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The first thing Joshua Lyman, adjunct professor of Government, will say on the first day of class is “Call me Josh”. This kind of casual address surprises many students, especially once they find out that their professor is the former White House Chief of Staff. Lyman considers his students to be future peers in the political sphere, engaging them in discussion from day one on current and past policy, elections, and governance. For his unique teaching style and vast breadth of knowledge, the Hoya has named Joshua Lyman our Faculty of the Month.
-Profile: Joshua Lyman Teaches from Within, by Alex Perodia, December 7th, 2017
The house is quite nice—a three-story townhouse on a quiet street in Georgetown, around the corner from a park, within walking distance of the university. Even in the dark, cold rain spitting from the sky as mid-November shows its true colors after an unseasonably warm early stretch, it is easy to tell that the street is leafy and green in the summer. Anyone would be happy to raise a family here, and very few could do it on an adjunct’s budget.
Then again, this particular adjunct has joked about making twice his salary by giving five or ten lectures a year. Then again, this particular adjunct is married to a recently elected Congresswoman. His official role at the university vastly undersells his power in the political sphere, as his students quickly come to find out.
This man has spurred the election of two different presidents, placed multiple Supreme Court justices on the bench, and still consults for the DNC on congressional recruitment in the little spare time he has. Sure, he says that he has retired from politics, and he may no longer be working in the White House, but even to his students, who were still children when he was officially running things, it is easy to see that their professor has a lot of life experience to contribute.
The students in his senior seminar, therefore, are awed when they receive an invitation to a post Election Day dinner. It’s an off-year, or else he would almost certainly be in Wisconsin to support his wife’s reelection campaign. Instead, however, Josh Lyman has invited his students to his home the day after to discuss the results of gubernatorial and special elections.
It’s a small class, and about half of them couldn’t attend due to other commitments, so there are six students who show up at the Georgetown townhouse, gathered together on the front stoop. One of them finally comes up with the bravery to ring the doorbell.
Instead of their professor answering it, though, a boy of about nine rushes towards the door and stares at the six college students there for a moment before yelling, “Dad! Your people are here!”
More footsteps, and from behind a wall emerges their professor. He looks more casual than he does in class—black sweater and jeans instead of a collared shirt with rolled up sleeves—but he greets all of them with a big grin and opens door all the way.
“Hello, hello,” he says, putting his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Noah, these are some of my students. Alex, and Chloe, and Damien, and… Haley, I didn’t think you were going to be able to come!”
Haley steps inside, blushing slightly. “My night class got cancelled last minute, I hope it’s alright that…”
“Oh, more than alright,” Josh says, “as long as you’ve prepared to talk about why the incumbent in the Virginia attorney general race didn't win reelection.” Haley’s face pales ever so slightly, and Josh chuckles. “Don’t worry, we’re going to get into all of that. Oh, and this is Elena, and Jamie. Everyone, this is my son Noah.”
Noah gives a well-trained wave; it’s evident that he has spent some time on the campaign trail.
“Come on in,” Josh says, reaching out to close the door behind them. “I hope you aren’t expecting anything fancy tonight. I’m a better cook than I used to be but I figured the chance of giving you guys food poisoning was higher than I was comfortable with, so I just ordered pizza.”
“You overcook everything too much to give anyone food poisoning,” says a knowing voice from behind him, and out emerges Congresswoman Donna Moss Lyman. “Hi everyone, welcome to our home.”
“Congresswoman,” says Damien, stepping forward to offer a handshake. He looks flustered—they all do. Josh has found that political science students tend to stand in awe whenever they meet someone who is a player on the big stage, even if that someone is Donna.
“Oh, you all can call me Donna,” she says with a grin, reaching out to shake the hands of some rather star-struck students. “Been a while since I’ve had anyone use my actual name.”
Josh takes a step back to let his hand rest on Donna’s waist, placing pressure on the small of her back to draw himself closer to her. “Can anyone tell me which district my wife represents? This will be on the quiz next week.”
“Wisconsin 2nd!” Alex bursts out, barely allowing him to finish the question, and then covers her mouth. “Sorry, I just…”
“No, you answered my question,” Josh says. This seems entirely unlike his students usually—his students usually have forgotten how to raise their hands entirely, instead preferring to shout over each other to get their opinion heard. He leans over to put his mouth closer to her ear. “Donna, I think they’re a little terrified of you.”
