amber waves of grain Archives

The 50 x 50 Project

On July 5, 2024

Let’s go.

There are many accidental factors that contributed to my career change from teaching to college fundraising, but one of the most compelling reasons I remember was the fact my new fundraising position paid me to travel.

It was something I couldn’t afford to do very much on a high school teacher’s salary, and even when we had the money, we were more often than not bound to the school calendar. We traveled on school breaks–the time when it’s more expensive to travel. Getting paid to travel (and yes, do my job as a fundraiser) sounded like a dream.

I learned to travel efficiently. Even if I had fundraising work scheduled throughout the day, I could often sequester off a few hours on every trip to do something on my own agenda. Sometimes it was a baseball game (I visited lots of cities with ballparks), other times it was a museum or historic site. I tried to experience each place I visited with an open, curious mind. When I would call on donors, I asked about where we were and what made it special. What do you love about here? I wanted to know.

Of Thee I Sing

By James D. Hogan

On June 1, 2024

In writing

An extraordinary day, and a simple act of decency.

We are standing in a dark room where photography of any kind is prohibited. Before us, in a light and climate controlled room, is the original garrison flag raised over Fort McHenry in September of 1814 following a long night of British bombardment. In the early morning light, the sight of the flag inspired Francis Scott Key to compose words that eventually became The Star Spangled Banner.

Thomas and I are standing, a bit speechless, looking at its faded colors, its clearly hand-sewn composition, its tattered edges. In the years after the War of 1812, the flag was owned by a family, who scissored off snippets of fabric to give to war heroes and friends. It was eventually given to the Smithsonian in 1907, where we are viewing it. And of course, now we all sing about the flag. This flag. I think about how singing a song with others brings us together.

Minutes later, I pause to take a seat on a wooden bench while Thomas checks out another gallery of our nation’s artifacts. I’m nursing a fractured foot, and our day started early this morning as we hiked around the Library of Congress, the Supreme Court, and the U.S. Capitol Building. The day before we’d hoofed it more than 10 miles. My orthopedic boot was not the most comfortable footwear. As I sat, I glanced at my phone and saw I had a LinkedIn message, and for whatever reason I opened it, read it, and came to a startling conclusion.

I was missing my wallet.

Cut to the heart

By James D. Hogan

On June 6, 2022

In writing

Nobody seems to know what to do with it all.

By now, you have no doubt heard the same details I have, facts that make the atrocious murder of 19 children and their two teachers somehow much worse. That the police did not realize there were children still alive and trapped in the classroom with the shooter while they waited. That those children called 911, begging operators to send help. That one child smeared another child’s blood on herself and played dead. That at least one frantic mother ran into the school to find her child.

Like every parent in America, I grappled with that last thought–of the parents, assembled at the little elementary school, despairing, separated from their children while the scene remained active.

Like every parent in America, I saw the photos of the children online, saw the little boy with his tie on–it was awards day–running, terrified, and transposed my own son’s face upon his.

Like every parent in America, I kissed my children goodbye, sending them off for their last week of school, taking extra time to deeply inhale the scent at the crowns of their heads, my nose pressed warmly against their hair.

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