I was thinking of writing a post about “SUCCESS” and how I define it, but there are so many things flowing through my mind I couldn’t put the words together. And then I remembered a book that I had read from several years ago by Robert Fulghum, titled “It Was On Fire When I Lay Down On It
It’s about a man who died a “failure“.
Here it is, from Fulghum’s Book (thanks to Richard Seah for posting this in his site):
JOHN PIERPONT died a failure. In 1866, at age 81, he came to the end of this days as a governent clerk in Washington, DC, with a long string of personal defeats abrading his spirit.
Things began well enough. He graduated rom Yale, which his grandfathre had helped found, and chose education as his profession with some enthusiasm.
He was a failure at schoolteaching. He was too easy on his students. And so he turned to the legal world for training.
He was a failure as a lawyer. He was too generous to his clients and too concerned about justice to take the cases that brought good fees. The next career he took up was that of dry-goods merchant.
He was a failure as a businessman. He could not charge enough for his goods to make a profit, and was too liberal with credit. In the meantime, he had been writing poetry, and though it was published, he didn’t collect enough royalties to make a living.
He was a failure as a poet. And so he decided to become a minister, went off to Harvard Divinity School, was ordained as minister of the Hollis Street Church in Boston. But his position for Prohibition and against slavery got him crosswise with the influencial members of his congregation and he was forced to resign.
He was a failure as a minister. Politics seemed a place where he could make some difference, and he was nominated as the Abolition party candidate for governor of Massachusetts. He lost. Undaunted, he ran for Congress under the banner of the FreeSoil Party. He lost.
He was a failure as a politician. The Civil War came along, and he volunteered as a chaplain of the 22nd Regiment of the Massachusetts Volunteers. Two weeks later he quit, having found the task too much of a strain on his health. He was 76 years old. He couldn’t even make it as a chaplain.
Someone found him an obscure job in the back offices of the Treasury Department in Washington, and he finished out the last five years of his life as a menial file clerk. He wasn’t very good at that, either. His heart was not in it.
Died a failure
John Pierpont died a failure. He had accomplished nothing he set out to do or be. There is a small memorial stone marking his grave in Mount Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge, Massachusetts. The words in the granite read: Poet, Preacher, Philosopher, Philantropist.
From this distance in time, one might insist that he was not, in fact, a failure. His commitments to social justice, his desire to be a loving human being, his active engagement in the great issues of his times, and his faith in the power of the human mind – these are not failures.
And much of what he thought of as defeat became success. Education was refirmed, legal processes were improved, credit laws were changed, and, above all, slavery was abolished once and for all.
Why am I telling you this? It’s not an uncommon story. Many 19th century reformers had similar lives – similar failures and successes.
In one very important sense, John Pierpont was not a failure. Every year, come December, we celebrate his success. We carry in our hearts and minds a lifelong memorial to him.
It’s a song.
Not about Jesus or angels or even Santa Clasus. It’s a terribly simple song about the simple joy of whizzing throught the cold white dark of wintersgloom in a sleigh pulled by one horse. And with the company of friends, laughing and singing all the way. No more. No less.
“Jingle Bells.” John Pierpont wrote “Jingle Bells.”
Simple joys
To write a song that stands for the simplest joys, to write a song that three or four hundred million people around the world know – a song about something they’ve never done but can imagine – a song that everyone of us, large and small, can hoot out the moment the chord is struck on the piano and the chord is struck in our spirit – well, that’s not failure.
One snowy afternoon in deep winter, John Pierpont penned the lines as a small gift for his family and friends and congregation. And in doing so left behind a permanent gift for Christmas – the best kind – not the one under the tree, but the invisible, invincible one of joy.
In Richard’s site, he updated it by saying the story was inaccurate, based on the email he received. But that doesn’t matter anymore. The important thing is we understand the moral of the story: no matter how many times we think we failed, we are successful in one way or another.
-Saedel
PS. There are tons of good stories by Robert Fulghum that I’ve already read and kept. The first Fulghum book that I liked is “All I Really Need To Know I Learned In Kindergarten
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This story has since been discredited:
Mr. Fulghum is totally inaccurate in the facts he used in his story.
