Believer: My Forty Years in Politics

by David Axelrod

Of course, the time I spent in a dark room reviewing records at the County Building was time I wasn’t spending in class or at the library. I wish I could retake some of the courses I sprinted through then, doing only enough work to get by with decent grades. The education I was offered was far better than the one for which I settled. But I was a young man in a big hurry. I had found a calling, and the best preparation for it was on the street, not in the classroom. I loved politics, and I loved reporting, but I pursued journalism relentlessly for another reason. In the spring of 1974, I got an unusual call from my dad. We spoke relatively often, but almost always because I’d called him for advice or solace, or to ask for a few bucks to tide me over. He rarely phoned me, and his message had a strange, parting tone. “Whatever happens, I know now that you and your sister are going to do very well in life,” he said. “I want you to know I am so proud of you both, and the people you’ve become.”