WHY I STUDIED

WHY I STUDIED

In high school I was a poor kid who managed to become comfortable with the rich and snooty kids at a time when they were the only people who could go to college. Getting along with poor kids was no problem. I perceived that the poor kids were as smart and worthy as the rich kids. This led me to decide to become a teacher and help poor kids develop their potential and sense of worth.

As a college junior I remember seeing three professors sitting in the college coffee shop about 3 o’clock in the afternoon leisurely drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. It occurred to me that I, too, did not have to leave college. I could simply become a professor.

So, I did.

I knew enough by the time I went to graduate school in 1961 to be concerned with the conflicts in the past and present that led to all types of awful wars and a high level of human suffering and injustice. My parents and my religious upbringing moved my naïve little mind to dislike this. I had been fascinated from my earliest days with strange and different people and beliefs all over the world. I could study them and not feel threatened. My real life experience were limited to people and practices in my own limited surroundings. It was natural for me to be fascinated with a few people I met in undergraduate school from “The Holy Land”.

I chose graduate school in history as it seemed to me to be the best discipline for developing a sense of tolerance. History did not take sides. I held to that view when, much to my surprise, I became acquainted with the blatantly biased attitudes I encountered from many of my fellow graduate students and professors. The University of Maryland was just short of Berkley in the 1960’s as a center of radicalism. I spent most of my six years in graduate school at the Library of Congress. My social life was with a lot of Arabs and people I met at the L of C. As enriching as that was I nearly dropped out of graduate school soon after receiving my M.A., as I saw how wretchedly divided people were, now under the leadership of academics.

From the beginning of graduate school I was drawn to study of the Enlightenment, which attempted to find the common denominators for humans in social institutions. I had found something that supplemented my early teachings about human values and morals. The ideological developments of the17th and 18th centuries became something close to a passion for me. I came to the University of Richmond to teach courses on that period. My realization of the almost total ignorance of the Middle East in the Western world led me to retrain on the Middle East. After all, I had about fifteen years of close association with all kinds of Middle Eastern people when I began that process in 1973. So, I did.

Recently I have become aware of how few people know anything about the 17th and 18th century ideological roots of American institutions in large part because colleges are not offering courses on this area. I cannot do anything about that, but I want to suggest that I teach a course on that subject rather than the one I suggested on the Middle East.

UNCLE MILLER

UNCLE MILLER


Almost everyone has a relative other than their parents who fascinates or influences them. In my case, that relative was my uncle, Miller Brown, who was my mother’s brother. In some respects my affection for him is inexpiable. Other family members had more education, more money, better employment and, in general, knew more about the world than Uncle Miller.

He never lived beyond shouting distance from where he was born. By contrast Uncle Wayne Brown served in the army in the Pacific theatre during WW II. I admired him for his intelligence, interest in history, knowledge of our family and his familiarity with everything technical. His experiences in the war were often more than his sensitive nature could manage. He carved a small, impressive farm in a mountain and kept everything electrical workable around Bland, Virginia.

Uncle Miller had a small store in the Ceres community before he opened a garage, which also carried a few groceries. By the way, he like everyone else around, engaged in some kind of farming. He was particularly proud of his role in acquiring a fire truck for the local volunteers. It was housed in his garage building. He maintained the Methodist church nearby that my grandfather Bogle had established. He worked on all motor driven vehicles in the area, but more likely than not he repaired mower blades or other broken things in the community. In this respect he, and Wayne, to a degree fulfilled the role of their father, my grandfather, as the local blacksmith.

His little house could hardly have been simpler or plainer, but anyone would feel comfortable in the atmosphere he and his wife, Ida, provided. The truth is that many of his neighbors either could not or did not pay him for his services. He would be the last to complain. A significant part of his loving soul was for his hunting dogs. Basically, like many other men in Appalachia, he liked to hear them run and voice their excitement. He had the best bear dogs in the region and any time a bear caused trouble they sent for Miller and his dogs.

Above all else Uncle Miller was funny. He found humor in almost everything. He was more a prankster than a jokester. He regarded mishaps to himself as amusing as the funny foibles of others. I vividly recall the nods, winks and twinkles from him as he listened to Country and Bluegrass music. A hot fiddle playing “Bileing Cabbage Down” or a performance of the adventures of Frankie and Johnny set him aglow.

