Mr. Speaker, today would mark the 100th Birthday of Henry Martin Jackson, who served for six terms in the House of Representatives prior to a long and successful career in the United States Senate. Since the day I came to Washington as a…
Mr. Speaker, today would mark the 100th Birthday of Henry Martin Jackson, who served for six terms in the House of Representatives prior to a long and successful career in the United States Senate.
Since the day I came to Washington as a young legislative aide to Washington's other legendary Senator, Warren G. Magnuson, I admired Senator Jackson's dedication to the job as well as the personal connection he made to generations of our state's citizens. He set a high standard for all of us charged with representing the views of our constituents because he knew so many of them personally.
Senator Jackson, known to all as ``Scoop,'' is remembered as a ``strong-on-defense'' Democrat, and he clearly was that: the consummate Cold War Liberal in the Truman/Kennedy tradition.
What many observers may not realize is that Scoop was also the longest serving chairman in the history of the Senate Interior and Insular Affairs Committee--from 1963 until 1981. As chair of that committee, later renamed the ``Energy and Natural Resources Committee,'' Scoop Jackson sponsored or co-sponsored the 1964 National Wilderness Act, the 1965 Land and Water Conservation Fund Act, the Redwoods National Park Act of 1968, the North Cascades National Park Act of 1968, and the Wild and Scenic Rivers Act of 1968--and that was in just the first few years of his chairmanship.
His signature achievement--the National Environmental Policy Act of 1969--has been emulated by more than 80 countries. With the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act of 1971, both Canada and Australia have embraced it as an example. The list goes on--from the Alpine Lakes Wilderness Act of 1976 to ANILCA--the Alaska National Interest Lands and Conservation Act of 1980. During the Scoop Jackson era, there was more wilderness and more national parks preserved for future generations than at any other time in American history.
Looking back on history, it is clear that Scoop Jackson's greatest achievements
revolve around preserving and enhancing our natural heritage. These were achievements that flowed from his formative years in the Pacific Northwest and his understanding of our commitment as lawmakers to future generations.
Scoop also demonstrated that while politicians measure their lives in getting re-elected, statesmen measure their lives in getting things done. He stood then as he stands now as a profile of the virtues of taking risks and of putting service before self.
So on the occasion of Scoop Jackson's 100th Birthday I would like to submit a very meaningful and poignant remembrance of Senator Jackson written this week by his son, Peter. It was published in the Herald newspaper in Everett, Washington--the same paper that young Scoop Jackson delivered around the town in the 1920s.
[From the Herald, May 27, 2012]
Scoop Jackson Never Forgot His Roots
(By Peter Jackson)
My father. When he was a boy, Henry M. ``Scoop'' Jackson,
who later became a U.S. senator and Democratic presidential
candidate, watched a Fourth of July parade as an actor
dressed like an American doughboy pitchforked a caricature of
Kaiser Wilhelm II.
Scoop was someone who survived smallpox. He was someone who
first learned to navigate Everett's washboard roads in a Ford
Model T. (He even got to see Roald Amundsen, the famed polar
explorer and pride of Norway.)
It's ancient history, yes, but history just a lifetime
removed.
On May 31, he would have turned 100. His example, work, and
legacy rest with the city he loved.
In the 1920s, Scoop spent his teen and pre-teen years
delivering the Everett Herald to speakeasies and brothels. He
made friends that lasted generations, memorizing their
addresses only to rattle off street names to their
incredulous descendants decades later. All the while, Everett
was a town, poet Gary Snyder wrote, ``where shingle weavers
lost their fingers in the tricky feed and take of double
saws.''
Today we recognize a certain gravity to place, especially
in the American West. It shapes our values, cuts our
attitudes, and defines our politics. Life in Everett in the
1920s and '30s was hardscrabble, but it was also anchored in
a spirit of community. The city of smokestacks became Scoop's
version of Norman Maclean's Missoula. To paraphrase Maclean,
the world is full of bastards, the number increasing the
further one gets from Everett, Washington.
Writer Tony Hiss calls the transmission of ideas and
experiences through generations ``the great span.'' The span
has a telescoping effect, a reminder that the post-colonial
American West is still very young.
Everett was Scoop's touchstone, the city of his birth and
his death, the city with dirt under its nails. Scoop never
bemoaned Everett's dishwater skies or the throat-sting from
the pulp mills. Everett and the Pacific Northwest were
always, for him, a radiant place.
I still picture him in the flat light of an Everett winter,
legs braced like a gunslinger, chatting up every millwright,
legionnaire and housewife strolling down Colby. He'd gesture
in the sky with an imaginary pen or rattle off the street
address of someone's uncle or aunt, a number memorized during
his paperboy days.
