Good Martin Luther King Day Austin:

It is truly a shame that the great Hollywood director Preston Sturges is not around to depict what promises to be the greatest screwball-comedy-with-consequences-of-all-time — the 2020 presidential campaign.

Oh, what Sturges could have done with Beto O'Rourke's solo road trip last week through parts of New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas and Colorado, to clear his head as he decides whether to follow up his losing bid for Senate with a run for president of the United States (great madcap premise).

Some background on Sturges and Sullivan's Travels from Derek Malcolm of the The Guardian.

Preston Sturges was a writer-director the likes of which we haven't seen since. He was a well-connected anarchist in a system that frowned on such tendencies - unless they made money. Directors such as Billy Wilder owed a great debt to him.

Sturges's America was cheerfully corrupt, absurd and frequently unaware of its own ridiculousness, and his films were so high on comic dynamism that you could readily forgive the wayward lip service to logic.

His glory days were brief. Within 10 years of his directorial debut, The Great McGinty (1940), he was worn out, and he died bankrupt in 1959. But in his heyday he made half a dozen comedies as subversive as any now, and a good deal funnier. Sullivan's Travels was probably his masterpiece.

It starts off with Joel McCrea's Sullivan, a director of farces who wants to get serious with a script called O Brother, Where Art Thou?, being berated by studio bosses because he doesn't know the meaning of the poverty that Brother talks about.

So he borrows a tramp's outfit from the wardrobe department and takes to the road, with a studio bus full of doctors, bodyguards and secretaries a discreet distance behind him. The more he tries to break away from Hollywood, the faster it comes towards him. After picking up a failed actress who says things like "There's nothing like a deep-dish movie for driving you into the open", the rich man's search for poverty ends in a fight with a policeman that has him incarcerated in a chain-gang.

In a key scene, he and the other convicts go to a black church hall, where the minister instructs his congregation to welcome those less fortunate. And together everyone roars with laughter at a Disney cartoon. Sullivan may not have found seriousness but at last he has found how valuable true comedy is.

On his brief road trip — by my count, he left El Paso on Tuesday and was back by Saturday — O'Rourke, like McRea, tall, lanky, handsome, earnest, but with a wry twinkle in his eye, did not dress as a tramp. He did not pick up with a failed actress. He did not end up in a fight with a policeman or incarcerated in a chain-gang.

But, spoiler alert, O'Rourke's Travels, like Sullivan's, ends in an ecstatic moment of revelation.



But, before that moment arrives, in a classic Sturges touch, our hero's sotto voce anti-camaign campaign swing generates enormous public interest, including widespread mockery, contempt, derision, bafflement and even outrage.

Beto’s excellent adventure drips with white male privilege | Analysis by CNN’s Nia-Malika Hendersonhttps://t.co/loFUbAnkzDpic.twitter.com/GictgF4kXs

— CNN Politics (@CNNPolitics)January 19, 2019

Read this. One of many reasons Beto's emo bullshit is so irritating. Rest of us have to give our all just to be taken seriously. But Beto can stroll around penning vapid, insufferable odes to his adolescent existential ennui & have hipsters from Brooklyn to Austin swoon. F that.https://t.co/qk4xiuAr0v

— Julien H. الاثنين المولد (@JulienHKK)January 18, 2019

Agree with much of this from@niaCNN. Like, I don't think Gillibrand could be using this rollout strategy.



But: Beto's media coverage has been pretty bad lately and being seen as emo/sensitive may be the one thing a male politician *can't* get away with.https://t.co/PCOT5HCHMO

— Nate Silver (@NateSilver538)January 17, 2019

It's also the media, since picking apart the guy who just yesterday was declared to be the hot new thing is a classic genre of campaign coverage.



Also true that getting attention, even negative attention, can be a bullish sign.



BUT I do think Beto's road trip has been weird—https://t.co/bhRXVei1ci

— Nate Silver (@NateSilver538)January 19, 2019

"Emo Beto" Is In A Funk - Chad Hasty's Take On O'Rourke's Self-Discovery Road Trip:https://t.co/5PZF1yIWxP via@YouTube

— KFYO 95.1 & 790 (@KFYO)January 18, 2019

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.

