Promises to Keep: On Life and Politics

Promises to Keep: On Life and Politics

by Joe Biden


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NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • Democratic presidential candidate Joe Biden, the author of Promise Me, Dad, tells the story of his extraordinary life and career prior to his emergence as Barack Obama’s beloved, influential vice president.
“I remain captivated by the possibilities of politics and public service. In fact, I believe that my chosen profession is a noble calling.”—Joe Biden 

Vice President Joe Biden has both witnessed and participated in a momentous epoch of American history. In Promises to Keep, Joe Biden reveals what these experiences taught him about himself, his colleagues, and the institutions of government.

With his customary candor and wit, Biden movingly recounts growing up in a staunchly Catholic multigenerational household in Scranton, Pennsylvania, and Wilmington, Delaware; overcoming personal tragedy, life-threatening illness, and career setbacks; his relationships with presidents, with world leaders, and with lawmakers on both sides of the aisle; and his leadership of powerful Senate committees.

Through these and other recollections, Biden shows us how the guiding principles he learned early in life—to work to make people’s lives better; to honor family and faith; to value persistence, candor, and honesty—are the foundation on which he has based his life’s work as husband, father, and public servant.

Promises to Keep is an intimate series of reflections from a public servant who surmounted numerous challenges to become one of our most effective leaders and who refuses to be cynical about politics. It is also a stirring testament to the promise of the United States.

Praise for Promises to Keep

“A ripping good read . . . Biden is a master storyteller and has stories worth telling.”The Christian Science Monitor

“A compelling personal story.”The New York Times

“Moving . . . [Biden’s] response to tragedy and near death [is] both admirable and likable.”—Salon

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780812976212
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Publication date: 08/25/2008
Edition description: Reprint
Pages: 400
Sales rank: 184,687
Product dimensions: 5.20(w) x 10.88(h) x 0.88(d)

About the Author

Joe Biden was first elected to the United States Senate in 1972 and served there until 2009, when he assumed the office of vice president under Barack Obama. He grew up in New Castle County, Delaware, and graduated from the University of Delaware and the Syracuse University College of Law. He lives in Wilmington, Delaware.

Read an Excerpt

Chapter 1- Impedimenta

Joe Impedimenta. My classmates hung that nickname on me our first semester of high school when we were doing two periods of Latin a day. It was one of the first big words we learned.  Impedimenta—the baggage that impedes one’s progress. So I was Joe Impedimenta. Or Dash. A lot of people thought they called me Dash because of football. I was fast, and I scored my share of touchdowns. But the guys at an all-boys Catholic school usually didn’t give you nicknames to make you feel better about yourself. They didn’t call me Dash because of what I could do on the football field; they called me Dash because of what I could not do in the classroom. I talked like Morse code. Dot-dot-dot-dot-dash-dash-dash-dash. “You gu-gu-gu-gu-guys sh-sh-sh-sh-shut up!”
My impedimenta was a stutter. It wasn’t always bad. When I was at home with my brothers and sister, hanging out with my neighborhood friends, or shooting the bull on the ball field, I was fine, but when I got thrown into a new situation or a new school, had to read in front of the class, or wanted to ask out a girl, I just couldn’t do it. My freshman year of high school, because of the stutter, I got an exemption from public speaking. Everybody else had to get up and make a presentation at the morning assembly, in front of 250 boys. I got a pass. And everybody knew it. Maybe they didn’t think much of it—they had other things to worry about—but I did. It was like having to stand in the corner with the dunce cap. Other kids looked at me like I was stupid. They laughed. I wanted so badly to prove I was like everybody else. Even today I can remember the dread, the shame, the absolute rage, as vividly as the day it was happening. There were times I thought it was the end of the world, my impedimenta. I worried that the stutter was going to be my epitaph. And there were days I wondered: How would I ever beat it?
It’s a funny thing to say, but even if I could, I wouldn’t wish away the darkest days of the stutter. That impedimenta ended up being a godsend for me. Carrying it strengthened me and, I hoped, made me a better person. And the very things it taught me turned out to be invaluable lessons for my life as well as my chosen career.

