On this day forty-eight years ago, John F. Kennedy was sworn in as the 35th President of the United States and gave the famous inaugural speech that included the line “ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.”

Whether in a response to the Republican takeover in November or the tribute image today on Google (which regularly modifies its logo to mark historical remembrances), many of my friends on Facebook opted to note the anniversary and post Kennedy quotes in their status updates. Reverence and remembrance is usually reserved for a nice round number; for example thirty, which is how many years have passed since the assassination of John Lennon, which was marked last month (December 8th) with no small amount of tributes far and wide.

I’m here not to talk about these men, though, but rather the whitewashing that occurs when we pay tribute to them.

Americans aren’t the only culture to deify its historical figures, but it’s still a surprising practice given our propensity towards “straight shooting.” You’d think a nation that takes such pride in “calling them like we see them” wouldn’t casually glean over less desirable aspects of a person’s life and personality, and even go so far as to deny they were capable of any wrongdoing. Glenn Beck, whose love for the Founding Fathers leads to him regularly exclude and revise facts to fit his rose-colored view of them, is the most obvious example, but he’s only continuing a proud tradition of ignorance in the name of misguided praise.

But as much as we’d like to pretend these men were beyond repute, they were far from perfect.  Many of the Founding Fathers owned slaves. Lennon was a cantakerous personality at times, was a notoriously terrible husband to his first wife, and broke up the Beatles (despite conventional wisdom which unfairly blames Yoko). Kennedy was a notorious womanizer and a bit of a warhawk who brought us into the Vietnam conflict.

I point out these faults not to disparage them, but because acknowledgement of their faults is essential. It provides a clearer picture and understanding of not only who these men are, but what kind of times they lived in.

More importantly, these facts can enhance – rather than negate – their accomplishments. Despite counting slave owners among its members, the Founding Fathers helped shape our nation and paved the way for our Constitution which, while an imperfect document, is the most enduring of its kind. Lennon created fantastic music that changed not only the industry but the lives of his many fans. Kennedy’s support of Civil Rights and the space program helped usher in great achievements in both areas.

Deifying Lennon, Kennedy, and the Founding Fathers isn’t just dishonest, it’s a disservice to the individuals and their accomplishments. We need to acknowledge their failings, for it is faults and mistakes that make us human beings.

Gods and myths are unrelatable and untouchable. By acknowledging their humanity, we give them not only the benefit of context, but also hope that we can affect change in our own world. If people like John Lennon, John Kennedy, and Thomas Jefferson can make such great contributions despite their personal flaws, then surely we can affect some change ourselves.

Whether it’s in our loved ones, our profession, our city or ourselves, excessive pride always gets the better of us.

In this video from a recent public Q&A, a citizen asked Baltimore Police Commissioner Frederick Bealefeld what he thought of the HBO series “The Wire,” which is set in Baltimore and regarded as one of the best (if not the best) television series ever produced.

What follows is the definition of misguided civic pride.

Firstly, “The Wire” is less about Baltimore and more about drugs and violence in inner-city America. As with any other show, it dramatizes certain elements for entertainment purposes. The Commissioner himself alludes to other television shows where the “detectives look like models,” as if that matters; like people are going to go to a city because of how the main characters are dressed, ignoring that its main characters are also solving murders and fighting drug lords every week.

It’d be forgivable if he didn’t get so worked up and go so far as to pin the blame on the show for way the city is perceived in the media. Yet he does, and it’s this detachment from reality that needs to be addressed.

Let’s talk about Baltimore.

Baltimore had a notoriously violent drug trade in the 1990s and at one point had the highest per capita homicide rate in the United States. Though things have improved, it still boasts a rate that is roughly seven times the national average and six times greater than that of New York City.

This doesn’t mean that if you visit Baltimore, you’re gonna get shot. The city’s not that bad. But it seems ridiculous, in light of this information, to put forth the idea that a critically acclaimed television series that aired for five seasons on a subscriber-based cable channel and has been off the year for over two years is the biggest smear on your city.

To call any art – whether it be a play, television show, film, painting, novel, etc. – a “smear” on its setting is an active and shameless form of denial and the sort of thing that only serves to make the accuser look foolish and delusional. It’s even worse when that person is not only in a position of authority, but one that’s supposed to be addressing the real problems that give the city its reputation.

Folks, the next time you watch the local news and see something about crime in Albany, call up that station and tell them to stop smearing your city. Also, tell that no-good muckraker William Kennedy that his novel Legs did nothing but tarnish the history of the All-America City.

Now everybody write and perform nice things related to our area, or so help me God, I will get sarcastic on a microphone.

Update: David Simon has responded, and it’s a great read. (thanks to reader Eric for the link)