Poor research = poor author!!
My great grandfather, James Lord Pierpont is the composer of “Jingle Bells”. John Pierpont was his father, my great great grandfather. He was hardly considered a failure. If you will research his life, you will find you are wasting your sympathies!
Very truly yours,
Constance Turner
Hello Rich,
I’m glad somebody pointed this out in my blog. I sent you an email re: the inaccuracies of Robert Fulghum, and I’ll post here the same reply.
If you’ll notice, near the end of this post, I had already recognized the inaccuracy but decided to post the story anyway because I view Fulghum’s story as a fiction with good moral worth sharing.
Thanks for stopping by and commenting. I appreciate it.
Best regards,
Saedel
Jingle bells, Jingle bells, Jingle all the way!!! The moral of this story hits the bullseye. Just keep living life righteously and you will be alright.
Elmer, thanks for dropping by. You’re right. You’ve got nothing to worry about if you live righteously.
I would like to read some of these type stories
Greetings!
Andrew, Robert Fulgham is a Renaissance man who has done just about everything from being a bartender, a truck driver, and a cowboy to becoming an honored Episcopal clergyman. He is also a warm and wonderful, popular writer who helps us realize the goodness of and in the given-ness, the extraordinary in the ordinary, and that life can be more fun, interesting, and full of joy and humanness worth celebrating than most of us know. He has written at least five (5) books. including the national best-seller, “Everything I Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten.” For my birthday-Christmas, my eldest son gave me a boxed set called THREE BY FULGHAM which contains “It Was on Fire When I Lay Down on It” (which contains the wonderful, inspiring, moving account of a composite and/or only somewhat fictional James Lord Pierpoint and his creation, “Jingle Bells”, “Maybe (Maybe Not)”, and “Uh-Oh” I have a fifth book of his about Rituals, their importance, creation, use, and usefulness to “ordinary” people like you and me. You can find all or most of these at Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble, and Half-Price books. The first four are full of short, delightful, fun and/or heart-warming stories and reflections.
Constance Turner, the great granddaughter of James Lord Pierpoint who wrote “The One Horse Open Sleigh” when it originally had nothing to do with Christmas (or Thanksgiving), is right that Rev. Mr. Fulgham got the author’s name and some of the facts wrong.
James, the uncle of the great financier J. Pierpoint Morgan, was the son of Boston Episcopal Clergyman, John Sr., and the brother of John Jr., also a clergyman, with whom he served a church in Savannah, Georgia as Organist before the Civil War. Both John’s were abolitionists, but James stayed in the South with his second wife and wrote three notable war poems for the Confederate cause. He also wrote a delightful, long poem about how he had failed in business during the Gold rush, had to leave to escape his creditors, and how people shouldn’t have to pay their debts! He didn’t say “sometimes,” but he was creating a fun song-poem to entertain others.
I disagree with Ms. Turner that “Mr. Fulghum is totally inaccurate in the facts he used in his story. Poor research = poor author!!” He wasn’t totally inaccurate. He did seem to merge father and son or got them mixed up. It was “poor research,” probably based on poor source(s). We increasingly have better sources, better data-bases, and more facts, thanks to the internet. I cannot call a man “a poor author” when he has saved for us so many real and human stories, and deep, wide, and high insights into life, and served them up to us in such “palatable,” warm, wonderful, delightful, and often moving prose. Just the opposite. I read him, love him, honor him, and thank God he chose to be an “author,” thereby delighting and blessing millions. Just about every article or source one can find by Googling “James Lord Pierpoint “Jingle Bells” (which I recommend) contains an inaccuracy or a contradiction. Busy pastors who serve and care for their congregations try, but often fail, at being outstanding scholars, due to time and other constraints.
The important points to remember, I believe, is the truth of the story Fulgham told (above) and Saedel’s conclusion:
“Richard’s site… he updated it by saying the story was inaccurate, based on the email he received. But that doesn’t matter anymore. The important thing is we understand the moral of the story: no matter how many times we think we failed, we are successful in one way or another.”
And sometimes God, fate, chance, and other people share or transform our offerings until they end up blessing or bringing joy to millions of people around the world.