Let's just calm down everybody.

Let's just rewatch that Gillette ad on toxic masculinity and take a deep breath.

Gillette Ad backlash proves that company’s shaving cream is not meant for those with sensitive skin.pic.twitter.com/aAh37gEruK

— The Fauxnograph-Herald (@FauxnogrphHerld)January 16, 2019

It’s not really about Beto, but seeing so many people describe it as self-indulgent and navelgazing and whatever just reminds me how many ways we have to be dismissive of people being real about their feelings in a public way, and that sucks

— dan solomon (@dansolomon)January 19, 2019

What, you may wonder, did Beto do to provoke such outrage?

It's not like he opened his veins in a Kansas motel bathroom.

He didn't cry in public, in Oklahoma.

He didn't write a blue yodel and perform it on YouTube.

All he did was figure out a way to do what he likes and finds useful to do — talk to individual Americans about the future of the country — but without the self-defeating mayhem, clamor and crush of media that would have inevitably ensued if he had done it any more of a public way than he did.

And then, as is his wont — he does have a literature degree from Columbia University — he wrote about the experience and posted it on social media, in this case Medium.

This@BetoORourke missive from the road may not be the conventional route to a presidential candidacy but, in its humility and connection, it also reflects why so many want him to run. Quite a contrast to the man in the White House now.https://t.co/jEXq676M52

— David Axelrod (@davidaxelrod)January 19, 2019

Here are annotated excerpts from his Jan. 19 Medium post.

I had been to Ulysses, Kansas, once before, briefly.

(Note on Ulysses. That is the name of Beto's oldest son, so named because O'Rourke's favorite book is the Odyssey. And if you're wondering why the town is named Ulysses, it's in Grant County.)

Mike and I were driving back to Texas from New York in the summer of 1998. I had bought a used truck in Long Island for a thousand dollars, put my worldly possessions in the back and we drove the 2,200 miles to El Paso. One of the funnest times in my life. Carefree, leaving New York City behind, and coming back home. Didn’t know for sure what I’d be doing, but it was a chance to start again. We stopped in Ulysses on that trip, bought food and gas, mailed a postcard to our friend James and drove across the rest of Kansas and most of Colorado that day, stopping to see Lisa in Durango for a few days before we headed south. We were young, happy and excited to be alive. At least that’s how I remember it.

Here I was 20 years later, rolling back in. Happy to be off the road after a day of driving two lane roads smothered in fog. I had pulled off a few times to take a break or get a cup of coffee along the way. The last place was Montezuma. I toured a museum endowed by a couple from Montezuma who’d traveled the world and left all of their collected keepsakes, photographs, and discoveries to the town. The woman who guided me through the collection strongly suggested that I stop at Coffee Connection on my way out of town, said it was better than Starbucks. I did and though they were winding down for the day they made a fresh pot. 100% of their proceeds support mission work around the world.

I'll pause here for a 2016 report on Montezuma from Jonathan Baker — Montezuma: A Quirky Rural Treasure — on High Plains Public Radio.

Huddled out on the Kansas plains, 25 miles west of Dodge City, you’ll find a town named for an ancient ruler of the Aztec empire. In fact, the main street in Montezuma is even called “Aztec.” The Hutchinson News recently profiled the town, which is a wonderful example of how rural communities can not only survive in today’s heartland — they can thrive. The town is a treasure trove of unexpected places and quirky characters.

There’s Kyle Nance’s barn, where guests eat at a table where people were once prepared for burial. Over the table hangs a bright light from the operating room of the old Meade Hospital.

At the Coffee Connection, students gather after school and devour homemade cinnamon rolls fresh from the oven. “The coffee shop is a nonprofit,” owner Laura Loewen said. “We wanted a safe place for kids to hang out.”

3,000 people a year visit Montezuma’s Stauth Memorial Museum, which represents the silhouette of a farmstead. The unique building has rounded shapes and a copper roof. The space houses traveling exhibits from around the world, and there’s a room where people can play cards.

