“Ivy Leaguer, Eh?”

Politics is amusing – in Maine and nationwide. Suddenly the irrelevant is relevant, and relevant irrelevant. Examples abound, but here is one, mildly entertaining.

After a recent political event in Maine, one media outlet dubbed me “Ivy League educated,” which in the Maine I grew up in was not a compliment, at best a backhanded one that implies, without saying it, some sort of privilege. I have to chuckle.  

First, my upbringing in rural Maine was about as non-privileged, non-Ivy League as it gets. A father who did not finish college abandoned the family, and while my mother eventually remarried, she largely raised four kids on her own. We owe all we are to her.

How did she do that? Up at 0500 every morning, down at midnight, correcting papers until done, creating lesson plans, designing bulletin boards, helping us with homework until late, making lunches, and preparing for frigid morning duty at Monmouth Elementary School early.

 And what did she make? Starting school teacher’s salary was $12,000 a year. She retired after 40 years at a whopping $60,000 – no teacher’s pension, since it was not available if you had social security. 

Privileged? Hardly. I cut four cords of wood each fall, two years ahead to season in our woodshed, which then fed three wood stoves all winter, since we had no electric heat, no baseboard, nothing.

No complaints, mind you, but these Maine kids – in a town of 500 – knew nothing about the Ivy League, or anything like it. We ice fished every weekend of the winter, caught and ate everything., White perch, pickerel, and cusk were especially good, but yellows, too. I once caught a salmon.

Lake catches supplemented Hamburger Helper, chicken wings, American Chop Suey, veggies and fruit (including peaches) we happily grew all summer, pulled from the freezer all winter. All good.

Second, how did I get to Dartmouth? A miracle. No links, no money, no nothing, but grit and my mother’s clear voice to all four of us – You need to get an education. So, we worked, physically and academically, a bootstraps thing. She insisted on it.

From 12 to 17, I worked jobs to save money – May to October – on outdoor crews at the local camp, pre, post and during summers – cleaned and fixed 26 toilets each morning for five years. Working for a WWII vet, learned plumbing, carpentry, how to work on cars, how to fix things, how to scrape, sand, paint, polyurethane, fiberglass, tear things apart and rebuild them. I got a real education.

The next year, I began building houses, with another WWII vet. They were Pacific theater vets, taught us like we were their kids, expected us to think of work as an incredible privilege, and I did. I earned 40 dollars a week at first, five dollar raise each succeeding year. I was in heaven, saved it all.

My goal? You think it was an Ivy League education? No. I wanted a snowmobile, a Skidoo to be specific. I saved for six years, prices rising each year. Carter was president, need I say more?  Finally, my mother said college was upon me. By some God-given miracle, I got into Dartmouth with no money.

My mother reminded me that the choice was mine. Buy the snowmobile, or apply those eight years of earnings to this college. You know the rest…But it also was not enough, so I asked the college to invest in me, and swore I would not let them down. They did scholarships, work, and loans.

I graduated near the top, gave the Address to the College on Class Day, went on to Oxford University, learned stuff like economics and history I never knew existed, all of which got applied later. Are these places and the Ivy’s liberal now? Pools of privilege, yes, but in my day, we learned.

Funny enough, given Trump’s fondness for garbage trucks and McDonald’s windows, part of my work at the camp was driving a 1952 Chevy stick-shift – our garbage truck – and then part of working through college was flipping burgers every weeknight (could do 100 cheeseburgers at a time).

So, Ivy Leaguer? I chuckle. Yeah, this kid from rural Maine who had no idea what a prep school or sports club was, never mind a golf club, who got strong splitting wood, average sports…Those who did not understand logos on shirts, shirts with collars, shorts with colors, could not pronounce La Jolla.

And, oh yeah, in my time at that institution of learning, while working my way through – determined not to disappoint my mother – we were conservative. The Dartmouth Review started there, funded by Bill Buckley, Reagan’s mentor, and it produced kids like Dinesh D’Souza (class below me). We learned how to communicate – our God-given conservative values. How about that?

So, yeah, tag me an “Ivy Leaguer” if you wish. From Beyond, my mother is nodding, no apologies. She made it possible, wind under our wings, an education – which I now plan to put to work for you, as you would expect me to, as your next Governor. Join me, whether a Mainer or not, because these are the values that made us: hard work, goal setting, outcomes, and accountability. Politics is amusing, isn’t it?  

Robert Charles is a former Assistant Secretary of State under Colin Powell, former Reagan and Bush 41 White House staffer, attorney, and naval intelligence officer (USNR). He wrote “Narcotics and Terrorism” (2003), “Eagles and Evergreens” (2018), and is National Spokesman for AMAC. Robert Charles has also just released an uplifting new book, “Cherish America: Stories of Courage, Character, and Kindness” (Tower Publishing, 2024).