What do this and others things about him add up to? Perhaps he was just a simple and real man, a genuine man and person, without an ounce of pretense and unaware that deception was an option. He knew what was important and gave them his attention. He did more than other people around him because he could and he could not think of doing otherwise. Without trying, he was a great uncle. He died when I was in my thirties and never knew that I named my second son, Andrew, after him. Handily, Miller was also Andrew’s mother’s family name. As his hearse moved to the cemetery farmers were standing by their fences or respectfully parked their vehicles by the road in respect for this great, unheralded man, my Uncle Miller.

"SHANE" STIMULATES THOUGHT

“Shane” Stimulates Thoughts

On two occasions recently I expressed my fondness for the classical Western, “Shane” . By accident I happened to see it in progress last night. Curiosity compelled me to view for a while to test my more mature evaluation. Although I had something else planned, I could not stop watching until I heard Joey’s shrill and haunting “Come back Shane”. My viewing revealed that unlike other films which I identify with the hero, I identified with the child, Joey.

Accustomed to looking at the background during T.V. coverage of the Middle East, I found myself noticing the farmers going into the general store, while the adversarial main characters engaged in the foreground. They were carrying chickens, eggs and other farm products to barter for the necessities, like coffee, sugar, cloth, etc., they could not grow. Cha-ching, memories and thoughts of that scene inspired these thoughts.

Most people who know me, even in my own family, think of me as an urbane, even cosmopolitan, guy who lives in a city, visits, lectures and writes about far away exotic people and events. That concept is essentially true, understandable and one which I also hold about myself.

All of that happened in time, but I recalled taking eggs to the store for groceries and taking home-canned fruit and vegetables to school to pay fees and purchase school supplies. It is hard for me to realize that I am nearly seventy-two years old and that cinematic scene helped me realize my age and the changes that have occurred in my life.

I was born in a fairly remote part of Bland County Virginia in 1937. No one was wealthy, but my grandfather, Andrew Napoleon Bogle, was well off enough to start the local school and Methodist church. Interestingly, he was my age when his last child was born to his considerably younger wife. My father, Fred Crockett Bogle, dropped out of school after the eighth grade to tend the farm. He had four children by the time my grandfather died thirteen years after his last child. Shortly after his death his ambitious daughters convinced my grandmother to sell the farm and she and most of my father’s sisters and brothers moved to the Maryland suburbs of Washington, D.C. to live well on proceeds from the farm and government and military jobs.

It was untenable for my uneducated father, with his brood of four that would double, to move and seek his fortune in the environs of the nation’s capital. He was destined to manage four farms for others most of the remainder of his life. The farms provided us plenty of food, fun and decent housing. My father farmed with horses and hand tools. We did not have modern conveniences until I was in the fifth grade. Although uneducated, my father was a reader, a mathematical whiz, who playfully ingrained into us knowledge of American geography, State capitals and Presidents. Mother, who had been the valedictorian of her class, almost literally worked her fingers to the bone and was always our spiritual and moral anchor.

Heavy, prolonged snows frequently kept us isolated. Lots of food, hot chocolate, popcorn, apples, homemade candies and other delicacies from our mother’s talented hands nurtured us as we played a lot of card and board games. We finally got a battery powered radio when I was about in the fourth grade. We used the huge and expensive battery sparingly and usually for boxing matches and the Grand Ole Opry. Actually, it was difficult to tune in a station except at night. The children, except my prissy older sister, did not wear shoes from the last day of school until it began again in September. We, of course, wore shoes to church. Going barefoot for such a prolonged period required frequent spells of sitting down to extract splinters and briars. All in all, it was a pleasant life in no small part because we knew little else.

We moved to a farm just outside of Roanoke when I was in the sixth grade. That put me into the American mainstream. The farm owner allowed me to work on the farm and paid me the going rate of fifty cent an hour. I got a ten mile after-school paper route, which I performed on a bicycle. In retrospect I can hardly believe I rode my bike up those hills, around those curves in all kinds of weather, which frequently resulted in my bike and me totally covered with ice. Little as I earned, my cash flow was great. In addition, I met all the wealthy people on my paper route, who loved for me to work on their properties. Caddying at the country club on weekends added to my fortune. I became financially self-sufficient. I bought my own bike, clothes, entertainment, sports equipment and anything else a teenager desired.

I was now a with-it kid, who did well academically, socially and athletically at Andrew Lewis High School. In the course of time I earned three college degrees and became a professor at an outstanding university. I wrote and published substantial academic books with distinguished publishers on a computer, drove cars, rode planes, visited far way places and communed with lofty people in lofty places. All came naturally, just as taking eggs to a small country store to buy sugar. Upon reflection, I think it was a blessing to have lived like people in the 17th, 18th, 19th , 20th and 21st centuries during my seventy-two years. (I forgot to mention that I was born in a log house.).

