Two
years
ago,
I
was
tired.
I
was
burned
out.
I
was
disillusioned
with
the
civil
litigation
system.
Those
of
you
who
are
longtime
readers
might
recall
that
I
also
no
longer
had
much
use
for
a
large
paycheck.
So
I
sent
out
a
bevy
of
applications
for
low-paying
positions
at
National
Parks
and
historic
sites
throughout
the
country.
I
figured
I
could
learn
something
different,
hopefully
make
a
few
new
friends,
and
not
hate
85%
of
the
people
I
encountered
every
day
(including
myself)
as
was
the
case
when
I
was
working
at
a
Biglaw
firm.
The
first
to
get
back
to
me
and
extend
a
job
offer
was
the
Charles
Lindbergh
House
and
Museum
(sorry
Crater
Lake,
couple
weeks
too
late,
maybe
another
time).
I
had
just
finished
reading
A.
Scott
Berg’s
Pulitzer
Prize-winning
Lindbergh
biography,
and
had
become
fascinated
with
the
groundbreaking
aviator.
In
case
you
need
a
little
history
refresher,
Charles
Lindbergh
was
the
first
person
to
fly
solo
nonstop
across
the
Atlantic.
This
was
a
big
deal
in
1927.
When
he
took
off
from
Roosevelt
Field
in
New
York,
this
confident
young
flyer
was
unknown
to
the
broader
world.
When
he
landed
33
1/2
hours
later
at
Le
Bourget
Aerodrome
outside
of
Paris,
he
was
the
most
famous
man
alive.
Others
weren’t
so
lucky
(or
so
skilled).
Half
a
dozen
men
were
killed
at
various
stages
in
their
attempts
to
complete
the
New
York
to
Paris
route
before
Lindbergh
succeeded.
He
had
courage.
Lindbergh
overcame
tragedy,
like
when
his
first
son
was
kidnapped
and
murdered
in
1934.
He
tried
to
help
people,
working
for
years
on
a
lifesaving
medical
device
and
passionately
advocating
for
environmental
causes.
He
always
found
ways
to
serve
his
country,
even
when
figures
as
powerful
as
Franklin
Delano
Roosevelt
stood
in
his
way.
Of
course,
FDR
only
felt
like
he
had
to
stand
in
Lindbergh’s
way
because
the
man
could
be
a
monster.
In
1938,
German
shitbird
Hermann
Göring
awarded
Lindbergh
a
medal
that
he
refused
to
return
even
after
the
depths
of
Nazi
depravity
became
apparent.
Lindbergh
was
always
too
close
to
fascism,
one
of
the
original
America
Firsters,
someone
who
unashamedly
referenced
the
“Jewish
problem.”
He
even
got
some
skin
in
the
eugenics
game
by
fathering
children
with
three
German
women,
unbeknownst
to
his
lovely
wife,
Anne.
Lindbergh
was
a
hero
and
a
villain.
He
was
good
and
evil.
Like
all
of
us,
only
on
a
grander
scale.
The
lessons
of
this
man’s
life
could
not
be
more
relevant
to
the
national
mess
we
now
find
ourselves
in,
and
I
got
to
help
explain
them
to
thousands
of
eager
visitors
to
the
Charles
Lindbergh
House
and
Museum.
We
made
sure
people
had
fun,
but
we
didn’t
ever
shy
away
from
the
controversial
aspects
of
Lindbergh’s
—
and
in
turn,
our
nation’s
—
past
either.
What’s
more
fun
than
swastika
medals
and
secret
German
mistresses
anyhow?
The
best
part:
my
coworkers.
Instead
of
courtrooms
filled
with
hatred,
I
had
an
oak
forest,
a
museum,
and
a
historic
home
filled
with
people
I
came
to
care
a
great
deal
about.
As
a
lawyer,
I
am
frequently
underwhelmed
with
the
quality
of
my
compatriots.
As
a
part-time
historian,
I
was
constantly
overwhelmed
with
pride
in
the
team
I
was
a
part
of.
If
you
want
proof
of
my
coworkers’
brilliance,
go
ahead
and
read
some
of
it
yourself.
As
of
the
end
of
August,
it’s
all
gone.
The
Charles
Lindbergh
House
and
Museum
has
been
permanently
shuttered,
the
staff
laid
off.
Just
not
in
the
budget
for
the
statewide
historical
society
that
ran
it,
we
were
told,
by
one
of
the
useless
executives
whose
six-figure
salary
could
have
easily
been
sacrificed
instead.
Charles
Lindbergh’s
former
home
will
gradually
rot
away,
the
rich
history
that
once
sprang
to
life
there
silenced.
People
will
start
to
forget
the
bravery
of
a
farm
boy
who
dreamed
of
crossing
oceans.
They
won’t
remember
how
he
was
seduced
by
antisemitism
and
America
First
nonsense.
People
won’t
be
inspired
to
take
bold
risks
of
their
own;
they
won’t
be
on
their
guard
about
making
the
same
mistakes
Lindbergh
did.
My
friends,
whose
every
movement,
every
word,
every
facial
expression
had
been
imbued
with
such
meaning
as
they
educated
and
enchanted
the
public,
will
have
nowhere
to
go
with
their
extensive
Lindbergh
knowledge.
It’s
now
locked
away
inside
them,
to
struggle
with,
alone.
It’s
not
the
end
of
the
world.
But
it’s
the
end
of
a
little
world
that
I
loved.
Jonathan
Wolf
is
a
civil
litigator
and
author
of Your
Debt-Free
JD (affiliate
link).
He
has
taught
legal
writing,
written
for
a
wide
variety
of
publications,
and
made
it
both
his
business
and
his
pleasure
to
be
financially
and
scientifically
literate.
Any
views
he
expresses
are
probably
pure
gold,
but
are
nonetheless
solely
his
own
and
should
not
be
attributed
to
any
organization
with
which
he
is
affiliated.
He
wouldn’t
want
to
share
the
credit
anyway.
He
can
be
reached
at [email protected].