I enjoyed the administrative work because it involved working

“I enjoyed the administrative work because it involved working with Congress, city council, and the mayor. I had never been a politician so it was fun—learning political maneuvering.” Thus spoke Harold H. Greene, a man of law and justice, whose name is etched in the chronicles of American history as the judge who oversaw the breakup of the AT&T monopoly, restoring balance to the nation’s communications. Yet in these words, he reveals not the sternness of a judge, but the curiosity of a student of life. His statement, though simple, conceals a deeper truth: that wisdom lies not in power itself, but in the art of understanding how power moves among men.

To those who have not walked the halls of government, the word politics often conjures images of corruption, conflict, and deceit. But to Greene, politics was not a game of manipulation—it was a form of learning. He saw in the “political maneuvering” not a cynical contest, but a dance of minds and motives, where compromise could shape destiny and conversation could guide the fate of nations. He was not born a politician, yet he found joy in observing how men sought to persuade, to build alliances, to wield influence not by force, but by intellect and patience. This is the ancient art of governance—the craft that binds the will of many into the action of one.

In his time, Harold H. Greene moved between the chambers of justice and the corridors of power. His administrative work, as he described it, was a bridge between the ideal and the real, between the law written in books and the world lived by people. To work with Congress, city council, and the mayor was to witness how laws became life—how ambition and principle collided and converged to shape the common good. What he called “fun” was not mere amusement; it was the joy of insight, the thrill of understanding the machinery of society from within. To the wise, even struggle is a form of learning.

Consider the ancient example of Pericles of Athens, the great statesman of the classical world. He too mastered the art of political maneuvering, yet not for vanity’s sake. Through patience and eloquence, he guided Athens to its golden age, balancing democracy with wisdom, vision with restraint. He understood, as Greene did, that leadership is not born of domination but of harmony—the weaving of many wills into one common purpose. Politics, when practiced with integrity, is not corruption, but coordination; not deceit, but diplomacy.

And yet, Greene’s words remind us of something more profound: that to learn, even within the tangled web of politics, is to remain alive in spirit. Too many turn away from the workings of governance, weary of its noise and deceit. But the one who dares to engage with it—not to seize power, but to understand it—discovers how societies truly move. He learns that progress is not born from purity alone, but from negotiation, patience, and the humble acceptance that perfection in human affairs is rare.

In this, there lies a timeless lesson for all who labor within systems—be they political, corporate, or communal. Do not despise the process, however tedious or flawed it may seem. Even bureaucracy can be a teacher; even conflict, a mirror. To work among others, to navigate their ambitions and fears, is to learn the art of human nature. It is easy to preach righteousness from afar; it is far harder to build it within the messy heart of institutions. Greene found joy in this difficulty, for he saw in it the movement of life itself—imperfect, yet ever striving toward balance.

Therefore, let us take his example to heart. Whatever realm we find ourselves in—be it a boardroom, a council chamber, or a classroom—let us approach it not with cynicism but with curiosity. Learn from the maneuvering, not to deceive, but to understand. Seek harmony, not victory. Listen, not merely to respond, but to perceive the hidden currents that move people’s hearts. For in this lies the wisdom of all great leaders: they do not seek to control the dance, but to move gracefully within it.

And so, Harold H. Greene’s words endure—not as a confession of ambition, but as a hymn to learning. He teaches that even amidst the politics of power, one can remain a student of life. The true statesman, like the true philosopher, finds joy not in ruling others, but in understanding them. And through that understanding, he helps the world move—not by force, but by insight, by patience, and above all, by wisdom.