SALVATION

Salvation

A cerebral and Biblically based friend of mine picked up on a comment of mine in an email. He cited several Biblical passages about works being insufficient for salvation. He concluded with this: So, the biblical Christian believes that salvation is by faith (in Jesus' atoning work) and NOT by self merit or good works, because the Christian realizes by faith that he can NOT be 'good enough' or do enough good works to 'earn' what can never be earned. He also mentioned grace, Calvin’s answer, but the emphasis firmly endorsed Luther’s conviction that faith alone was the way to salvation. My friends and I talk about such subjects, so he asked for my opinion. Below is my response.

Works, Faith or Grace seems to be the three possibilities theologians say we have to obtain salvation. I have studied and thought about this basic subject a lot since undergraduate school. I believe my conclusion is that neither theologians nor anyone else know the answers.

Profane or not, I do not dwell on the subject. To this point I suppose I simply have to think that I will try to avoid transgressing man-made law and hope I don't break enough of God's to go to Hell. My contemplation of this subject has not resulted in an epiphany of solid assurance. I care, so my failure to arrive at a definitive conclusion is not from a lack of interest or even effort. I have often thought it would be nice to have the conviction of the right path people I know of different faiths hold. If it comes, I wonder if I will keep it to myself or tell others. Many face to face conversations and publications have told me and it ain't done no good.

I do not want to engage in a prolonged discussion with Dr. Leonard Sweet and his ilk, who have educated and complicated responses on all theological questions.

As I look at the words above I see "I" all over the place. I try to avoid such a personal construction but it seems impossible on this subject. I will close by saying that on this subject I know a lot, but understand nothing.

Dictatorial Change Makers

Dictatorial Change Makers

As an historian of the Middle East and Europe and as a reader of a wide spectrum of other places and times the emphasis is frequently upon political leaders who changed their own times and the future. More times than not these change makers were dictators. Caesar, Napoleon, Peter the Great, Louis XIV, Oliver Cromwell, Frederick William the Elector of Prussia, Hitler, Stalin, Moa, Nasser, Saddam Hussein altered their nations and the times they thrived.

Power and its exercise is a fit subject of study. However much one might despise these men and their actions, one cannot avoid a certain level of respectful awe of their accomplishments. Frequently such leaders emerge out of total or near obscurity to impose their will upon their historical stage. Their boldness usually knew no bounds as they brutally exercised their power. Heads rolled, institutions perished, new ones materialized to enhance their control and aggrandizement.

Early in the recent American presidential campaign Michelle Obama gave a speech that cited a litany of perceived wrongs and said after each one, “Barack will not allow that.” Minimum knowledge of the American constitution confirms that an American president does not have the authority to accomplish some of her claims. Such changes require a legislative process as well as media and public scrutiny.

Unquestioning support from his legislative majority removed that possible obstacle to President Obama’s vision of the changes he intended to impose upon the nation. Masterfully, he capitalized upon his popularity and congressional majority to launch a blitzkrieg to legislation and Presidential decrees before the ardor for him could cool. The massive size of the bills he submitted and the short deadlines for congressional action resulted in unprecedented changes in an unprecedented short period of time.

Virtually every aspect of American life changed within the first six months of President Obama’s term. Time will determine whether these dramatic changes will prove laudable or derisible. Either way, he has made an unmatched alteration of American life. Posterity will judge his audacious emergence and exercise of power.

"Use" and its Uses

He got used to the bad weather. She can use a computer. She used to knit. He bought a used car.

I have often marveled that we casually use that same little base of "use" as if the different uses are the same, or that whatever word we use makes no difference as long as I and the people I speak or write to understand what I mean.

Perhaps this little quirk is no more complicated than we are simply used to using these somewhat unrelated uses.

Emory Bogle's Blog.

So, I set up this blog for my Dad on Father's Day.
He's the best Dad a son could ask for. Devoted, caring, supportive, helpful, loving. He's helped me much more than I can relay here.
Anyway, I think this is a great gift because I can't think of anyone who would enjoy writing and enjoy being read more. He is very intelligent, well-read, and thoughtful. Plus, he loves to write. Seems a perfect combination for one to start a blog.
I foresee posts about cooking, the Middle East, his family, the Redskins, the Spiders, his garden, his friends, the weather, books, movies, etc. Whatever is on his mind.I hope he enjoys this vehicle for communicating with people around the world. I know I'm looking forward to following it.
With much love on Father's Day,
Andrew