In the interest of trumping my compatriots without working very hard, let us (you and me, not them) consider the greatest resignation letter in the history of the Universe.  That way, all of their columns will look frail and impotent in comparison.

On August 9th, 1974, Richard Millhouse Nixon signed his name and relinquished the title of “most powerful person on Earth, ever”, aka, the President of the United States in 1974.  Think about what that must have felt like.  You work your entire life, building a career in politics and public service, again and again rising above your peers, finally being selected as “the one.”  And then, one warm August evening, you’re sitting in your cornerless office, in your majestic, presidential chair, and there is a piece of paper in front of you.  And a pen.  And it sinks in: moments from now, it will all be over.  You have near infinite power, and fifteen seconds from now, ink absorbing into vellum stock #292 will signal the end of all of it.  There is nothing you can do.  Henry Kissinger is looking at you, with his big jowly face fixed in its permanent frown.

You pick up the pen.

I do not think I am a skilled enough writer to put those emotions into words.  I know only their bredth, not their depth.  And so I will end with the piece of history itself.  Gaze upon it.  Put Nixon’s heart inside your own chest.  Feel it out.

The imagination can only do so much, but even a taste of that dark cocktail of emotions, unique to his time and place, is worth the effort.  With luck, you will never feel it again.

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