Dave and I (Kurt O'Keefe) actually worked at the same law firm eons ago. Meet him and learn how he got involved with Convention of States Michigan.
Military/Watergate/Lawyering
It was 1971. I was 18 years old and working in a small neighborhood market, one week from graduating high school.
The highly politicized Vietnam War was winding down, and word had it that the government was going to end the military draft. A co-worker told me he’d learned of two spots available in the Michigan Air National Guard.
I would have to leave for San Antonio and basic training with the U.S. Air Force the following week if I wanted to join.
It seemed like a good idea. Leave town for five or six months, then train with my unit once a month and two weeks each summer for the next six years. I wasn’t particularly political or patriotic at the time.
The gig just seemed like a reasonable way to fulfill my military obligation and get on with my life. Ten days later I was bald, wearing long sleeve fatigues buttoned to the neck, and marching in the 100-degree Texas sun.
I returned home after basic training and tech school and got a full-time job working in the mailroom at Burroughs Corporation, a company that built adding machines and cash registers and some new products called computers.
I also enrolled at a local community college and started taking classes. I found political science and philosophy particularly interesting, perhaps, as is so often the case, because the teachers (in my case John Smith and John Azar) were excellent.
I turned on the television in the spring of 1973 and got my first glimpse of the Watergate hearings, featuring what I thought were brilliant senators and their lawyers investigating the burglary of the Democrat offices located in the Watergate Hotel in Washington, D.C.
The break-in was conducted by Republican partisans who wanted information on Democrat strategies. There was talk that President Richard Nixon knew about the break-in at some point, either before or after the event. The Senate hearings were conducted to find out what happened.
I was transfixed by the majesty of the chambers, the sharp questioning by the senators and their lawyers, and the careful testimony of the witnesses. Most of the players were lawyers, and I liked them. I decided then that I’d try to become one. I did, and I’ve been practicing law for more than 40 years now.
September 11, 2001
I was on my way to a deposition on the morning of September 11, 2001, with the local news on my car radio.
First, I heard the reporting of a plane that had inexplicably hit one of the towers. I was pulling into the parking lot when the report of the second plane was announced. I got to the deposition room, the parties talked for a bit about the attacks, and then we proceeded with our work.
I followed the news for the next several weeks, then called my old unit and volunteered to return to military service in whatever capacity they wanted. We took care of the details on the phone.
Later that week I drove to Selfridge Air Force base to sign and take the oath again. It turned out the recruiter had miscalculated my age availability, and I was 18 months too old to re-enter. They recommended I try the Army, which might have room to stretch the rules, but was I was turned down there.
It was one of the saddest days of my life, and one of the greatest ironies. I’d joined the military at 18 years old just wanting to get it out of the way and without any particular feelings of patriotism. But on this day--when I was ready to devote the remainder of my life--they didn’t need me.
I continued with my life, career, and family. My high school sweetheart Kitty and I have a son, daughter, and six grandchildren. I continued to follow politics with great interest but without involvement, except for the occasional letter to the editor or state and federal officeholders.
I scratched my head at the largely unconstitutional government overreach and shenanigans during 2020 and was appalled at what happened on November 3. Kitty had been to Trump rallies throughout 2020 without me (I hate standing in lines). She convinced me to attend the rally on January 6, and I’m glad she did.
The happiness and camaraderie of the people there was amazing, despite what they’d suffered on November 3. All the people I saw were polite, respectful, and appreciative for the day, for the speakers, and the place so many had built with their blood, sweat, and tears over the generations. It was a uniquely moving experience.
This isn’t about which party is in power but rather the enormous power grab by the federal government over the past several decades.
These include towering heights of overreach in areas of spending (trillions of dollars of debt dumped on our children and grandchildren), regulations generated by an army of lifetime bureaucrats to satisfy their virtue signaling impulses (bathroom signs, allowing boys to compete against girls in school sports, etc), and politicians who--rather than serve and return to their communities--make careers out of their official positions. (Given their huge financing and exposure edge, the average incumbent’s chances of reelection is well over 90 percent).
I can’t remember where I first heard of Convention of States. It wasn’t on Facebook, as I’d canceled my subscription when they started censoring. I’d read The Liberty Amendments by Mark Levin shortly after its release. I had thought it brilliant, but hopelessly impracticable, and set it aside.
Wherever it was, it came at precisely the right time. The material on the COS website was informative and persuasive. It answered every question I had about the wisdom and practicality of the project.
Participants don’t need advanced education or special training except that provided by COS, a love of country, and the willingness to take a stand.
The events of the past several years have been highly partisan, but the solution to the problem isn’t. Both sides gain when decisions are made by the people or their local representatives. Only the privileged elites lose.
I feel like I am part of the solution now, rather than a bystander pounding my fist on the table and feeling helpless as institution after institution fails to stand up.
My father fought in the Pacific Theatre during World War II, earning two Bronze Stars. I will see him again one day, and I want to be able to tell him I didn’t stand by and watch but rather got in the fight to preserve for our children and grandchildren what he’d given so much for in his own life.