Montezuma is also the home of Jim Frank, known as “Jungle Jim” because up until a few years ago he swung from a rope in his backyard. Jim removes “things people don’t want to deal with – such as skunks, snakes, trees.” He doesn’t kill them, though. Often, he lives with them. Jim currently shares his home with his wife, cats, and a 4-foot salmon rainbow boa constrictor.

(Back in El Paso, as any close Beto-watcher knows, the O'Rourkes share their house with daughter Molly's ball python.)

Back to O'Rourke's report on his trip to Ulysses.

After another hour, I pulled into Ulysses, drove around for a little while, looked up hotels and settled on one at the edge of town next to a small restaurant and bar. Brought my stuff in, called home, watched Newshour, relaxed after a long day of driving and then got up and went to eat.

The rule in El Paso is that you don’t eat Mexican food outside of El Paso. But glad I made an exception. Alejandro’s was excellent. Carne asada tacos.

I drove back to the hotel, passing the First Baptist church where kids were throwing snow and slush at each other in the light of the headlamps of their parent’s car. Made me think of our kids, and I missed them. Added to the low altitude I was experiencing. Maybe I’d been hoping for some kind of connection that day and hadn’t found it. All the conversations had been pleasant, everyone was kind, but there hadn’t been anything more than that. The waiters at Alejandro’s were nice but they were finishing their shift, they wanted to eat their dinner after having served everyone else all night and close up.

I called Amy. Kids were in the car, she was a little distracted, we didn’t connect either. Maybe you could meet people at a bar she said as we hung up.

This is a classic movie set-up. Husband, out of town and feeling low, calls home for conversation and connection. Distracted wife, busy with the kids, suggests he try the bar. They hang up. Hilarity ensues

I pulled into the bar next to the hotel and started to feel self conscious. They aren’t going to want some stranger from out of town at their place. I walked in and took a seat at the bar, said a quick, probably nervous, hello to everyone and ordered a beer. Pro forma acknowledgement from the three or four guys who were already there.

I focused on the college basketball game, thinking I’ll finish this beer and then get out of here. I told myself at least I tried.

And then two seats down to my right the guy says do people ever tell you that you look like Beto O’Rourke?

I said yes, all the time.

The guy next to him says who the hell is Beto O’Rourke?

First guy says oh he ran against Ted Cruz in Texas, and goes on to talk about Beto O’Rourke and I’m worried that it’s going to get weird and so I say sorry I meant to say that I am Beto O’Rourke.

No shit! Laughter.

And the guy to my left says oh I wish my uncle was here, he’s one of the four Democrats in Ulysses.

(OK, in the movie version, he would have let it get weird. Very weird.)

The guys at the bar wanted to talk about the Senate race a little. About what I was going to do next. I asked them questions about the town. About their lives. Learned that in order to escape its debts in 1909 the town of Ulysses pulled up and moved, moved the houses, the barns, the bank to a new site. Reincorporated and started anew.

(Whole other movie. But good stuff.)

Learned about how the Ulysses Tigers had done in football and basketball this year. We talked about music, life, kids. Walt told me he plays in a blues band called Keefer Madness. It’s on my list to check out.

Kevin shared with me what it was like to raise his kids in Ulysses, about a vintage car he’d fixed up for one of his daughters.

The table behind us got into the conversation. Met the owner of the bar who is also the wife of the newly elected state rep for the area. Also met JR who is 6’8” and has a great big beard, runs a windshield repair shop. He said “I won’t remember who you are tomorrow but you’ll never forget me!” He was right. Matt, who was on the Centennial Commission and had told me the story about Ulysses giving the slip to its creditors, insisted that I see the history museum and I told him I would.

Here, from three days earlier ...

https://t.co/nBHu3EKr7x

— Beto O'Rourke (@BetoORourke)January 16, 2019

Some excerpts:

Have been stuck lately. In and out of a funk. My last day of work was January 2nd. It’s been more than twenty years since I was last not working. Maybe if I get moving, on the road, meet people, learn about what’s going on where they live, have some adventure, go where I don’t know and I’m not known, it’ll clear my head, reset, I’ll think new thoughts, break out of the loops I’ve been stuck in.

