On
the northern edge of Buffalo there's an imposing marble building
perched atop a grassy hill; a hill that slopes gently down to a small
lake ringed with trees. It's a beautiful spot, quiet and drenched in
history, and I often find myself there on that specific sort of sunny
day when you have a lot of thinking to do. The building houses our local
historical society, but it was built as a pavilion for the Pan American
Exposition of 1901 by an architect who clearly looked to the Parthenon
for inspiration. The gardens and lake are part of an extensive city-wide
park system designed by Frederick Law Olmsted, and President McKinley
was assassinated while attending the Exposition only yards (and a
hundred years or so) from where I stand. On the steps leading up to the
portico sits a bronze statue of Abraham Lincoln. He is portrayed at
rest, legs crossed, a leathery portfolio of legal papers in his lap. His
expression is thoughtful, and his gaze looks down over the lake, past
the Japanese Garden and the interstate to the city beyond. The statue is
life-sized, and, apart from the color, very realistic. I always half
expect him to turn his head and start talking to me. There's a sort of
"when worlds collide" feeling to the spot, filled as it is with the
contradictions and overlaps of history. It's secluded and serene, yet
the low hum of city traffic is never completely absent. The neoclassical
facade, itself homage to a still earlier time, can't quite block the
overpasses and guardrails and traffic lights from my view. This spot
always helps me recognize the repetitive, cyclical nature of life, and
what I like best is the reminder that we're surrounded by history, our
own, our family's, our nation's. Countless dozens of generations before
us have dealt with the same struggles and catastrophes and triumphs and
desires and joys and losses and victories as we have, and countless
dozens more will follow in our footsteps. I think it's critical that we
study history in order to understand how those who came before us solved
their problems, or, if they couldn't, why not? Lincoln struggled with a
nation fractured to a degree we can only imagine, and yet somehow it
eventually worked out ok. Seeing his face, calm, serious yes, but
unlined by worry or fear, gives me hope that we'll figure out a way to
do the same. (this is a reprint from way back in 2008)
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