Legacy: The Presidential Progeny
Second President of the United States John Adams, Class of 1751, once said, “I must study politics and war so that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy.” Adams’ great-great-great-great-great-great grandson has the liberty to study at Harvard College—but you probably won’t find him curled up with a dog-eared copy of The Federalist Papers.
Joseph A. Scott ’05 is a sixth-generation Harvardian, the twelfth member of his family to tread these hallowed halls. His family traces its lineage to John Adams by way of the founding father’s great-great-grandaughter, who married a Scott. Though a Boston Globe article on Scott’s Adamsian roots mistakenly reported that Scott lives in Adams House, he is actually a resident of Winthrop.
Scott’s desk doesn’t have a stand for a powdered wig. The walls of his room are devoid of oil portraits of his famous ancestor. Instead, there’s a picture of him smiling with a fish and a big bumper sticker that reads, “Gun control means using both hands.”
Scott hails from what he describes as a “small ranch” in Wyoming. “Small” means 23,000 acres of pasture and woods, located 10 miles from the nearest settlement and boasting over 400 cows. “I can’t wait for spring break, to go back and tag the cows,” Scott says over a hearty breakfast bagel loaded with eggs, cheese, and bacon. He is referring to the process by which he, his father, brother and the family’s two farmhands round up new cattle and tag their ears with markers.
Scott’s family works on the ranch year-round, delivering calves, fixing fences and tending to the cows. During his free time, Scott is “addicted” to hunting. Although he started out at age 14 with guns, Scott now uses a homemade bow and arrow set to shoot antelope and deer on his family land. During the summers, he works for an area fly-fishing shop, which allows him to fish the North Platte River all day. Generally, he starts each day shooting English sparrows or starlings, aiming his .22 caliber rifle out of his bedroom window. Ironically, two of his blockmates are vegetarians.
“At home, I’m teased up one side and down the other for coming here,” says Scott, adjusting his forest green “Remington County” hat. “Whenever I do something stupid at home, they jab at the typical Harvard stereotype. You know—solid book genius who has no common sense.”
An Environmental Science and Public Policy concentrator, Scott hopes to deal with issues of wildlife management, conservation and habitat after graduation. These days, however, he’s more interested in playing pool, watching movies, and playing J.V. hockey than studying. “I hate two things about school, and that’s reading and writing,” he says. “I’m not sure which I hate more—I just don’t like to do either. Everybody’s always talking about what books they read over the summer. I went fishing.”
Honest and forthcoming, Scott has a firm handshake and keeps even eye contact at all times. More than his impressive legacy, Scott thinks that being from Wyoming and his sharpshooting skills helped him get into Harvard. “Maybe I’m book smart for the average person, but I’m here for diversity, not for my brains, and that’s the truth.”
Scott’s ancestor Henry Adams, Class of 1858, wrote in his autobiography that he found his fellow Harvardians vapid and uninteresting. But Scott has enjoyed the company of his classmates over the past year and a half. “Not having to deal with stupid people is really nice,” he says. He admits that his Western upbringing and staunch Republican politics set him apart from the East Coast prep set. “We just don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things. I think some people find me abrasive.”
Certainly University President Lawrence H. Summers might have found Scott somewhat abrasive during freshman week in 2001. “I said to him, ‘Seeing as I’m the only one here from Wyoming, here’s a piece of Wyoming for you’, and handed him some fresh jerky from an animal I’d shot right before I left for school,” Scott remembers with a laugh. With a crowd of 20 people watching him, Summers politely nibbled at the jerky. “Finally someone said something about him having to go to UHS and he just put it in his pocket and mumbled something and walked off.” Scott is still laughing.
It is doubtful that John Adams ever crossed then-University President Edward Holyoke, Class of 1705, during his time as a Harvard student. Scott further irritated Summers during the year by hanging a stuffed dummy made out of sweatpants, a sweatshirt and a jack-o’-lantern head out of his Straus window, in full view of the president’s office. Dean of the College Harry R. Lewis ’68 sent Scott and his roommates a letter asking them to remove it from the window.
Henry Adams took a decidedly negative outlook on his time at Harvard, writing, “Four years of Harvard College, if successful, results in an autobiographical blank, a mind on which only a watermark has been stamped.” His descendant Joe Scott hopes to leave something bigger to the College by starting a Harvard Hot Air Ballooning Society this spring. He enjoys his classes. Still, a part of him will always be back on the ranch.
“To tell you the truth, if it wasn’t for the reputation I wouldn’t have come here. It cuts my hunting season short, and I don’t appreciate that. The fishing isn’t so good either.”