Check Out
More Info
Archives
All About Personal Redemptive Stories on the Web
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Significance of Personal Stories – Part 1
This is my own reconstruction of a particular scene from Amistad, which has remained fresh in my mind as an illustration of significance:
“I’ve learned through many years of trial and error that, in the courtroom, whoever tells the best story . . . wins!” said President Adams.
A SCENE FROM THE MOVIE “AMISTAD” (1997 Steven Spielberg)
1839 - Quincy, Massachusetts
“Mr. Joadson, you are from where, originally?” asked the aged statesman.
Joadson looked slightly bewildered. “From Georgia, sir,” Joadson replied.
Adams countered, “Does that pretty much sum up what you are? A Georgian? Is that your story?”
Adams posed the rhetorical questions for Mr. Joadson’s reflection, gently prompting his thoughts towards the answer. As an expert pedagogue, Adams let Joadson pause for a moment to discover the answer on his own, yet the correct answer needed to be unpacked in an organized fashion and explained in proper context. The pause of silence cleared the stage for the unpacking . . .
Sitting hunched over in his favorite armchair in front of the fireplace, Adams didn’t initially project the aura which his past achievements boasted of. They were all veiled in shadows now, just as the corner of the room in which he reclined now was draped in the grey shadows of the setting sun. Mr. John Quincy Adams, son of John Adams, was now well into his seventies. His thinning hair was white. His face and hands were shriveling, creased with lines and shades of many years hard work in his garden and in the library. These were not merely hands of menial labor. Surely his hands had also greeted many dignitaries at the White House. But now, in his twighlight years, over a decade after his term as President had ended, John Quincy Adams maintained an amazing sharpness of mind and a wit of tongue which astounded the best statesmen of the day. Astounding, yes, but also hidden underneath the cloak of wrinkles and aged infirmities. He often paced back and forth in front of his fireplace, looking uncertain in his steps. Sometimes he mumbled things to himself which were unintelligible. This was John Quincy Adams? President Adams? His eyes, now dimmed from their sharp sparkle they once held, squinted to perceive the facial expressions of his guest.
Mr. Theodore Joadson, in contrast to the venerable President Adams, stood six feet tall and towered with almost regal appearance. The crisp white tones on the brim of his top hat, which he politely held with both hands, set off his dark black skin like a light snowfall accents shingles on a rooftop. Born a slave on a Georgia plantation, Joadson had lived most of his adult life on a constant and upstream journey. He escaped from his taskmasters at the age of thirteen, fleeing to the northern states, scrapping for mere existence yet kept alive by a passion for reading and education. After many years of being self taught, the door of opportunity for formal education cracked open and Joadson strode right in, slowly gaining acceptance both as an educated black man and avid spokesman for the abolitionist movement. His was an amazing story, yet perhaps due to his humble and soft spoken nature, few people really knew his story. . .
(To be continued)