Donna blushes just a little bit. “I remember when I first met President Bartlet,” she says. “Pretty sure my brain stopped working entirely and I called him Mr. Barley.”
The students look around, not sure if they’re allowed to laugh, but Josh doesn’t hold back. “I forgot about that! I think next time you call him, you should open with that.” He says it so casually, as if it is nothing to call up the former President of the United States and reiterate an inside joke. Josh turns back to the students, who are holding their jaws up by sheer force of will, and gestures towards the living room. “Donna has the text of an entire bill spread out on the dining room table, so we’ll just hang out in the living room, if that’s alright.”
“What is the bill?” asks Jamie, craning his neck to try and see into the dining room next door.
“It’s focused on improving teacher retention rates in public schools,” Donna says. “I campaigned on education, in part, and I want to make sure that our kids are getting the best of the best teachers instead of watching them leave because of low pay, unnecessary administrative burdens, and public disrespect.”
“Donna,” Josh reminds her, “you’re not campaigning or giving an interview right now.”
She takes a few steps towards the living room, the rest of the students following tentatively. “Force of habit,” she says over her shoulder. “I’m going to go pick up the pizzas. You all can go get comfortable. Anybody have any dietary restrictions?”
“I’m vegetarian,” Chloe pipes up.
“That’s what cheese pizza is for,” Josh says, taking a seat in the armchair in the living room. The TV is on, but rather than the CNN Josh had been planning to have in the background, it is turned to Bluey. Three-year-old Leah is on the floor in front of the coffee table, watching intently. “Leah, baby, can you bring me the remote? You can go watch this in our room if you want.”
She gets up from the floor and toddles over towards Josh, but instead of simply handing him the remote, she crawls up onto his lap. “I stay here,” she says.
“I hope it’s okay with you all if Leah listens in on our conversation,” Josh says, as his students begin to fill in the couch and a few spots on the floor.
“Only if she contributes,” Jamie jokes, stretching out his legs in front of him. Everyone still appears just a little bit stiff—understandably, for as cool as their professor is, it is awfully strange to be in his house.
“Leah,” Josh asks, “who won the special election in the California 29th?”
“Wade Gibson,” Leah says, and sounds like he couldn’t have asked an easier question.
“That’s right,” Josh says. “Mommy went to help campaign for him, huh, and she took you along.”
Leah nods and snuggles up against his chest. “He gave me stickers.”
“Oh,” Josh says, “Remind me after dinner, and I’ll show you the picture Donna sent me of Leah on the campaign trail on Halloween. She was a campaign poster, and it’s the best Halloween costume I’ve ever seen.”
Lyman is perhaps most notable for his breadth of experience in government, frequently using examples from his own life to initiate discussions within his courses. Students in his classes have benefitted from his many connections on Capitol Hill, including video calls and class visits from his wife, Donna Moss (D-Wisconsin), Senator Sam Seaborn (D-California), former Press Secretary and Chief of Staff CJ Cregg, and President Bartlet and President Santos. Lyman rejects the notion of textbook learning, instead encouraging discussion and valuing expert opinion.
“So,” Josh says, leaning forward to put his empty plate on the coffee table, balancing a sleepy-looking Leah on his lap, “We talked about the congressional special elections, but I kind of want to dig into the governor’s race in Virginia. Are any of you from Virginia?”
Elena raise her hand tentatively.
“Oh, you don’t need to raise your hand here,” Josh says. “Although it does remind me of… Donna?”
She peeks her head into the room. “Yeah?”
“Remember the time you raised your hand to speak in the Oval Office?”
“Josh!” she sputters, blushing a little bit.
He sits up straighter, and Leah opens her sleeping eyes, adjusting herself to stay comfortable next to him. “No, no, this is a great story. Donna had figured out how to end a filibuster that had been going on for hours, but at the time, she was a White House assistant and she was definitely in a bit over her head advising the President.”
“You weren’t even there for this!” Donna interrupts, before he can finish his story.
“CJ told me all about it,” Josh shoots back. “Anyway, Donna goes in and just …kind of tentatively raises her hand like this.” He illustrates, pulling his arm out from under Leah.
Donna rolls her eyes. “First of all, they were in the middle of an important policy discussion and I didn’t feel like it was my place to interrupt. Second of all… you weren’t even there! Why are you telling this story?
“Because it’s sweet and it will make them like you,” Josh says.
Donna chuckles. “They already like me, I bought them pizza.” She turns to Elena with a wink. “Sometimes, it’s better to raise your hand than to raise your voice.”