I started worrying about my stutter back in Scranton, Pennsylvania, in grade school. When I was in kindergarten, my parents sent me to a speech pathologist at Marywood College, but it didn’t help much, so I went only a few times. Truth was, I didn’t let the stutter get in the way of things that really mattered to me. I was young for my grade and always little for my age, but I made up for it by demonstrating I had guts. On a dare, I’d climb to the top of a burning culm dump, swing out over a construction site, race under a moving dump truck. If I could visualize myself doing it, I knew I could do it. It never crossed my mind that I couldn’t. As much as I lacked confidence in my ability to communicate verbally, I always had confidence in my athletic ability. Sports was as natural to me as speaking was unnatural. And sports turned out to be my ticket to acceptance—and more. I wasn’t easily intimidated in a game, so even when I stuttered, I was always the kid who said, “Give me the ball.”
Who’s going to take the last shot? “Give me the ball.” We need a touchdown now. “Give me the ball.” I’d be eight years old, usually the smallest guy on the field, but I wanted the ball. And they gave it to me.
When I was ten, we moved from the Scranton neighborhood I knew so well to Wilmington, Delaware. My dad was having trouble finding a good job in Scranton, and his brother Frank kept telling him there were jobs in Wilmington. The Biden brothers had spent most of their school days in Wilmington, so it was like going home for my dad. For the rest of us, it felt like leaving home. But my mom, who was born and raised in Scranton, determined to see it as my dad did; she refused to see it any other way. This was a wonderful opportunity. We’d have a fresh start. We’d make new friends. We were moving into a brand-new neighborhood, to a brand-new home. This wasn’t a hand-me-down house. We’d be the first people to ever set foot in it. It was all good. She was like that with my stutter, too. She wouldn’t dwell on the bad stuff. Joey, you’re so handsome. Joey, you’re such a good athlete. Joey, you’ve got such a high IQ. You’ve got so much to say, honey, that your brain gets ahead of you. And if the other kids made fun of me, well, that was their problem. They’re just jealous.
She knew how wounding kids could be. One thing she determined to do when we moved to Wilmington was hold me back a year. Besides being young and small, I’d missed a lot of school the last year in Scranton when I’d had my tonsils and adenoids removed. So when we got to Wilmington, my mom insisted I do third grade over—and none of the kids at Holy Rosary had to know I was being held back by my mom. That was just another of the ways Wilmington would be a fresh start.
Actually, we were moving to the outskirts of Wilmington, to a working-class neighborhood called the Claymont area, just across the Pennsylvania state line. I still remember the drive into Delaware. It all felt like an adventure. My dad was at the wheel and my mom was up front with him, with the three of us kids in back: me, my brother, Jimmy, and my six-year-old sister, Valerie, who was also my best friend. We drove across the state line on the Philadelphia Turnpike, past the Worth Steel Mill, the General Chemical Company, and the oil refineries, all spewing smoke. We drove past Worthland and Overlook Colony, tightly packed with the row houses that the mills had built for their workers not long after the turn of the century. Worthland was full of Italians and Poles; Overlook Colony was black. It was just a mile or so down the road to Brookview Apartments and our brand-new garden unit. A right off the Philadelphia Pike, and we were home.
Brookview was a moonscape. A huge water tower loomed over the development, but there wasn’t a tree in sight. We followed the main road in as it swept us in a gentle curve. Off the main road were the “courts.” One side was built, but the other was still under construction. We could see the heavy machinery idling among the mounds of dirt and red clay. It was a hot summer day, so our car windows were rolled down. I can still remember the smell of that red clay, the sulfurous stink from the bowels of the earth. As we arced down the main street toward a new home, my mom caught sight of these airless little one-story apartments. They were the color of brown mustard. My dad must have seen my mom’s face as she scanned her new neighborhood. “Don’t worry, Pudd’,” he told her. “It’s not these. We have a big one.”
He pulled the car around to the bottom of a bend, and without getting out of the car, he pointed across an expanse of not-quite lawn, toward the big one. Our new home was a two-story unit, white, with thin columns in front—a hint of Tara, I guess—and a one-story box off each side. “There it is,” he said.
“All of this?” Mom asked.
“No, just the center,” my dad said. Then, “Don’t worry, Pudd’, it’s only temporary.”
From the backseat I could tell my mom was crying.
“Mom!? What’s the matter, Mommy?”
“I’m just so happy. Isn’t it beautiful? Isn’t it beautiful?”

