The Greatest Man You've Never Known
Sometimes the best role models are the people history forgot.
Achieving greatness makes the best story, but greatness is often one dimensional. Tiger Woods is the best golfer of all time, but his personal life is pathetic. Jeff Bezos and Bill Gates built the world’s most influential companies, but their marriages ended in divorce. John D Rockefeller was one of the wealthiest men in modern history, but he was known for ruthless business practices.
Greatness can take a toll on a life. While we may be tempted to study the greats, we must remember they’re not always the best role models.
If we want good examples, we must look to the people who fell just short of greatness. The ones who were courageous, persistent, and resilient but didn’t quite have fate on their side. These people possess another trait that the greats often lack—stillness.
Ryan Holiday writes about stillness at length. Stillness is easy to understand—it’s peace of mind, it’s clarity of thought, it’s comfort without chaos—but it’s much easier to see when contrasted with its opposite.
As I contrasted Tiger Woods with Steve Scott, I’d like to contrast Lyndon Johnson with Coke Stevenson. Johnson, of course, achieved political greatness but at tremendous costs. While valuable to study, I’d never wish to be like him. On the other hand, Stevenson was a well respected politician—quite successful, although he never reached the apex of politics. I’d rather be compared to Coke than Lyndon any day.
In 1948, Coke and Lyndon ran against each other for a Texas Senate seat. Contrasting their lives, their political strategies, and their characters paints a compelling picture of the difference between greatness and near greatness, the difference between mania and stillness, the difference between actions to be ashamed of and a life to be proud of.
While I’ll always pursue greatness, like Coke Stevenson, I’ll never achieve it. But I’m okay with that. Because like Stevenson, I’ll work to cultivate stillness, and from the stillness, character. A moderately successful life I can be proud of is better than a life of greatness overshadowed by shame.
Coke Stevenson was a Texas legend. Born in the late 1800s, he was a cowboy and a man’s man. As a teenager, Stevenson started a freight route through the rural Texas wilderness. He hauled goods with a covered wagon and a team of horses over 20 miles every day. On each trip, he had to brave seven dangerous river crossings.
Stevenson built a reputation for always delivering goods on time, time and time again. He built a successful business, but the work was hard. He wanted a different future, so he ordered some textbooks. Every night on the trail, after he cooked dinner and rubbed down his horses, he taught himself bookkeeping by the light of the fire.
With his new bookkeeping knowledge, Coke found the courage to ask for a job at the local bank. He was met with laughter and offered a job as a janitor. He took it, worked his way up to bookkeeper, and ordered more textbooks. This time the textbooks were on law.
Stevenson found a beautiful property where he wanted to build a ranch, but he needed more money to do it. So he studied his law books late every night, passed the exam to earn his degree, and began working as a lawyer where he earned enough money to buy his ranch.
Coke earned a reputation as a man who could get things done, and because of this reputation, he fell into politics. First he was asked to catch a cow thief. Then he was asked to build a system of roads. Then he was asked to balance the budget.
“Each time I held an office,” reflected Stevenson, “it was for the purpose of getting a particular job done.”
But politics wasn’t what Stevenson enjoyed. He did it out of service. He enjoyed spending time on his ranch where he built his dream home by hand.
His home was a peaceful refuge. It sat across the South Llano River, and since Coke refused to build a bridge, the only way to access his home was by fording the river. He also refused to have a telephone. If anyone needed to contact him, they had to do it by mail or by messenger.
Coke built himself a library, and he was a voracious reader. As Robert Caro wrote, “He rose very early every morning, and put on a pot of very strong coffee. Then he would sit down with a book. Friends who stayed at the ranch remember sometimes getting up at four or five in the morning to go to the bathroom, and seeing a lamp burning in the living room, and in its circle of light, Coke Stevenson reading.”
When he wasn’t reading, Coke was working the land. He was always clearing brush, building fences, shearing sheep, or branding cattle. Coke didn’t shy away from hard physical labor. In fact, he loved it and continued doing the work into his old age.