“But not in my living room,” Josh argues. “Anyway, if you’re from Virginia, tell me your thoughts on the governor’s election.”
Elena bites her lip. “Well, Callahan is a more engaging public figure than Afton is, and in an off-year election where the candidate is the center of attention for the media, you need to be able to hold that attention. Michelle Afton’s fatal flaw was that no one was really listening when she spoke.”
“She had that hand-raising kind of energy,” Jamie adds, “where she’s always looking for permission to speak.”
“For one, we are not slandering hand-raising today,” Josh responds, “but Elena, I think you have a good point there. Afton was probably more put together on policy, had a track record as the incumbent, and theoretically, with the Virginia legislature holding Democratic, she should have had an easy margin of victory, and yet Callahan beat her by three points. Any thoughts on what changed?”
“An October surprise,” Chloe says plainly. “The power grid emergency.”
Jamie nods. “Both the delayed response and the previous contracts with the energy company that were already looking bad.”
“Good thoughts,” Josh says. “Of course, one October surprise does not a campaign make. How about on the other side? Aside from charisma, what populations was Callahan targeting?”
“Suburban women,” a few of the students chorus together.
“Always a solid guess.” Josh chuckles to himself. “He was never very good at targeting women, considering he once tried to get CJ Cregg to go on a date with him once. Do you want to hear that story? Because it involves a very poorly timed press release and a couple of cans of whipped cream.”
There is more to Lyman than meets the eye. Once colloquially known as “Bartlet’s Bulldog”, his intimidating reputation seems to be little more than a facade for a father who watches Bluey religiously with his three-year-old, for a husband who claims his hair turned white during his wife’s campaign for Congress, for a friend who hangs pictures of every Fourth of July gathering in his hallway.
The conversation has devolved from the political into the completely unserious—Josh has managed to tell several stories about his White House colleagues that ended in raucous laughter from everyone around. At one point, though, Alex lifts up her hand and asks for the location of the bathroom. Josh points her down the hallway, and she gets up from the floor, taking a few steps to make sure her leg is fully awake before she makes her way down to the hallway.
The hallway is dimly lit, but there is enough light coming in from the other room that Alex can make out the many picture frames covering the walls. Most of it looks like typical family portraits you’d see in any home. A recent portrait of Josh, Donna, and their children on the steps of the Capitol wearing clothing that looks completely impractical for the chilly weather, school photos of their older two children and a studio photo of the three kids together, laying on their stomachs with their faces resting in their hands. There is a photo of Donna with some other people who are presumably her siblings, and one of Josh, back when he still had brown hair, with a woman she can only assume is his mother. Fairly typical stuff.
Except, then something catches Alex’s eye. First, it’s a picture of Donna being sworn into Congress, her family standing behind her. Then, a photo at what appears to be a ranch—closer observation shows a tiny version of Leah resting on the shoulders of someone who is very familiar. Alex lets out a little gasp when she realizes that the towering figure in the photo is none other than President Santos.
She looks closer at some of the other photos and begins to notice a pattern—year by year group photos in front of a home that she has only seen in documentaries. The Moss-Lyman family, the Seaborn family (of senatorial fame), and the Bartlets, along with other notable public figures she can recognize. In the corner of one of the pictures is scribbled Fourth of July, 2011. Josh is holding a baby in one arm, his other firmly behind Donna, while their young son leans against them.
For as much as they look like an average family, Alex thinks, this is nowhere close to an average family.
She drags her feet a little bit on the walk back from the bathroom too.
For Lyman, teaching is an outlet for him to “do some good in the world with what I know without flaming out in the process.” In an informal interview, he referenced his family life and own personal health concerns as reasons for his surprisingly early departure from the office of Chief of Staff in 2010. “I loved working for President Santos,” he said with reverence, “but there was nowhere for me to go after that. It was my career pinnacle, and it made sense for me to step aside and let my support my wife’s ascent.”
Josh technically only has to offer two hours worth of office hours per week, but at the start of the semester, he advises all his classes that any time he is in the office with his door open is fair game. Years of being interrupted in his own office has actually made him a more productive worker when he hears the buzz of activity outside, and when there is a threat of interruption at any minute.
He is so consumed in grading a paper that he doesn’t hear the know on the doorframe. His student waits a few seconds, knocks again, and finally catches his attention with a soft, “Professor.”