After breakfast at a diner down from the Safari, I drove over to Mesalands Community College. Met this amazing young man named Dylan, originally from Washington state, who had traveled from Amarillo to Tucumcari carrying his belongings, water and food in a wheelbarrow. He’d seen the wind turbine that stands in front of Meslands, inquired within and soon enrolled. He’s now the president of the student body and was my guide for the morning.

He introduced me to the instructors, the head of the wind energy club, and his fellow students. I learned about how they are learning. Had a chance to introduce myself, asked questions about the program they’re in, about Tucumcari, about where they’re originally from. About how what they’re doing fits into the larger picture — climate change, economic opportunity, infrastructure investment. How it fits into their picture — the job they’re looking for, the purpose they want, the opportunity that’s opened up for them. What it’s like to climb that high, to use a wrench for the first time in your life, to know that you’re on a track and that there’s a destination.

Learned about pump storage, battery technology, the role that production tax credits have had in making New Mexico a leader in wind energy production.

What do they make after graduation? Wind techs start off making $19–23/hr though not uncommon for some to make six figures within the first year. They graduate from the program and are hired. Students I met had traveled from throughout the southwest to come here. It’s a good program and leads to a solid, highly paid job.

Everyone I met was proud. Really into what they were doing. The instructors, the staff, the students. Dylan came across as a born leader — confident, humble, thoughtful and full of purpose.

xxxxxx

I got to Goodwell and right away saw the sign for Oklahoma Panhandle State University on my left. Turned in and met Teri who was waiting for me. I had decided that morning that I’d stop in Goodwell and we’d reached out to see if anyone would like to meet. She showed me to a lecture hall where there were about 40–50 students and faculty.

We talked about everything and anything that anyone wanted to talk about. First question: Why in the world was I in Goodwell?

It’s on 54, and that’s the road I started on in El Paso. Never been to Goodwell and wanted to see what was here and who lived here and what they were thinking.

We talked about healthcare. About war and veterans. We talked about the border and immigration and Dreamers. We talked about corporate influence in politics, PACs and election finance. We talked about how hard it is to afford college. A recruiter for OPSU told me about the anxiety she encounters among kids in high school who don’t think they’ll ever have the money to come here.

Listened to a young woman who is studying to be a teacher, wants to teach kindergarten. Asked me how we improve the chances for children of color who are suspended and expelled at up to five times the rate of white children as early as kindergarten. Someone else asked about the criminal justice system and the disproportionate number of black men and women behind bars.

We talked about bringing the country together. Talked about national service, more young people finding purpose and common cause with their fellow Americans helping to rebuild the country — serving in whatever capacity helps to make this country stronger — infrastructure and public works, blazing and keeping trails into the wild, serving veterans and supporting teachers in the classroom. Being together, working together, for this country.

A young woman asked, how do I make a difference in any of this? I said run for office. Hold town hall meetings. Bring people together, over coffee, over beer, ask your elected reps to show up and be part of the conversation. If they don’t, organize to get their attention. But whatever we do, let’s do it together. Listen to each other, be respectful, decent, kind. Invite those who don’t agree with you and try to see it their way for a minute. Make this democracy work by being as engaged as you possibly can. Otherwise we’ll lose it.

There was a another posting that found O'Rourke leaving Liberal, Kansas, in a fog.

This was the most intense fog I’d seen. A thick all encompassing blanket. I figured that by the time I’d finished breakfast at the Pancake House in Liberal (top three pancakes I’ve ever had) the sun would burn through, but it didn’t.

I left Liberal with a full stomach, and with gratitude for my hosts at Southwind. But since I came in at night and left in a fog, I had no idea what the town really looked like.