Coke Stevenson and his ranch were the picture of stillness: early mornings, lots of books, no distractions from the outside world, hard manual labor, and connection to the land.
Coke Stevenson was the polar opposite of Lyndon Johnson—a contrast that became painfully clear in the 1948 Senate race.
Johnson flew across the state from stop to stop in his personal helicopter. Tearing over the Texas terrain, he would announce his arrival with a loudspeaker before making a speech. Stevenson drove here and there, stopping to shake hands and chat with locals, giving few speeches, and listening more than talking.
Johnson threw mud at Stevenson with relentless attack ads. Every day was a new allegation against Coke—on the radio, in the papers, printed on flyers—none of which were true. Stevenson refused to engage. He wouldn’t attack Johnson, and he wouldn’t respond to Johnson’s attacks.
Johnson raced frantically around the state pitching his platform to voters. He used opinion polls to identify important issues and built his platform around them. Stevenson refused to share a platform. He had a record, he said, and the voters could decide based on his experience. Where Johnson needed to win because he needed power, Stevenson wanted to win to help his people. If his people didn’t want him, then so be it.
Johnson eventually became the Texas Senator, not because he won the election but because he stole it. Politics was Johnson’s whole life. He craved the power it brought, and he stopped at nothing to ensure that power was his. Politics was the only source of meaning in Johnson’s life. He had neither character nor stillness.
After the election, Johnson went to Washington. Stevenson returned to his ranch.
Coke would rise at four in the morning to read. He would work clearing cedar and sinking fence posts. He would take afternoon breaks to swim with his wife in the river. He built roads connecting the 1,500 acres of his property, and he would shout with joy every time he found a new spring.
Coke often had guests at his ranch. As Caro wrote, “In the evenings, Stevenson and his guests would sit around a mesquite campfire by the river drinking Ten High whiskey and swapping stories, while Coke got a good scorch on the steaks as big as saddle blankets.”
Stevenson enjoyed every day on his ranch and loved his retirement. He lived to be 87 years old. Lyndon Johnson, of course, became President, then died four years after leaving office at the age of 64.
Johnson won in politics but lost in life. Johnson achieved greatness in the narrow sense, but Stevenson had happiness. His source of happiness was his stillness. He was content to walk alone in the wilderness. He enjoyed the fulfillment of hard manual labor and watching what he could build with his hands and his mind. He lived the same life after politics as he did before.
Johnson never found stillness. He smoked 3 packs of cigarettes per day. He bounced from disaster to disaster covering his tracks. He went whichever way the wind blew, so long as it meant getting elected. He had no principles, only a deep desire for power. And he achieved greatness. He rose to the top of the political arena. He held power like few men in history have before. But he did it at the expense of happiness. And that seems like a terrible trade to make.
For greatness means nothing if it leaves your life in shambles. Greatness is an outward accomplishment while stillness and character are inward facing. Greatness is an accomplishment to be proud of because the whole world will know, but character and stillness provide a quieter reward. They provide the satisfaction of a life well lived and the admiration of your friends and family rather than shallow congratulations from the world at large.
Greatness and happiness aren’t mutually exclusive. Greatness and good character aren’t polar opposites. Greatness and stillness aren’t always oil and water. But it seems greatness is often achieved at the expense of happiness, character, and stillness.
I would rather fall short of greatness if it meant I had the respect of my friends and family. If statues are never raised in my honor but I can sit comfortably with my thoughts, I’ll consider that success. If reporters never call and movies are never made but my wife and children enjoy my company, that is the accomplishment I desire. And unlike Lyndon Johnson, it was a reality Coke Stevenson enjoyed.
Before today, you’d probably never heard Coke Stevenson’s name, but I’m sure you knew Lyndon Johnson. After today, I hope you’ll think of Stevenson often, for his name is one we should be teaching our children. His is a legacy worth preserving. His life is a model for happiness, fulfillment, and honor.
Photo by Elijah Hail on Unsplash