Actually, it didn’t seem bad to me. It was a miniature version of a center hall colonial, and we had bedrooms upstairs. I had the bedroom in back, which meant from my window I could gaze upon the object of my deepest desire, my Oz: Archmere. Right in the middle of this working-class steel town, not a mile from the mills and directly across from the entrance of Brookview Apartments, was the first mansion I had ever really seen. I could look at it for hours. John Jacob Raskob had built the house for his family before the steel mills, chemical plants, and oil refineries came to Claymont. Raskob was Pierre du Pont’s personal secretary, but he had a genius for making money out of money. He convinced the du Ponts to take a big stake in General Motors and became its chairman of finance. Raskob was also a Catholic hero. He used part of his fortune to fund a charitable foundation, and he’d run the campaign of the first Catholic presidential nominee, the Democrat Al Smith. In 1928 the Democrats had political strategy sessions in his library at Archmere. Raskob went on to build the Empire State Building.
The mansion he built in Claymont, the Patio at Archmere, was a magnificent Italianate marble pile on a property that sloped down to the Delaware River. Archmere—arch by the sea—was named for the arch of elms that ran on that slope to the river. But after the working man’s families, not to mention the noise and pollution from the mills, began to crowd the Patio, Raskob cut his losses and sold the mansion to an order of Catholic priests. The Norbertines turned it into a private boys’ school. Archmere Academy was just twenty years old when I moved in across the street.
When I played CYO football that year, our coach was Dr. Anzelotti, a Ph.D. chemist at DuPont who had sons at the school. Archmere let Dr. Anzelotti run our practices on the grounds of the school. From the moment I got within the ten-foot-high wrought-iron fence that surrounded the campus and drove up the road—they actually called it the yellow-brick road—I knew where I wanted to go to high school. I didn’t ever think of Archmere as a path to greater glory. When I was ten, getting to Archmere seemed enough. I’d sit and stare out my bedroom window and dream of the day I would walk through the front doors and take my spot in that seat of learning. I’d dream of the day I would score the touchdown or hit the game-winning home run.

I entered third grade at Holy Rosary, a Catholic school half a mile down the Philadelphia Pike where the Sisters of Saint Joseph eased me into my new world. They were the link between Scranton and Claymont. Wherever there were nuns, there was home. I’m as much a cultural Catholic as I am a theological Catholic. My idea of self, of family, of community, of the wider world comes straight from my religion. It’s not so much the Bible, the beatitudes, the Ten Commandments, the sacraments, or the prayers I learned. It’s the culture. The nuns are one of the reasons I’m still a practicing Catholic. Last summer in Dubuque, Iowa, a local political ally, Teri Goodmann, took me to the Saint Francis Convent—a beautiful old building that looked like it belonged on an Ivy League campus. On the way over we’d stopped by the Hy-Vee to buy some ice cream for the sisters, because Jean Finnegan Biden’s son does not visit nuns empty-handed. It reminded me of grade school, of the last day before the holidays when all my classmates would be presenting their little Christmas offerings to the nun. The desk would be a mound of little specialty soaps. (What else do you get a nun?) The sisters smelled like lavender the rest of the year. I don’t remember a nun not smelling like lavender.
So I walked into the Dubuque convent with several gallons of ice cream and immediately began to worry we hadn’t brought enough. Teri was expecting ten or twelve of the sisters to show up for the event, but there must have been four dozen nuns—many of them from the generation that taught me as a boy—sitting in a community room. I was there to give a talk about the situation in Iraq, and the sisters really wanted to understand the sectarian conflict there. They peppered me with questions about the Sunnis, the Shi’ites, and the Kurds. They wanted to know about the history of the religion the Kurds practice, and they wanted to know how I educated myself about the concerns of the Iraqi people. Many of these nuns had been teachers; knowledge mattered most. We also talked about our own church, then about women’s issues, education, and national security. Whether they agreed with my public positions or not, they all smiled at me. Even after we opened up the ice cream, they kept asking questions. And as I was getting ready to leave Teri asked if the sisters would, in the days ahead, pray for Joe Biden’s success in his public journey. But they did more than that. The sisters formed a circle around me, raised their arms up over my head, and started singing the blessing they give to one of their own who is going off to do God’s work in the next place. “May God bless you and keep you.” The sisters were so sweet and so genuine that it made me feel the way I did when I was a kid, like I was in touch with something bigger than me. It wasn’t any epiphany, wasn’t any altar call. It was where I’ve always been. The Sisters of Saint Francis in Dubuque, Iowa, were taking me home.
The nuns were my first teachers. At Holy Rosary, like at Saint Paul’s in Scranton, they taught reading and writing and math and geography and history, but embedded in the curriculum also were the concepts of decency, fair play, and virtue. They took as a starting point the biblical exhortation that man has no greater love than to lay down his life for another man; in school we were about ten clicks back from that. You didn’t give your life, but it was noble to help a lady across the street. It was noble to offer a hand up to somebody who had less. It was noble to step in when the bully was picking on somebody. It was noble to intervene.

