Extraordinary, Ordinary People: A Memoir of Family

chapter twenty-seven

Rick Upchurch went back to the University of Minnesota to finish college after the football season. He was therefore away when I resumed my academic career. When he returned for training camp in the summer it was clear that things had changed. We started dating again, still speaking of commitment to one another. But Rick had complications in his life—certain obligations that he needed to take care of. He was and still is one of the best human beings I’ve ever known, but as a friend of ours put it, he had “too many irons in the fire.” Our relationship ended gently and we remained friends.

In the fall of 1976, Ambassador Horace Dawson, one of the highest-ranking blacks in the Foreign Service, asked my father to serve on an external review of the United States Information Agency. We decided that this would provide me with good exposure to Washington. So my mother and I accompanied my father for the six-week assignment. Since Denver didn’t start until late September, I missed only two weeks of school. It was worth it because Horace Dawson became a mentor and friend and remains so to this day. He insisted that I apply for an internship at the State Department for the coming summer. I did and would soon receive my first paying job in international relations.

In general, things could not have been better at Denver. I began to prepare for doctoral qualifying exams, and to satisfy the requirement of a thesis-length research paper, I wrote on politics and music in the Soviet Union, exploring the impact of the totalitarian policies of Josef Stalin on composers such as Prokofiev and Shostakovich. I had finally found a way to unite my interests in music and politics.

Then, early in the spring quarter of 1977, Dr. Korbel asked to see me. He looked awful, and I noticed that his usually ruddy complexion had an undeniably yellow cast. Dr. Korbel said that he would be going into the hospital that afternoon and wondered if I’d take over his undergraduate course. The quarter had just begun, and I told him that of course I would take the class until he could return. He said that he didn’t know when that would be. The conversation really unnerved me. As it turned out, the class was a lot of work and I didn’t really love the teaching. But I did a creditable job and was pleased to have the experience on my resume.

Soon after, I left for my internship at the State Department. It was so exciting to move into my first apartment. I realize now that it was pretty dumpy, but it was my first and I loved it. The internship itself was pretty boring. I was assigned to the Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs, working on a project examining Soviet cultural programs in the Third World. Toward the end I worked on the somewhat more pressing issue of the education of Cuban soldiers in the Soviet Union.

On balance, the internship was a good experience largely because the people for whom I worked took an interest in me and exposed me to the life of diplomats. Although I became convinced during those months I was interning that I did not want to join the Foreign Service, I appreciated the mentoring. I was especially impressed that Warren Christopher, then the deputy secretary of state, came to speak to us. Years later, as secretary of state, I always made it a point to engage the interns. “I tell people to be good to their interns,” I would say to them. “You never know where they might end up.”

With only a few weeks to go in my internship, a college friend called to say that Dr. Korbel was gravely ill and likely would not last through the night. I was stunned. I thought that he had been diagnosed with hepatitis, but apparently that was the secondary condition. He had liver disease and it had progressed very rapidly. His daughter, Madeleine, called to see if I could come home for the funeral. I declined, explaining that I had a big end-of-the-summer presentation to make to the assistant secretary. Madeleine said that she understood. I sent flowers but felt incredibly guilty for not having made the trip back to Denver. I still do.