I hope there have been times when I made you all proud, or made

In the words of John Rowland we hear a plea that transcends one man’s voice and echoes the longing of every leader who has borne the mantle of public trust: “I hope there have been times when I made you all proud, or made you all smile or at least piqued your interest in this wonderful institution we call government.” Though simple in phrasing, these words are filled with the weight of history and the tremor of a soul searching for meaning in the eyes of the people it has served. For at its heart, this is not merely the statement of a governor—it is the confession of every servant who has tasted both the honor and the burden of government.

To speak of government as a “wonderful institution” is to recall that it is not an abstract machine, but the living covenant between rulers and the ruled. It is born of the people’s trust, sustained by their sacrifices, and justified only when it reflects their hopes. Rowland’s words remind us that leaders, though vested with power, are ever bound by a sacred duty: to bring pride, joy, and curiosity to those they serve. In such sentiments lies the essence of true statesmanship—not the clinging to authority, but the yearning to have inspired.

The desire to make others proud is ancient and universal. Recall Pericles of Athens, who, during the funeral oration, declared that the greatest reward for public life was not wealth or monuments, but the enduring honor of one’s people. Likewise, Rowland sought not only to govern but to stir the hearts of citizens, to awaken them to the grandeur of the civic bond. To make one’s people smile is no small feat—it is to lift the heaviness of their burdens, if only for a moment, and remind them that even within the trials of law and policy, there beats a human heart.

We see this truth reflected in history’s great moments. Consider Franklin Delano Roosevelt during the dark days of the Great Depression. With words that carried warmth into the cold homes of millions, he spoke through the radio fireside chats, making the people proud that their democracy endured, giving them reason to smile amid scarcity, and rekindling their interest in the very workings of government that many had begun to distrust. He did not merely govern—he bound the nation together by voice and spirit. His leadership embodied the hope Rowland voiced: that rulers might leave behind a legacy not of fear or cynicism, but of pride and renewed faith.

The wisdom here is plain: leadership is not only measured in laws passed or battles won, but in the hearts stirred and spirits lifted. A leader who fails to make his people proud, who never makes them smile, who leaves them indifferent to the institutions of common life—such a leader may wield power, but he leaves behind no greatness. By contrast, one who kindles even a spark of civic devotion adds his name to the enduring story of a people’s freedom.

Thus, dear listener, learn from these words. In your own life, whether you hold office or simply guide your family, your class, your community, seek to leave behind not only achievements of the hand but memories of the heart. Let your actions make others proud to know you, let your kindness make them smile, and let your curiosity ignite theirs, so that together you may cherish the institutions—be they of state, of school, or of spirit—that bind your community. For in the end, greatness lies not in solitude, but in the shared pride of many.

So carry this teaching forward: be the one who uplifts, who inspires, who awakens interest where apathy has crept in. See every chance to serve not as a burden but as an opportunity to stir joy and honor in others. And when your journey nears its close, may you, too, be able to say with honesty, “I hope there have been times when I made you all proud.” For if you can speak thus, your legacy will not be forgotten, and your name will be written not only in records, but in the living memory of those whose lives you touched.