“They fight us at every step of the process. It feels like they’re trying to drag this out for as long as they can.”

— Kevin Gallagher, Apple Store employee and member of the union negotiating committee.

“There is a great plan to dismantle this movement and devalue it in any way possible.”

– Billy Jarbaugh, Apple Store Worker and Union Bargaining Committee member.

It has been noted that the first and only previous American president to be arrested was Ulysses S. Grant. He was arrested in 1872, as president, for “driving fast” in his buggy near the White House. The arresting officer, William West, was a black Union Army veteran who had served in the police force for several years. There were complaints that in the “aristocratic” part of the city, men were dispersing horses. One day of officers of the West has stopped the president, whom he recognized and gave him a warning. “Your fast ride, sir. . . endangers the lives of people who have to cross the street.” The President apologized. But the next night, patrolling 13th and M Streets, West saw many carriages speeding down the street at high speed, led by the president.

West raised his club. Grant took control of his horses and confusedly asked if he had been speeding. In 1908, when the story appeared in the Washington Sunday Star, West said that Grant had the air of a schoolboy caught in a crime. He reminded Grant of his promise not to speed. West told Grant: “I’m sorry, Mr. President, that I have to do this, because you are the head of the nation, and I’m just a policeman, but duty is duty, sir, and I will have to put you in your place.” under arrest.”

Grant did something he hadn’t done before, which was surrender. He invited West into his carriage and drove to the station. On the way we talked about the war. West was at the evacuation of Richmond. Grant said he admires a man who does his duty. At the police station, Grant put up $20 and stayed long enough to play with friends who were also brought in to protest their arrests. A few days later, he heard rumors that West’s job might be in danger. Grant sent a quick message to the police chief, praising West for his fearlessness and making it clear that he hoped no harm would come to him. None did.

In the coming years, they will greet each other on the street, talk about horses. West served in the department for another 25 years, distinguishing himself in detective work. He did not tell the story of the president’s arrest until he retired. The Metropolitan Police Department confirmed this version a century later.

Last year at this same time, we wrote about Grant, talking about his role in the most story-packed Holy Week in US history, the seven days since the end of the Civil War in 1865, the silence in Appomattox, and the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. .

More can be said. The thing that always captivates is Grant’s quality, which made close observers balance two different and opposing thoughts in their minds. First: There is nothing special about this simple, quiet, unremarkable person. Other: He is marked by fate; something within him contains an epic fulfillment of fate, even of nations.

An obscure ex-soldier and unfortunate farmer, in two or three years, will become the only irreplaceable person in the Union after Lincoln. Then, when all the worlds are conquered, he will lose everything in a cascade of misfortunes that will bring… . . final and transcendent human triumph.

A famous story from Ron Chernow’s still-great “Grant”:

On Christmas Eve 1883, Grant, healthy and prosperous at 61, was taken to his town home in Manhattan. Turning around to give the driver a celebratory tip, he slipped on the ice, breaking his hip. followed by pleurisy; arthritis “creeped up to the feet”; he was bedridden and then had difficulty walking. Grant had previously formed a business partnership with the “Young Napoleon of Finance,” 29-year-old Ferdinand Ward, a financial genius who, alas, was the Sam Bankman-Freed of his time. His profit turned out to be non-existent; In the spring of 1884, Grant found out that he was broke, ruined, his public reputation seriously undermined. A few months later – “When afflictions come, they come not one by one, but in squadrons,” he took a bite of a peach and screamed loudly in pain, thinking he had swallowed a wasp. The burning sensation in his throat did not go away, and a few months later he was told it was cancer.

Now he gathered all his strength to do what he had long refused to write his memoirs. He did it for money so that his wife and family would be safe.

He wrote sitting on a chair with his feet on the chair opposite, wearing a woolen hat on his head, with a shawl on his shoulders, “a scarf around his neck that hides a tumor the size of a baseball.” After he ate or drank, he needed opiates, but opiates clouded his mind, so he wrote for long days without food or drink. Nevertheless, the words flowed like water, “showing how much thoughts and pent-up feelings were hidden under his tightly buttoned facade.” He wrote 275,000 words of “magnificent prose” in less than a year.

The opening line—”My family is American, and for generations, in all its ramifications, has been direct and secondary”—has the condensed beauty of his battlefield dispatches. He died on July 23, 1885, three days after he completed the manuscript. An unexpected masterpiece became a publishing phenomenon.

Mark Twain, who published it, watched Grant’s funeral procession for five hours from the windows of his Union Square office. After that, he joined William Tecumseh Sherman for drinks and cigars at the Lotos Club. They talked about the miracle and mystery of Grant’s identity. Sherman thought his close friend was a mystery even to himself. He was unmatched as a military genius – “Never anything like it before” – but he was not immersed in the literature of war, strategy and grand tactics. He was nothing like the polished, prim Grant that appeared in the newspapers. “The idea of ​​all this nonsense that Grant can’t handle rude language and tactless stories!” He roared at colorless tales. “Grant,” said Sherman, “was not a pathetic fool; he was a MAN – in every way – rounded and whole.”

Twain expressed regret. While helping to oversee and edit Grant’s memoirs, he never pressured Grant in his struggle with alcohol. His enemies called him a drunkard; his friends recognized the wartime binges. Sherman himself said of their friendship, “He supported me when I was crazy and I supported him when he was drunk.” But Twain didn’t think to investigate, and knew that now he had to do it, because people would appreciate it and understand.

Why do we remember greatness? What is the purpose of memorization?

To remind us who we were. To remind us what else lurks in the national DNA.

So we know what greatness looks Like. This way we can recognize it when it is in our environment. Because human greatness will never completely disappear, even if you look to the north, east, south and west and cannot see it. You’re not sure if it’s around. But it will be there.

Maybe it’s there. Take a closer look. Maybe it’s a seed. Help him grow.