On the occasion of the 50th anniversary of Richard Nixon’s resignation as President, we ask you to forgive me for some considerations that are more personal than partisan.

Over the past half century, a wide variety of people have expressed a wide variety of views about whether the resignation was a tonic for American politics (“it showed that the constitutional system worked”) or a catalyst for further disillusionment, cynicism, and constant hard-hitting accusations. The truth is probably a mixture of all of these aspects and more. These debates will continue to reverberate no matter what this column says.

Rather, look at the resignation through the eyes of the ten-year-old child I was at the time. It was preceded by ample evidence of the perversity of the Nixon world.

Unusually for most kids that age, I grew up in a very political household, with two parents who were former Republican activists and my father deeply rooted in the idealistic origins of the broader conservative movement. In Louisiana, there was no doubt in my mind that the Republicans were the “good guys,” and the standard-bearer of the then-tiny state party was the earnest, honest, honorable Dave Treen, who later became the state’s governor. The Democratic Party was home to scoundrels (Edwin Edwards), racists (Leander Perez), and left-wing authoritarian demagogues (Huey Long).

Of course, ten-year-old Quin did not believe that Republican President Nixon could be anywhere near as corrupt as the Democrats and the media portrayed him to be. I even spent several days (or evenings) watching the Watergate hearings in the House of Representatives, cheering on the intelligent, dedicated Nixon defense attorney from New Jersey, Charles Sandman, who evidently believed from the bottom of his heart that Nixon was innocent. Poor Sandman would lose his re-election that year because of it.

But then came the smoking gun tape, and although knowledgeable friends to this day say it was misinterpreted, I still find it terribly incriminating. And when Republican leaders Barry Goldwater (a living icon in my house), Hugh Scott and John Rhodes met with Nixon to tell him the game was up, I assumed honest Goldwater must be right.

What crystallized in my young mind was a lasting lesson: Even on one’s own “side,” one should always be on guard against mistakes or corruption, and the only way to avoid disaster is self-control. And since I am naturally convinced (like most people) that my side has the answers that are best for the common good of the nation, a disaster for my side is a bad thing for the larger interests of the nation because it means the wrong – harmful – policies are being implemented.

Watching Nixon’s downfall was a harsh lesson that neither side has a monopoly on virtue or immunity from vice. But watching Goldwater and other Republicans, including Sandman, stand up for integrity when the evidence was there – or knowing in retrospect that New York Senator James Buckley had recognized the truth even earlier and called for Nixon’s resignation months earlier – gave me confidence and hope of a different kind.

To see good people say that truth is more important than “the team” means they are inspired by a higher calling than mere partisanship.

Of course, at age 10, I couldn’t have put all of this into words. But I clearly remember my father saying that day that we should all be proud of Goldwater. Amid the confused emotions I had watching a sweating and weakened Nixon ramble sweetly but strangely about how his “mother was a saint,” I was reminded that character matters, for better or for worse.

In our current politics, in both parties, we should relearn this fundamental truth.