The same was true on the stretch of 54 that took me to Bucklin. Two lanes and no passing because you couldn’t really see the oncoming traffic. I stopped in Meade, saw where the Dalton gang had their hideout, and moved on.

https://t.co/GI5NlP9ZUe

— Beto O'Rourke (@BetoORourke) January 18, 2019// //

This was all apparently more than CNN senior political reporter Nia-Malika Henderson could bear., writing:



Imagine this: A 46-year-old former congresswoman and mother of three, who just lost a Senate bid to one of the most despised incumbents, sets off on a road trip adventure to clear her head.

She Instagrams part of her trip to the dentist.

She gives a two-hour interview to The Washington Post where she shows no real knowledge of policy.

On the front page of today’s Washington Post... “From O’Rourke, a nebulous border policy: The possible president candidate rejects a wall. The rest is up for debate.”https://t.co/tCShjBWuOo

— Jenna Johnson (@wpjenna)January 17, 2019

Like a first-year college student, she pontificates on whether the Constitution is still a thing that matters after all these many years.

And then she writes a stream of consciousness diary entry, where she is all in her sad and confused feelings, over ... something:

"Have been stuck lately. In and out of a funk. My last day of work was January 2nd. It's been more than twenty years since I was last not working. Maybe if I get moving, on the road, meet people, learn about what's going on where they live, have some adventure, go where I don't know and I'm not known, it'll clear my head, reset, I'll think new thoughts, break out of the loops I've been stuck in."

Another dispatch, posted a day later:

"This was the most intense fog I'd seen. A thick all encompassing blanket. I figured that by the time I'd finished breakfast at the Pancake House in Liberal (top three pancakes I've ever had) the sun would burn through, but it didn't."

"I left Liberal with a full stomach, and with gratitude for my hosts at Southwind. But since I came in at night and left in a fog, I had no idea what the town really looked like.

This is Beto O'Rourke's navel-gazing, self-involved, rollout of a possible rollout of a possible presidential campaign. Oprah Winfrey's couch is next.

This could never, ever be a woman.

We've seen the field fill up already with women. And we've seen how they think they must run -- as serious, surefooted, policy experts with big ideas. Sen. Elizabeth Warren, Rep. Tulsi Gabbard are in; and on the same day as O'Rourke's emo-essay, Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand announced that she feels "called at this moment to make a difference."

One of the first questions she got was about her likability, because of course she did.

O'Rourke, 46, we are told, is "Obama, but white," because of his fundraising prowess -- he raised nearly $80 million in his loss to Sen. Ted Cruz. He skateboards! He listens! He connects on the internet!

And Jack Kerouac-style, he roams around, jobless (does he not need a job?) to find himself and figure out if he wants to lead the free world. This is a luxury no woman or even minority in politics could ever have.

But O'Rourke, tall, handsome, white and male, has this latitude, to be and do anything. His privilege even allows him to turn a loss to the most despised candidate of the cycle into a launching pad for a White House run.

Stacey Abrams, a Yale-trained lawyer, couldn't do this.

Why was Beto O'Rourke a national phenomenon while Stacey Abrams wasn't?https://t.co/8ttbrTIxem

— HuffPost Politics (@HuffPostPol)January 18, 2019

(Returning to Nia-Malika Henderson)

O'Rourke is being criticized for his randomness. For his TMI'ing and for his "what do I want to do with my life" aimlessness.

But the fact that he knows he has the freedom to cast about as a campaign-in-waiting forms, shows how much of his political identity is predicated on being white and male.

I think this critique is off on a number of counts:

In its disparagement of O'Rourke's extraordinarily strong showing in Texas as nothing more than "a loss to one of the most despised candidates" in the country.

In dismissing talking to ordinary people as an idle man's luxury.

In mistaking shrewd calculation (which may prove useful in taking on Trump, with his talent for setting the media agenda hour after hour, day after day) as self-involved navel-gazing.

For suggesting that spending a few jobless weeks between a two-year Senate race and a potential two-year presidential run figuring out whether to do it, is an act of white male privilege.

And mostly, in asserting that a woman couldn't do something quite like this (assuming that, like Beto, they were also between gigs, or at least had a few days to spare.).

