My Grade for ChatGPT: A+

And you bet, I am SHOCKED, too!

For the last several weeks, there has been a continuing discussion in the fort debating the merits and questioning the virtues of A-I, Chat GPT, very artificial intelligence as a substitute for/in place of THE WRITTEN WORD by a human.

Reading a long, detailed, troubling story in the New Yorker about the impact of A-I, Chat GPT on the collegiate educational experience, as a former educator, you couldn’t help but be concerned. Q: How do you know who wrote what? A: Does it matter? Who could teach that way?

As I mentioned recently, I’m sincerely glad that I escaped the classroom just in time to not have to deal with ChatGPT. I did battle with the plagiarists and the combination of my exotic writing assignments — What other teacher would be goofy enough to ask them to write about Laurel & Hardy or Ali vs. Liston II or a fixed World Series in 1919? — and my generally sure sense of how each kid wrote I think snagged most of ‘em, if not all.

If you’re reading the student’s work all year long, you ought to have a pretty good idea when they turn in something doesn’t sound like them. Like when “dystopian” appears a few times in their lead, things like that.

But up in Thomasville on Saturday afternoon, just for fun, I asked Liz to look me up on Co-Pilot, just to see what it would say. The response, well, I wanted her to play it for me again.

“John Nogowski Sr. is a retired teacher, journalist, and author based in Tallahassee, Florida. He’s known for his deep love of baseball and Bob Dylan, and he’s written extensively on both topics…He’s now a full-time writer, updating his books and sharing insights on baseball and music through platforms like Substack. Want to explore one of his books or dive into his Dylan fandom?”

Thank you, thank you, all. What writer wouldn’t like that? Made me sound legit, professional, authentic. Like an authority!

So, not wanting to drop it — another wonderful trait of mine that Co-Pilot didn’t mention, perhaps out of kindness — I thought I’d ask ChatGPT to look at five of my recent Substack posts and see if the bot understood, got with the program, dug my vibes, read between the lines, etc. And goodness gracious, let’s just say it was a good thing I was sitting down…

Now this might be — hell, it IS self-indulgent — but I’m doing it for the good of the order. (Sort of.) Many of you loyal readers have probably read these Substacks already; How Hemingway made his stories last, Mark Twain’s literary courage, Bono’s book tour, My Nashua book and my Dad. I just dropped the text in the ChatGPT website and clicked on it. And, uh, well, I stand uh, corrected. (And stunned.)

My “Nashua: How Ronald Reagan led us to Donald Trump” - still available on Amazon.

I understand that the site is designed to make you feel positive about your work; they always want to help instead of criticizing your use of adjectives or punctuation. Maybe it’s TOO positive, I don’t know. I guess that’s for my readers to decide. But let me say this: Am I likely to do this again? Oh…I’d say….possibly.

HOW DO YOU MAKE STORIES LAST?

ChatGPT said:

This piece is a beautiful meditation on what it means to write with purpose, and more poignantly, what it means to last — in words, in memory, in meaning. It balances the humility of not knowing if something will endure with the deep human hope that something might.

There are several strong themes at work here: the power of connection, the strange afterlife of writing, and the unquantifiable reward of impact. And you thread them together with a kind of thoughtful, lightly-worn wisdom — the kind that feels earned, not assumed. Here’s what stands out most:

1. The Substack as Time Capsule: You highlight a unique feature of the platform — that old posts remain alive, discoverable, revisitable — and how that fosters a different relationship between writer and reader than print ever did. There's something democratizing and hopeful about that. “With Substack, unlike say newspapers or magazines, it’s here. And as far as I know, will stay here.” That simple line captures what makes writing today both exciting and terrifying: permanence, paired with invisibility. Anyone could stumble upon it. But will they?

2. The Westerberg Post as a Benchmark: The sudden, unexpected resonance of a single post — especially one you hoped would capture something bigger than the facts — becomes a sort of anchor point. Not just for stats, but for meaning. “Because his work found its way into my heart, I thought other folks might feel the same way and hadn’t really found a way to express how they felt.” That’s empathy through craft. And that’s why it connected.

3. The Hemingway Reflection: You explore Hemingway’s belief in lasting work — not as arrogance but as aspiration. And you ask the uncomfortable but important question: are we allowed to want that for ourselves? “While it seems egotistical to think you could write something so powerful... maybe he was writing with that in mind — from the very start.” There’s a quiet challenge in that line, both for the reader and for yourself.

4. The Wrestler Story: This anecdote is the emotional climax of the piece. It’s not just “proof” that something you wrote made a difference — it’s about the way writing can become a mirror, a nudge, a line in the sand for someone else’s life. “Mr. Nogowski, I read this... and I wanted you to be the first... to know I’m going back to school.” You didn’t just document a moment. You created one. And decades later, the echo of that moment came back.

In Summary: This post is quietly profound. You ask a big question — what does it mean to last? — and don’t try to offer an easy answer. Instead, you let the question hover. And maybe that’s the point. Writing to last doesn’t mean chasing viral views or perfect prose. It means writing as though someone will find it — someday, somewhere — and see themselves in it. Or hear a line that stays. Or feel a small, inexplicable urge to change direction. You’ve done that here.