As a U.S. senator, he emphasized constituent services to
such a degree that for years after his death in 1983,
Everett-ites would knock on my mom's door, asking for help
with a Social Security check or a military-academy
appointment. Mom would invite them in, serve them coffee, and
gently explain that Rep. Al Swift's office would be delighted
to help.
My mom, Helen Hardin, was the linchpin to Scoop's success.
She was as animated and funny as he sometimes was not. She
demanded that he smile and wear clean shirts. She breathed
life into his unfinished work when, less than a year into his
sixth term, he suddenly died.
My mom saw, as we all did, that Scoop's often complex
political vision was rooted in a kind of Lutheran realism, a
belief in the permanence of human nature and the impermanence
of politics. For Scoop this translated into a uniquely
consistent vision: Haranguing oil executives (liberals made
happy, conservatives irked) while bashing the Soviets and the
Fidel Castros of the world (conservatives made happy,
liberals irked).
Implicit with tackling the big ideas was the notion of a
long, twilight struggle. Political dividends don't yield
returns for years, or decades even. Scoop shared President
Kennedy's belief, borrowed from Dante, that ``the hottest
places in Hell are reserved for those who, in a time of great
moral crisis, maintain their neutrality.''
Scoop was a believer in the primacy of ideas--big ideas.
Over his 43 years in Congress, as faith in government
whipsawed from New Deal optimism to Reagan-era mistrust,
Scoop never yielded on government's progressive mission.
This meant big dams as well as big parks. In the process,
he would embrace causes that upset or delighted a variety of
interests, but he didn't weathervane or rely on a swarm of
consultants to navigate his way.
Over time, Scoop became a politician and a statesman.
Politicians measure their lives in getting re-elected.
Statesmen measure their lives in getting things done. He
managed both.
When Scoop, a nickname given him by his sister in honor of
a Tom Sawyer-ish cartoon-strip character, was born in Everett
in 1912, Everett was barely 20 years old. Both of his parents
had emigrated from Norway. Pieter Gresseth, who changed his
name at Ellis Island, was born three years after the U.S.
Civil War. Scoop's mom, Marine Anderson, was slightly older.
For a time, along with Swedes and Germans, Norwegians were
the vanguard of Washington's post-colonial settlers. The
Norse were weaned and influenced by the Jante Law, a sense
not that everyone is equal per se, just that no one is better
than anyone else. Suck it up. Don't be a braggart and accept
life on life's terms.
My paternal grandparents were part of the great Norwegian
diaspora which, unlike other ethnic dispersals, never quite
made sense. There was no political or economic disaster to
flee. My grandparents received the promotional brochures
brandishing the American West, and they bit. They discovered
a near-identical climate and a land that blended nature with
labor. After a time, they happened upon Our Savior's Lutheran
Church in Everett and the stolid Rev. Karl Norgaard, who
conducted his sermons in Norwegian. For them, the Pacific
Northwest was Norway, only more so.
As a kid, I remember watching as my dad waved at ghost
buildings downtown and conjured what stood before. He pointed
to the pavement at Colby and Hewitt avenues and said that is
where his father, a newly minted Everett cop still trying to
master English, picked up drunks by the scruff of their work
shirts and pitched them onto the back of a horse-drawn police
wagon.
Many of us play the ghost-building game today. We point to
the veined marble that hems Union Bank and say, ``that's the
old Friedlander's Jewelers.'' We point to the corner of
Broadway and Hewitt and long for Sam's Western Wear.
From the time he was a Herald paperboy to his 30 years in
the U.S. Senate, Scoop demonstrated that in life each of us
can enlarge or diminish our roles. But to diminish the public
sphere is to commit an injustice, a sin of omission.
Scoop was also a human being, and he'd laugh at any
mattress-sale heroizing. Imagine an ordinary man who
accomplished extraordinary things because of hard work, the
vagaries of life, a supportive community, identifying good
mentors, and marrying well.
Of course, there were things that as a son I never told
him. I never told him that I was proud that he put the kibosh
on Norman Vincent Peale's anti-Catholic bigotry in 1960. I
never told him that I was grateful for his sponsorship of the
North Cascades and Redwoods National Park Acts. Like many of
his elbow-throwing constituents, I was skilled at
highlighting his real or perceived missteps.
Decades from now, kids who stare vaguely (or end up
pitching snowballs) at the newly unveiled Scoop bust at Grand
Avenue Park don't need to know his name. Memories cloud and
history falls away. All they need to know is here was a local
kid, a child of immigrants, who worked hard, stayed true to
his principles, and did his best to make his community and
his country a better place.
They can do the same.