I could imagine U.S. Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez doing something quite like this if she were old enough to run for president. And if she were — she's 29 — she would be right up there with Beto in early polls.

Because of her resume? No.

Because of her superior policy chops? No.

Because of white male privilege? Well, no.

Because she is young, bold, exciting, energizing (for both friend and foe) and, frankly, adorable.

Because, like O'Rourke, she is a figure of generational change.

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Now she's totally done for. Newly unearthed video reveals that when@AOC was in college, she was ... adorable.https://t.co/EkqXTrQSAo

— Karen Tumulty (@ktumulty)January 3, 2019

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What O'Rourke and Ocasio-Cortez - and Tulsi Gabard, 37, and Kirsten Gillibrand for that matter (at 52, she's a quarter century younger than Joe Biden and Bernie Sanders, and 17 years younger than Elizabeth Warren) — share is an advantage as unearned and powerful in its own way as white privilege — youth (to one degree or another) and beauty. An IT Factor. Charisma.

Tulsi Gabbard could be the first surfing POTUShttps://t.co/uA10OL4rOypic.twitter.com/tTzzLlXeLG

— ⫷♥️ I n a r t I c ♥️⫸ (@inartic)January 12, 2019

Democratic Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand said that her previous controversial stances on immigration "certainly weren't empathetic and they were not kind."https://t.co/GF3eDRHFR5pic.twitter.com/wyhjnlt4Og

— CNN (@CNN)January 21, 2019

It is not entirely a function of looks and youth. Most successful politicians have some kind of charisma. Even a lot. But 2020 could be a year when being born after the Baby Boom (1946-1964), and all its accumulated baggage, could be a great advantage for a Democrat. (And count Julián Castro, 44, in here.)

Of course there will always be wet blankets.

Aaron Sorkin: The new crop of Dems need to "stop acting like young people"pic.twitter.com/qGZqWDpXi8

— jordan (@JordanUhl)January 20, 2019

But Preston Sturges knew best.

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O'Rourke was back in El Paso Saturday for the third annual Women's March.

Looks like the@BetoORourke road trip has come to an end ...https://t.co/E8R6nCyNQmpic.twitter.com/9nq0HFRBuG

— David Siders (@davidsiders)January 19, 2019

From Sara Sanchez at the El Paso Times:

Former U.S. Rep. Beto O'Rourke was at Saturday's march but did not speak. He stood in the crowd with his wife, Amy Sanders O'Rourke, and listened to the speeches.

He was greeted by dozens of marchers afterward who wanted to get a photo with him.

"I think he's being really genuine," said@robbymook ... "Going into the proverbial wilderness to figure out what his purpose is." -- Beto O’Rourke’s road trip drives home his messagehttps://t.co/GkqrqeZdEn

— David Siders (@davidsiders)January 19, 2019

Just after midnight last night, Beto posted what was probably his last Medium dispatch from his fleeting road trip.

https://t.co/NS1imbOt2v

— Beto O'Rourke (@BetoORourke)January 21, 2019

Read what follows, because I can almost guarantee he will talk about this experience with Oprah the week after next.

Former Texas Rep. Beto O'Rourke will be interviewed by Oprah Winfrey on February 5 in Times Squarehttps://t.co/oUwxrSJohapic.twitter.com/Mqcj2EoZrz

— CNN (@CNN)January 11, 2019

O'Rourke's way of campaigning throughout the Senate race was to talk to people, listen to their stories, and then turn their stories into the ongoing narrative of his campaign.

I predict the story he tells below out of his experience in Pueblo, Colo., closing out his trip, will form the spine of his speech announcing his candidacy for president, should he announce:

I got to Pueblo Community College and was met at the library by President Patty Erjavec and Dr. Jeff Anderson who is Dean of Arts and Sciences. Library staff and student leaders were there too. I followed them upstairs where there were a few dozen students from a history class and an ethics class.

What followed was one of these transcendent moments in public life… something so raw and honest that you want to hold on to it, remember every word… a flow between people. But going through my notes right now, I know that my recounting of the words and themes won’t do it justice.