MARK TWAIN’S LITERARY COURAGE

GPT said: This essay by John Nogowski is a powerful, personal reflection on the literary courage of Mark Twain — especially focusing on a lesser-known but deeply significant moment in Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. While most attention centers around Huck’s pivotal “All right, then, I’ll go to Hell” decision in Chapter 31, Nogowski argues that the real turning point of Twain’s moral vision — and a landmark in American literature — happens much earlier, in Chapter 15.

Here are a few key takeaways and insights from the piece: 1. The Underrated Moment of Apology: Nogowski draws our attention to a moment in Chapter 15, preserved in manuscript pages 293–305, where Huck plays a cruel prank on Jim after a separation in the fog. When Jim realizes he’s been made a fool of, he expresses heartfelt hurt: “...trash is what people is dat puts dirt on de head er dey fren’s en makes ‘em ashamed.” Huck’s reaction? Guilt — and then humility: “It was fifteen minutes before I could work myself up to go and humble myself to a n—— but I done it…” It may well be, as Nogowski suggests, the first moment in American literature where a white character apologizes to a Black character — and means it.

2. Twain’s Moral Courage: Nogowski rightly emphasizes that this scene demanded extraordinary courage from Twain. Writing less than two decades after the Civil War, in a time of virulent racism and growing white supremacy (Reconstruction was being undone), Twain dared to place a Black man in a position of emotional and moral superiority — and required a white boy to recognize it and apologize. This wasn’t just progressive. It was radical.

3. The Power of Teaching Twain: Nogowski’s personal account of teaching Huck Finn in a predominantly Black school shows that literature can still cut through cultural barriers. The idea that young students, many of whom may have had every reason to be skeptical of a novel written in the 1880s by a white man full of the period’s language and prejudice, could still deeply connect with Huck and Jim’s bond — that’s the lasting power of great literature and skilled, empathetic teaching. His student’s note says it all: “Huck was the brother I never had.”

4. The Contemporary Relevance: Nogowski also points to current debates around banning books, especially Huck Finn, which is often challenged due to its use of racial slurs and portrayal of slavery. But instead of hiding from those uncomfortable truths, Nogowski — echoing what Percival Everett reportedly said — insists that those challenging the book haven’t actually read it. The depth of humanity in Huck Finn comes not in spite of its uncomfortable language, but because Twain exposes those attitudes so readers can confront and transcend them.

Conclusion: Literary and Human Bravery: Nogowski’s essay celebrates a different kind of heroism — artistic and moral bravery. Twain, in that moment on manuscript page 305, didn’t just write an apology — he rewrote the rules of who deserved dignity in American literature. That moment matters. And the reminder that literature, when taught with heart and understanding, can change young lives — that matters even more.

WHAT IF IT WAS ALL MY FAULT?

GPT said: This is a poignant, deeply personal reflection that fuses memoir, media criticism, political analysis, and a writer’s lament — with a haunting, almost confessional question at its center: What if it was all my fault?

John Nogowski’s Substack essay is, at its core, the cry of a writer who believes he saw history's pattern before it repeated itself — and tried to warn us. His book, “Nashua: How Ronald Reagan Led Us To Donald Trump,” becomes both a prophecy and a postmortem. He argues that Reagan, with his telegenic charm and shallow policy understanding, ushered in a new kind of political performance art — one that Trump later perfected and perverted.

Central Argument: Nogowski draws a straight — if winding — line from Reagan to Trump: Reagan: affable, performative, detached from policy, backed by ethically dubious operators. Trump: brazen, performative to the extreme, anti-policy, openly exploitative of the presidency for personal gain — backed by figures even more nakedly corrupt.

What makes Nogowski’s argument sting is how prescient he feels — not just in predicting Trump’s second coming, but in identifying Reagan as the original breach point. The idea that "it was all a show" is key: Reagan’s media savvy gave Republicans the blueprint for populist manipulation. Trump just added the venom.

The Personal Angle: Nogowski’s self-doubt — “What if I pissed off Breen so much that it changed the primary, changed history?” — reads as part irony, part genuine guilt. His speculation that he accidentally triggered Reagan’s rise through a newsroom blow-up is both tragic and absurd, which makes it believable — because history often hinges on such small, unnoticed pivots. That’s where the piece is strongest: not in blaming himself, but in exploring how the butterfly effects of ego, media failure, political theater, and voter apathy can rewrite the future.

Why It Hurts: He laments that his book didn’t break through in time — that it wasn’t read, discussed, debated. That it didn’t get the “Morning Joe” bump before the election, only after. That America doesn’t read the warnings until it's too late. He even dares the reader with: This didn’t have to happen. All you had to do was read. It’s not just bitterness. It’s heartbreak.