Josh looks up and immediately drops the pen he is holding. “Alex,” he says. “Hi! Sorry, I’m just… here, tell me what you think about the argument for ranked choice voting at a national level.”
“Um…”
He puts down the paper and laughs. “Never mind. I can’t make you grade this paper for me. Take a seat. What’s up?”
“I just…” Alex looks down at her lap. “I just wanted to ask you a few questions about yourself.”
“About me?”
“I’m a journalism student,” she explains. “Well, journalism and government double major, and I want to work on my interviewing skills. And I figured there’s a lot I can learn from you.”
Josh pushes back his chair a little bit so he is not leaning over his desk so much. “Okay,” he says. “Shoot.”
“So, first of all, what made you decide to go into teaching? I mean, we’ve all read your wikipedia page, but… why did you decide to leave politics?”
“Well, that’s quite a story,” he says, leaning back and crossing his arms. He checks his watch. “But I’ve got some time.”
Lyman may have been joking when he commented that Donna Moss, his wife of ten years, has “considerably more political talent” than him, but he took a leave of absence from the university to support her successful campaign for the House seat in Wisconsin’s second district. Lyman’s office is still covered in Moss for Congress posters. (This is technically a violation of department policy, but Lyman feels confident that no one will begrudge him the opportunity to support his wife. Given what he contributes to the department, his confidence is warranted).
Donna knows that it's a little bit risky to sit in the lobby of the Government building on Georgetown’s campus; the odds that she might be recognized are perhaps higher than she’d like them to be. Still, she doesn’t really want to walk in on Josh when he might be meeting with a student. She’ll let him meet her out here so they can go to lunch together.
Leah is at preschool, and Josie and Noah are at school, and Donna has a mercifully light day in the office (the perks of a Congressional recess), so she had suggested that they go out to lunch in between Josh’s afternoon and morning classes. She hopes, now that the kids are busier, they’ll get the chance to do this more again.
She takes a glance around the lobby before picking up a newspaper from a side table. The Hoya. Josh has talked a little bit about Georgetown’s student newspaper, occasionally mentioning a particularly outrageous article, but Donna has never actually read it.
Much to her surprise, she sees a familiar face staring back at her. Josh’s picture, the one he took begrudgingly outside of the building last year after his hair turned white and he had to admit he was nearly unrecognizable in his old photo, is pasted on the front page.
Profile: Joshua Lyman Teaches from Within
Donna has to hold back her laughter, but she doesn’t have much time to read, because as she looks up from behind the newspaper, she sees Josh coming towards her.
“Hello,” he says brightly.
“You made the front page,” she responds with a smirk.
Josh’s eyes widen. “What?”
“Apparently you gave an interview for your Faculty of the Month profile,” Donna says, holding out the newspaper to him.
Josh squints, and Donna fights back the urge to remind him to wear his glasses. “Alex wrote this? She never interviewed me…”
“I mean, apparently she did,” Donna says with a shrug, “and I’m not sure what one of your students would stand to gain from lying about that.”
“I mean… she came in and asked me some questions, but I didn’t think I was… on the record.”
Donna laughs. “Haven’t I always warned you to be more careful with journalists? Don’t worry though,” she says. “No fish stories in here. Although she did write some stuff about our house.”
“That’s the last time I ever let a reporter into my house,” Josh sighs, although he can’t keep a hint of a smile off of his face.
She opens her tote bag and stuffs the newspaper into it.
“You’re keeping that?” Josh asks.
She kisses his cheek. “Of course,” she says. “Have to keep a handle on all of your accolades. Come on, let’s go get lunch and celebrate your achievement. I’ll even let you get fries.”
“You’ll steal my fries.”
“Why do you think I let you get them in the first place?” Donna teases, and she takes his hand in hers.
Joshua Lyman may have already been a political legend in the eyes of eager Government students at Georgetown, but the opportunity to get up close and personal with him does not diminish the stature of the man behind two giants of the presidency. Lyman’s presence on campus is irreplaceable, and the knowledge and insight he provides to Georgetown students will equip future leaders to take the reins of what he started.
“Are you really going to save that article?” Josh asks, when he happens upon Donna sitting at the kitchen table with the newspaper that she stole earlier in the day, clipping out the article along with the picture.
“Of course,” Donna says, brokering no room for argument. “I do this with every single article about you.”
“Really? Since when?”
Donna picks up the cut-out article and begins to walk towards the stairs. Josh follows her without clear direction of where the final destination is, just like he always has. It has worked out for him so far.