Raw. People adding to what the previous speaker had said, or challenging what someone else shared, respectfully but directly. Moved to speak up, to share, to add. At first politely raising hands and asking questions. And then, just speaking, having a conversation and not asking polite questions but sharing experience, suggesting solutions.

This kind of conversation wasn’t really possible by the end of the Senate campaign this past fall. The schedule had become too intense, too much in a day to spend enough time to hear someone’s story all the way through. Too may stops, so many people. I was really glad that we could take the time and hear each other out in Pueblo.

It was cathartic, even somewhat emotional for many of us, for me.

Many of the students I met were professionals – already working as teachers, police officers, EMTs. Their observations and ideas came from experience.

A pre-K teacher told me that she is barely making it on a salary that doesn’t allow her to pay all her bills. Nor does anyone account for the fact that she’ll buy shoes, socks, clothes for the kids in her classroom out of her own pocket.

A woman in the back raised her hand to tell us about her family. Her husband is an immigrant, in the process of becoming a U.S. citizen. She told us that they live in deep anxiety and fear of somehow messing up, of getting some detail in the application wrong, of losing the ability to petition for citizenship or of being able to stay in the country. “We’ve done everything the right way, but right now it feels as though there is a hostility towards immigrants and it has us worried.”

A veteran spoke about enlisting on September 18, 2001. After years of fighting for this country, of being blown up for this country, he’d come back to an America that had no real appreciation of his sacrifice. A country that was divided, bickering, paralyzed by fighting one another. Why can’t we choose to be good to each other? he asked.

A young woman wanted to make sure I knew how lucky I was to be at PCC – she told me how it had changed her life, gave her confidence and a path forward. She now tutors at PCC and sees how others are having the same positive experience. She wants this country to make a real commitment to education – universal pre K and ensuring that everyone can afford college. She wants me to do whatever I can to push that. “You have a platform, and you have a responsibility to use it.”

A man who had worked as an EMT saving other people’s lives described being nearly unable to afford insulin to treat his diabetes. From his own experiences and from working within healthcare he knows how badly our system is broken, how many people are out of luck.

A transgender student talked about the difficulty he faces as he makes his way through school and life, in part because progress has bred complacency. Now that same sex marriage is legal, many assume the struggle for members of LGBTQ community is over. He made it clear to all of us that it is not and that if everyone’s going to have the chance to live to their full potential, if we’re going to really live up to our promise as a country to treat everyone equally, then there’s a lot more work to do.

The student body president sitting up front with her son talked about leading with love and compassion instead of hatred and intolerance. I don’t know how to write this in a way that does justice to what she said and how she said it. It wasn’t hokey or naive. It was powerful and strong.

That began a conversation about how to ensure that all that we were talking about in this library could become part of how we fix the country, bring people together, end so much of the division that keeps us from joining forces to get stuff done. I don’t know, I said, reiterating something I’d said with the group in Goodwell the other night – run for office, get together, hold town hall meetings, volunteer, organize around what you care about most, be open to one another, see yourself and your hopes in the people around you and beyond you. Something like that. I shared the anecdote of walking into the bar in Ulysses, Kansas and being so happily surprised by the good people I’d met and the conversations we’d had. Sometimes we assume too much about people that we don’t know well enough. Only way past that is to get together and listen to one another.

After the public conversation I stayed around for an hour to just talk individually with anyone who wanted to. A guy who works at the Department of Homeland Security told me what it was like to work through the shutdown. He’s OK for now. How much longer that’ll be the case, he doesn’t know.

A police officer told me he was pursuing a business degree. He wants to start a non profit for addiction recovery. He lost his wife to a drug overdose recently, and is raising their 6 and 8 year old boys on his own. He wants to be there for other families that are going through something similar.

A man who’d immigrated here with his wife from Canada talked about how much better their healthcare was in the U.S. She had serious health issues, and they found a lack of urgency in treating her conditions in Canada and a much better experience here. How do we learn from what works and doesn’t work here and in other countries to devise the best system of ensuring everyone is guaranteed high quality healthcare?