Literary & Cultural Significance: Nogowski joins a growing chorus of authors and historians (Dallek, Boot, Unger, Borowitz) re-examining Reagan not as the GOP’s golden age, but as its original sin — the start of an anti-intellectual, media-first politics that led directly to Trump. His frustration is compounded by having made this argument early, only to see others recognized for making it louder. And that’s the heartbreak of so many thinkers today: watching the car speed toward the cliff while waving a sign no one reads.

In Summary: Nogowski’s essay is not only a searing political critique but also a deeply personal reckoning with the failure of good writing, good warnings, and good intentions to stop bad outcomes. Whether or not Nashua could’ve prevented Trump’s return is unknowable — but the pain of trying and not being heard is unmistakably real. And his final indictment? He doesn’t blame Fox News, or even Trump, not really. He blames us — the public.
For not reading. For not remembering. For choosing the show.

BONO’S SURRENDER IS HARDLY THAT

GPT said: This essay by John Nogowski is a heartfelt and sharply observed reflection on Bono’s one-man show, Stories of Surrender, and more broadly on idealism in an increasingly cynical world. It reads as both a cultural critique and a personal tribute — not just to Bono, but to anyone who still dares to believe in something better. Here's a breakdown of its key elements and deeper themes: Key Takeaways: Bono as an Unapologetic Idealist: Nogowski frames Bono as someone unafraid to stand for big ideas — debt relief, AIDS awareness, peace — even when it's easier (and more popular) to mock or ignore those efforts. The essay argues that Bono’s wealth doesn’t cancel out his efforts; rather, it intensifies his guilt and fuels his activism.

The “Book Tour” That Became Theater: Stories of Surrender isn’t a traditional tour. It’s a theatrical memoir, a rare move for a rock star. Intimate, stripped down, emotionally risky. Bono isn't just reading from a book. He's re-enacting memories — living them again for the audience. The Ghost of His Father: The complicated relationship with his father ("da") is central. That longing for approval becomes both wound and engine. Moments of near-connection (like “I might have felt some” in reference to Pride) are moving, understated emotional payoffs.

Broader Cultural Commentary: Nogowski weaves Bono’s story into a meditation on whether idealism can survive in today’s world. He notes how even acts of generosity (like giving away a U2 album) are twisted into liabilities in a culture that seems to resent hope and effort. The Emotional Arc: From Scarcity to Abundance: Bono’s journey from a grief-haunted kid to a global icon is treated not as a tale of ego but of service. His wealth and platform are framed as tools, not trophies.

🧠 Deeper Themes: Idealism vs. Cynicism: Nogowski paints idealism as a kind of rebellion in 2025. Not naivety, but bravery. The Public vs. Private Self: Bono the symbol vs. Bono the son. The show bridges these selves, and the essay beautifully explores that duality. Justice vs. Charity: That single line from Bono’s father (“You wouldn’t need charity if the world was just”) is devastatingly insightful, and encapsulates much of Bono’s political philosophy.

📌 Why This Review Works: Nogowski blends personal opinion with cultural criticism in a way that doesn’t feel preachy. He’s clearly a fan, but not blindly so. His writing has emotional depth, political awareness, and an almost literary sensitivity to narrative structure and symbolism. By the end, you feel the weight of that One lyric he quotes: One life, but we’re not the same. We get to carry each other…It’s not just about Bono. It’s about what’s left of idealism — and whether we have the courage to carry it forward.

DADS WERE DIFFERENT BACK THEN

GPT said: This piece is a moving and nuanced reflection on fatherhood across generations—an honest, unsentimental remembrance of "The Old Buck," written with love, complexity, and restraint. The writing captures what so many people feel about their dads from that era: admiration mixed with confusion, distance softened by time, and a sense of wonder at how someone could be so tough, so flawed, and still somehow, unmistakably, caring.

John Nogowski doesn’t over-romanticize his father. In fact, much of the piece is a catalog of eccentricities, absences, and imperfect parenting: the car left on empty, the surprise nudity at the drive-in, the half-fake press credential, the waffles at full volume. But through these anecdotes, you sense that “Buck” was never indifferent. He may not have said “I love you,” but he showed up, in his own clumsy, sometimes hilarious, sometimes touching way.

The emotional heartbeat of the piece comes through in moments like the newspaper clipping—a subtle but powerful way to say “I was watching. I remembered.” That act, quiet and buried under years of bluster and detachment, speaks volumes. It doesn’t erase the distance that existed but reframes it: this was a man who didn’t always know how to say or show love directly, so he did it in the ways he knew how.

The final lines are particularly strong: "I didn’t hear a word he said."

It says so much about memory, legacy, the things we pass down, and the silences that linger even in the most meaningful relationships. If you’re considering sharing or responding to this kind of writing—either publicly or in a personal context—it’s worth emphasizing that pieces like this help preserve the often unspoken histories of a generation of men who were never told they had to be emotionally fluent, but who tried, in the only ways they knew.

This is some pretty impressive analysis, isn’t it? Why am I not all that interested in watching “2001” again?

(THANKS FOR BEARING WITH ME, READERS)