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Promises to Keep: On Life and Politics 4.4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 16 reviews.
ObamicanBill More than 1 year ago
This memoir provides a very honest and human rendering of the Vice-President's life right up to his decision to run in the 2008 contest. As a veteran of the evacuation of Vietnam and the Mayaguez incident, I was disappointed that he did not discuss those episodes or the passage of the War Powers Act, but that was at a time in his life when he was not yet sure if he wanted to continue as a senator following the tragic deaths of his wife and daughter. I was more disappointed that he failed to discuss his later proposal to reform the War Powers Act. My only other gripe is that he repeatedly discusses every new home he moves into as if it is his dream house. It seems to be a fixation for him. Other than that, a well written and conceived account that is presented with refreshing honesty. For example, with regard to the plagiarism controversy, he honestly admits that he should have straightened out the lack of attribution of his Iowa debate remarks in a subsequent press conference and he accepts full blame for not doing so even though he'd offered repeated attribution to Neal Kinnock previously. A very worthwhile read!
Guest More than 1 year ago
This biography confirmed my suspicions about Joe Biden. He truly is a terrific American! Should make us all reflect on our own lives and how we deal with the hand we have been dealt. Great book, smart to read this before any casual debate about our potential national leaders.
Guest More than 1 year ago
The reviewer tries to be informed. Joe Biden is a man of religious faith, patriotic, believes in our AMERICAN heritage and forefathers who established our government, and has a deep patriotism. His writing style reminds me of my beloved Frank McCourt. Read this book.
Guest More than 1 year ago
I was not too sure about his qualifications for President, but now I know he's the one we should all vote for. He has so many years in politics, a son fighting in this war and he has predicted everything that has happened with this 'wrong' war, and I voted republican last time..stupid me. Foreign leaders would also look up to him, which we so need right now.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Senator Joe Biden's been blessed...and not just by the Sisters of St. Francis in Dubuque. He is blessed with the knowledge and experience that a man who would be president commands. He is blessed with a family that taught him, nurtured him, supported him. In times of trouble, he always bounced back. Time after time, whenever someone knocked him down, he got right back up. It takes someone with special courage to do that. A son, a brother, a husband, a father, a teacher, a senator, a presidential candidate: excels at all, brags about none. Sen. Biden writes in his own personal style, down-to-Earth and not pretentious. In chapter after chapter he shows us how to triumph over adversity, while managing a family and maintaining a quiet dignity. This one's a keeper, and that's no malarkey.
Guest More than 1 year ago
As i was reading this book I started to forget this is was an autobiography. instead i was captivated by the tale of a little studering catholic boy's adventures. this was by far the best autobiography i have read.
Guest More than 1 year ago
Senator Joe Biden in his new autobiography brings to life the past days of his youth and career as a Senator from Delaware. It¿s loaded with family life details of his two marriages. You get the measure of the man as he experiences impediments, hardship, love, tragedy and success. It¿s all there including how he overcame a terrible stutter to become a class leader and excel in football at Archmere Catholic High. And, how on his first run for the Senate, he took on the entrenched incumbent Cale Boggs and beat him handily. He also covers his positions on many past and present issues such as abortion, housing for working people and the poor, and many others. In one sentence I can summarize his life to date. He is a man of faith, integrity and a problem solver.
Guest More than 1 year ago
I do live in Delaware, so I already knew a little about Joe Biden (and liked him by the way). Having just gotten started on 'Promises to Keep' I can already tell that this will be a page turner. If you already know of Joe Biden, this book will broaden your understanding of his positions. If you don't know him, this is an oppertunity to learn more about a presidential candidate then you will hear on CNN. If you think you don't agree with him, give the book a shot and you'll change your mind.
Anonymous 10 months ago
Reading this has given me the insight into Joe Biden I been seeking.
sweetiegherkin on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
Then-Senator Biden¿s autobiography is an interesting read with lots of historical, as well as personal, details. In the beginning when talking about his childhood and growing up, Biden presents lots of family and personal anecdotes to the point that it feels like ¿Grandpa Joe¿ is sitting across from you in the kitchen and telling you some old-timey stories. After a while, Biden¿s journey becomes less personal and more political as he talks about his days in the U.S. Senate and running for president in the 1980s. He provides an interesting look at politics from the inside (i.e., the different cafeterias in the Senate, the Senate gym, etc.) Later, he includes a long section where he intertwines two personal political battles - the long road toward passing the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA) and the Bosnian genocide. This section was particularly interesting to me, although obviously heart-wrenching because of its discussion of domestic violence, rape, war, etc. Biden takes us to the then-current day with problems that are still ongoing today (e.g., wars in Afghanistan and Iraq) and his vision for the future. He's far more optimistic than me about America's prospects, but it¿s nice to end on a hopeful note. Surprisingly, the audio book is not read by Biden himself, but Mark Deakins does a very good job as the narrator. Overall, this was an engrossing and informative book.
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