As the library emptied out I stood talking to two veterans who were part of the student veteran association. They said, well you talked about organizing and getting together, why don’t you come with some of us to an Irish place downtown for dinner?

Over fish and chips, the veterans, Jeremy and Andrew; the student body president, Tracey and her young son Kaston; Jeff (the dean who’d introduced me at the event) and a few others expanded on some of the issues that had come up at the library.

Jeff and I talked about immigration, about his travels in the U.S. and then about Isaac Asimov’s Foundation series. He had just read it again after finding it for a dollar at a used book shop. I told him I read it as a kid and really liked it, and wondered if it held up. Surprisingly well he said. He then moved down to the other side of the table, I think to make sure that the students could more freely engage in the conversation.

Tracey shared what it was like to grow up in a family of immigrants from Nigeria in Jacksonville, Texas. About all of the opportunity her family found here, and how hard they worked to make the most of it. She described the devastation she felt when her mom died when she was 17 and her dad died when she was 19. Broke, unable to pay the water bill, much less figure out how to afford college. But ultimately she was able to make her way to Pueblo, to find PCC, to enroll and now to be student body president, using her gifts as a leader to help others around her. She’ll transfer to Colorado State next year, pursue her masters. Sky’s the limit. She knows it and has a quiet confidence and determination that I was drawn to. I thought I sure hope she runs for office, the country needs her.

Jeremy, who leads the student veterans organization, talked about growing up in North Carolina and what it was like to enlist in the aftermath of 9/11. He told me about the injuries and trauma he’d sustained in service to this country, and how bizarrely difficult it was to get help and support from the VA when he got back. He seemed to have really found his rhythm in civilian life as a leader at PCC. It was yet another testimonial to the transformative opportunity PCC has provided to its students. It was evident in the conversation at the library, and I was seeing it in Jeremy and the others around the table. Naturally gregarious, incredibly kind, enthusiastic in sharing his story and solutions to some of the national problems that concerned him. Like Tracey, Jeremy came across as a leader, someone you want with you when the going gets tough.

Andrew was kind, thoughtful and very generous in sharing his path to Pueblo. He was raised in Colorado on the western slope, in a conservative community. He joined the military over some objection from his family. But shared with me that a few factors made the decision for him. He didn’t know how else he’d be able to afford college; he was moved by the idea that we should ask not what our country can do for us but what we can do for our country; and he wanted to prove to himself that he could do it. He talked about the extraordinary level of community he found in the military. His whole platoon having dinner together around a giant table, dispensing with formality and rank and just connecting. Like family. The common bonds and experiences that brought them closer and which still exist today, only now they are physically separated, each moving on in life somewhere else, doing something else. He told me about someone with whom he served who recently took his life. If he’d known his friend was in trouble he would have dropped everything that minute and raced halfway across the country to be with him and help. He hasn’t found those kinds of relationships, that level of camaraderie and commitment, in civilian life.

We talked about whether there is some way that DOD and the VA can facilitate veterans from the same unit being able to more closely stay in touch. When possible to volunteer together, eat together – mutually support their fellow veterans in civilian life. It’s clear that these two massive bureaucracies can do a much better job in the transition from military to civilian life. And just as clear that I was sitting with two veterans who could lead in figuring that out.

Like Jeremy, I was impressed that Andrew always seemed to have an answer or solution to any problem or concern that he’d raise.

It was getting late and I knew that I had to be up early the next day. I got up to pay the check only to discover that Jeff had bought everyone’s dinner and drinks and left before we had a chance to thank him.

We said our goodbyes, everyone wanting to make sure that I had a place to stay and offering to help with anything I needed in Pueblo.

I drove to the hotel just really feeling grateful, a big smile on my face. The country will be OK, there are so many good people like Tracey and Jeremy and Andrew and Jeff. So many who want to be part of the solution, who have the courage to engage and push themselves and those around them to do better. Who are troubled by what’s happening in the country right now, but come to the table with ideas, with open hearts and minds, with a kindness and generosity that is powerful.

The fog had lifted. The funk was gone. His travels ended. Beto had found what he was looking for.