Hanging out with some friends near a beachfront store where I worked I was shocked to see someone untying the surfboards on top of my car (’71 super beetle, no passenger seat and a piece of plywood on the floor so water wouldn’t splash up when it rained…a true collector’s item). As you might imagine I bolted for the parking lot. It turns out the guy was a fireman on his day off and he was concerned about a couple of swimmers just outside the (overhead) waves who were in obvious trouble. One of my dawn patrol surfing companions, “Robert the Cop”, joined the conversation and, knowing I could handle myself in the water, recruited me, grabbed my other board and started to strip down.
Not a pretty picture…the two of us in boxer shorts blasting into the the seriously cold surf. We got to the wetsuit-wearing not-so-skilled body surfers and found they were indeed in trouble; the younger of the two had lost one of his flippers and the older was pretty much out of gas. We gathered them on the two boards and got them onto dry sand with a minimum of bruises and foul language and pretty much collapsed, catching our breath. A firetruck, ambulance and police car had arrived while we had been in the water and one of the firemen came and gathered up our two near-drowning victims to get them wrapped up in blankets and have the EMT’s check them out.
And there we sat on our surfboards on the sand in our underwear, Robert the Cop and I. We watched the circus around the two swimmers until the whole convoy hit the road without a single person noticing that we existed. When it all was over we shook our heads, shook hands and headed to our cars to dry off.*
As someone who’s had a few “adventurous” jobs over the years I’ve managed to save three lives and seen co-workers save several (it was part of the territory, I’m no hero, believe me) and every time it was the same: the person with the near-death experience got gobbled up in a crowd and the person who helped him be not-dead became part of the scenery. No, no, no…I’m not at all interested in some sort of accolades, I was just doing my job and the outcome was satisfying enough. What DOES interest me is the fact that, in every instance, the person who benefited from the work got all of the attention and the person who DID the work was pretty much taken for granted.
What does this have to do with our choir? It’s all about who gets the benefit of a concert (the singers and the audience) and who does the work (a pile of volunteers). A lot of work. