self-editing and rewriting was to slowly retype whole pages and sections to improve them. McCullough endeavored to work thoughtfully, intentionally, and ponderously. It shows.

History Matters is an easy read. McCullough presents his subjects as no different than you or me, imperfect and passionate, yet through perseverance in their work, profession, or public life, they made a lasting impression on those around them and in some way shaped our society. In one of the final essays, McCullough reminds us that “There is no better way to understand who we are and why we are the way we are and where we may be heading than by reading history from the hands of good writers.” McCullough is the best of the good writers.