“Since forever,” she says. “It started with your mom—she wanted to have all the articles, and so I would cut them out and send them to her. Anything that had your name, anything that mentioned you. For a while I was keeping all the Bartlet articles but then we were gaining steam and suddenly he was the nominee and well… that became impractical.” She turns and flashes him a smile. “I have two decades worth of these.”
“You kept them all?”
Donna leads him into the bedroom closet and reaches up towards the top shelf to grab a shoe box. Josh recognizes it—he did keep to his promise of buying her shoes, although they were not the nice heels she wanted but instead were practical snowboots (which she admitted she needed—but he can’t believe she kept that box.
She opens it up and he sees piles and piles of thin newsprint. Each one has his name highlighted.
“Donna…” he whispers.
“Oh,” she says, pulling out a piece of paper. “Here’s the 101st Senator article! Remember how mad you were about that one?”
“That was a bad judgment on Amy’s part,” Josh replies, and he is grateful that after all this time, his disastrous relationship with Amy is nothing more than an afterthought. “Funny though, now that you’re the one in Congress.”
“No wonder people think you’re pulling the strings,” Donna jokes. That had been an insecurity for both of them—the fear of public perception of their relationship—but she has found herself lightening up about it more and more. The more she does in the House, the more she feels like she belongs there.
Josh will say he always knew it from the beginning.
He pulls out a few more pieces of newsprint; the feature about the gun control bill he pushed as Chief of Staff, a sidebar on his achievements in education reform, and a lengthy article just after Santos won the nomination. There’s a piece on the secret plan to fight inflation and the SNL skit that it inspired, and several articles about the aftermath of Rosslyn.
Josh picks one up and even now can taste a hint of bile in his mouth. “I can’t believe you kept these too,” he whispers, the words blurring together. He doesn’t read them; he doesn’t need to. He knows what they say well enough.
“It’s part of your story,” Donna says. “Our story. For good or for bad.” She takes the article gently from him and puts it back in the box. “Besides, when you write your memoirs, you’re going to need article quotes for every chapter. I just did the work of collecting it all for you.” She sets the Hoya page in the box and closes it.
Josh takes it from her and reaches to put it on the upper shelf. “Hey,” he says, taking her hand. “Come with me.”
He leads her down the hallway to the home office, where his computer is still on (and he is frankly surprised that Donna doesn’t make fun of him for that). He types in his password and clicks on a folder, and then another, before he finds a document that is simply titled DONNA.
Josh pulls her onto his lap.
“What is this?” she asks, as he clicks to open it.
“Well, it isn’t nearly as romantic as… you know, what you just showed me, but I um… I’ve been saving links.”
“Links?”
He clicks on the first one. “Once I figured out how to copy and paste links, I started putting them all in this document. All these articles about you on the internet. I know it’s silly but I’m glad I…”
Donna squints to look at the screen, and he briefly considers teasing her about not wearing her glasses. “This is from when I first started working for Helen.”
“Yeah,” Josh says.
“Oh my god, you’ve had this document for ten years?”
“I had to get someone to teach me how to email it to myself when I moved computers after I retired,” he says. He scrolls down a couple pages. Many have the links have a few words next to them, but he clicks on one near the last page that simply has an emoticon heart next to it. “This one is my favorite.”
AP CALLS WISCONSIN 2ND FOR DONNA MOSS
She can’t help but grin. “You saved this?”
“I didn’t save it physically,” he says with a shrug, “but I’m so bad at finding articles to return to, and I wanted to be able to share this any time.”
Donna leans back against his chest, letting his beard scratch her forehead. “You’re a romantic, you know?”
“That’s your fault entirely,” Josh replies, leaning down to kiss her head. “Do you want to read any of these?”
Donna chuckles and leans over him to turn off the computer before standing up. “No,” she says. “I don’t need my ego inflated any more, or else I’ll start to look like you.” She says it with such affection, such knowing of him, that the joke doesn’t sting. In fact, Josh can’t help but grin at it, because it’s something only Donna could say. How good it feels, he thinks, to be so known and so accepted. “Actually, I think I want to celebrate my Faculty of the Month. And if you want to join in the celebration, it’s going to be happening in our bedroom.”
Josh doesn’t need to be asked twice.
In his own words: “I lived and breathed politics for years with a single-minded goal: to make the world better for the future. That includes my children, and that includes all of my students. My charge to them is to pick up where I left off. And also, please submit your papers on Canvas. I can’t find them in my email.