We all have “that teacher.” Samuel DuBois Cook was mine.
Before Samuel DuBois Cook passed in 2017, he was widely saluted as the first tenure-track black professor appointed by a predominantly white university in the South since Reconstruction. To me, he was that and much more.
The following essay appears in Roses for the Soul: Celebrating the Life and Achievements of Dr. Samuel DuBois Cook.
The bottom line is this: Sam Cook is the teacher in my life who most shaped my values, my politics, my work, my purpose as a human being. We all have “that teacher” in our heads. He is mine.
He is one of the very finest, most decent, most honorable human beings I have known. And, as both a great teacher and a great man, he is an outsized force and influence in my life.
I entered Duke in 1970, well into the civil rights movement, two years following Martin Luther King’s assassination, with our nation embroiled in the upheaval associated with the Vietnam War. I double majored in political science and psychology. But, truth be told, I really majored in sportswriting. I became the sports editor of The Chronicle — and you won’t believe this — I had the distinct “pleasure” of being the editor during a streak of 43 consecutive basketball road losses in the ACC. Now, THAT is ancient history!
So, when you’re writing about losses — and more losses — you’re looking for something different to write about. Anything! And, it turns out that the Martin Luther King games — a national track meet — were held at Duke in 1973. I could go to the track coach to learn about the meet itself, and write about runners and javelin throwers. But, that wasn’t the story. Five years after the tragic and premature death of the most transformative American in my lifetime, the story was about Dr. Martin Luther King.
And, who better to explain the significance of Dr. King than his good friend Samuel DuBois Cook? I had taken a political theory course from him, and knew already that he was the most dynamic, exciting and inspirational teacher I had met. As I had expected, he provided the spiritual context for the athletic competition that was about to happen.
He spoke of ideals. He was aspirational, not burdened by what was. He was about what could be.
He pushed us to think hard about our values. He didn’t hide his liberalism, but if we were to follow suit, we should understand why.
He taught us that government at its best can help empower those most in need. He used phrases I had never heard in political discourse, starting with the word “community” — a cliché today. He spoke of “our common destiny,” “social conscience,” “sense of responsibility,” “our bond of common suppositions,” and above all, from the mouth of Benjamin Mays — his and Dr. King’s mentor — our “beloved community.” He had a way with language, evidenced in the title of this book.
Twice a week, I felt that I had a front row seat at the Ebenezer Baptist Church. His lectures were lectures, but they were also sermons. There was an unmistakable spiritual element to his words, and he was the most mesmerizing speaker I had ever heard. And his classes inspired great introspection.
When I graduated, I kept hearing Dr. Cook’s voice. I felt that I had no choice but to carry the quest for the beloved community into my own life. For me, that meant foregoing a promising career in sports journalism and an option to enroll in a graduate program to become a clinical psychologist. I had a calling. I went to Washington hoping to better lives through public policy — and though I had no idea where that road would lead, I believe Dr. Cook would say that I have taken his teachings to heart.
Thirty years ago, I founded a mission-oriented communications company, supporting nonprofit organizations committed to advancing social change in the United States and around the world. I appropriated Dr. Cook’s language, saying that we would try to “improve the human condition.” I feel that we have stayed true to his vision. We have given voice to many: the heroes whose research is feeding the hungry, indigenous forest dwellers who are mitigating climate change, advocates for basic health services for all, scientists expanding our knowledge of biomedical science and vaccine development for the poorest of the poor, those who are leading the struggle against the ravages of substance abuse, reformers who have a vision for high-quality education for more low-income, high achieving Americans — and many others.
I feel that we have stayed true to his vision. And, five years ago, at our company’s 25th anniversary, in my remarks to my colleagues, I reflected on all we had accomplished, starting with specific reference to the inspiration of Samuel DuBois Cook.
His voice is timeless, and the nation would do well to listen to that voice today.
If he were still teaching, he would tell us that our frayed social safety net is not acceptable. That people of color too often remain oppressed. That there is no defense for the vast, vast disparities in wealth and political influence between the very few and the one per cent in a truly beloved community. That it’s not OK that people who live at one stop on the metro line in Washington, D.C. or New York City or virtually any other city in the United States live much longer and are far healthier than those five or ten stops away. That it’s not OK that a third of all black male high-school dropouts between the ages of 20 and 39 were imprisoned in 2010, compared with only 13 per cent of their white peers. That black unemployment is double the rate of whites. That black lives matter. That all lives matter.
We need to learn more about each other and bridge a gap of ignorance and understanding. My college classmate John Cranford wrote a very thoughtful piece about Dr. Cook when he retired from Duke to assume the presidency at Dillard University. He began with these words. They could be written today:
Something about Sam Cook just doesn’t leave you with the impression that he ever was a revolutionary. He talks tough, sometimes, but he talks softly. And, he’s a big man, and he’s black; and for some whites that is probably description enough — despite the overwhelming charity in his voice. But, Samuel DuBois Cook, classmate and close personal friend of his mentor and idol, the late Martin Luther King, Jr., was a revolutionary, and he hasn’t lost his spirit.
Perhaps less known is that Dr. Cook was a force for collaboration between Blacks and Jews, creating the nation’s first academic center on Black-Jewish relations at Dillard. I can imagine him saying these words, words of a rabbi that were spoken at Rosh Hashanah this past year when I gathered with family and friends. They are the deeply felt, deeply spiritual, deeply wise words that speak of the beloved community to which Samuel DuBois Cook devoted his life:
If we are weary, let us strengthen one another.
If we are discouraged, let us give each other hope.
If our hopes have become faded, let us revive them.
If our lives have become shallow, let us deepen them.
If our principles have become shabby, let us repair them.
If our ideals have become tarnished, let us restore them.
If our purposes have become blurred, let us sharpen them.
If our horizons have become narrowed, let us widen them.
And if our hearts have been chilled by indifference,
Let us warm them with our love and friendship.
Andy Burness is grateful for a life-altering experience at Duke University, made especially memorable by his relationship with Professor Cook. Since graduating in 1974, he has worked in politics, policy and communications for Duke President Terry Sanford, U.S. Rep. Richardson Preyer, the President’s Commission on Medical Ethics, the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation and Burness, the communications company he founded in 1986.
