Sanford School of Public Policy
Duke University

National Media - U.S. News & World Report, May 4, 1998

'A conscience with bite'

BY DAVID GERGEN / EDITOR AT LARGE

Terry Sanford showed that one fearless leader can make millions brave.

When doctors at Duke University discovered in December of last year that Terry Sanford had inoperable cancer, they told him he had 90 to 120 days to live. "I'm not giving up," he replied, "because I learned how to live with much worse odds during the war. Now, I don't want you to give up, either."

Ever gallant, ever hopeful, the former governor and university president entered his last struggle. On April 18, he finally lost, but as thousands of mourners gathered at the Duke chapel last week, they remembered with joy the many other battles he had taken up and won on their behalf. They knew his journey had a significance far beyond his own beloved state: He taught us once again--at a time we need reminding--how much a single, fearless leader can do to release the energies of a democratic people.

Over coffee at his home shortly before he died, Sanford returned time and again to his youth and war experience. He talked of his roots in a rural town and his continuing pride in having become an Eagle Scout. "That probably saved my life in the war," he said. "Boys who had been scouts or had been in the CCC [the Civilian Conservation Corps of Franklin Roosevelt] knew how to look after themselves in the woods."

Learning courage. As with many of this century's leaders--Harry Truman was one, George Bush another--Sanford discovered his own personal bravery in combat. He had to talk his way into uniform ("they rejected me the first time because of flat feet") and wound up a paratrooper. He jumped into France just after D-Day, survived that horrendous winter of 1944-45, fought in the Battle of the Bulge, and came home a decorated hero.

"We become brave by doing brave acts," Aristotle wrote, and so it was with Sanford. Elected governor of North Carolina in 1960 and limited by law to a single term of four years, he was so effective that later on, a Harvard survey recognized him as one of the 10 best American governors of the century. Long before other governors, especially in the South, he invigorated public schools, built community colleges, attracted research investments, and created centers of artistic excellence. But above all, he stood up courageously for civil rights.

In Mississippi, Gov. Ross Barnett shut out blacks; in Arkansas, Gov. Orval Faubus; in Alabama, Gov. George Wallace. Only in North Carolina and Georgia did governors insist that blacks had rights, too. With the Klan on the move, Sanford created Good Neighbor Councils across the state, asking prominent blacks and whites to work together in pursuit of better schools and jobs. His popularity was damaged, but he defused the crisis and helped liberate the state from the shackles of racism.

Sanford himself was the first to credit valorous black leaders like Martin Luther King Jr., John Lewis, and Rosa Parks for the civil rights revolution. Yet progress would have been even bloodier and more painful had it not been for a few white leaders who also put themselves at risk by embracing the cause.

Terry Sanford didn't live by the polls, as nearly every "leader" in Washington now so slavishly does; he lived by his own sense of right and wrong, learned back in a little town. And he stuck to it, regardless of personal risk. In his funeral service last week, where his long years as president of Duke and as a U.S. senator were also celebrated, his friend Joel Fleishman said he had "a conscience with bite." Exactly.

Sanford, like Lyndon Johnson, believed that racism was not only dividing blacks from whites but also dividing the South from the rest of the nation. By freeing people from its scourge, everyone in the region would have a better chance to grow. Indeed, that captured much of his political philosophy: A leader's role is to raise people's aspirations for what they can become and to release their energies so they will try to get there.

When Sanford became governor, as Fleishman pointed out, his state was 49th among the 50 states in per capita income; today it is 32nd and rising. More than that--as so many natives will attest--hate is giving way to decency, pessimism to hope. A single leader, brave and idealistic, liberated the best in his people.

© 1998 U.S. News & World Report, Inc. / Washington DC  Used by permission.

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