If you have ever been even the slightest bit cynical about American politics and politicians, Julian Ridlen could make you reconsider. There was nothing naive or narrow-minded about him, and his alliance with one party never blinded him to the flaws of its members or to the virtues in the opposing parties. He was a sincere believer in the political process, sure that in its best moments it could and would deliver on promises made more than 200 years ago. He was devoted to serving the public with unwavering integrity and fairness, relying on logic tempered with compassion to solve problems and share justice. Those who spent time in his court may not have agreed with every decision he provided them, but they could appreciate that those decisions were made with a perspective that considered thoroughly the consequences for each stakeholder--for the immediate moment and into the future. Unlike the stereotype of today's "public servants," Julian took very seriously his responsibility to serve the public--and did so with humility, honesty, and honor.
He loved America with an unconditional love, but not a blind one. I recently learned that he and Sue were there when Martin Luther King, Jr., spoke about having a dream. They worked for a politician who helped craft civil rights legislation. And in his early 1960s college days, Julian once led a sit-in at an Anderson restaurant because the staff insisted on serving him and his African American friend coffee in paper cups rather than in proper ceramic ones. He got the student body and some of the faculty of a small, conservative Christian college to follow him to the restaurant, occupy all the chairs, order from the menu, and then refuse to leave. In all things, he always answered to a higher law than one crafted by society.
He never stopped working for positive change, and he never stopped engaging in the kind of civil debate that lays the foundation for positive change. He and his surgeon, Dr. Ghoneim, had many opportunities to engage in these debates each time Julian returned for follow-ups. Vastly different in background, political perspective, religion, age, and ethnicity, they found common ground in intellectual curiosity, persistent hope for humanity, and the desire to make the world better in all the ways they could. In other areas they often agreed to disagree, but each man gained valuable awareness with every exchange. They bonded in spite of their differences and because of their willingness to look beyond those differences. Julian never wanted to stop learning. He was an avid collector not only of political memorabilia but also of the stories told by those items. He was so eager to share those stories, to help history inform and educate us about how to understand our present and improve our future. He and Sue collected so much that they had to open their own Museum of American Political Communication. Julian was the designated tour guide. He loved that role, perhaps because it gave him a chance to talk again and again about the potential for America, about the hope that our forefathers had for those crazy ideas of democracy and celebration of freedom, and I think it renewed his belief that we can always be a better country, maybe even a noble country, using civil debate and logic and compassion to build that foundation for positive change. Julian was a believer, a man whose perspective I will always respect. So on this Fourth of July I'm going to trust his faith and choose to believe, too.
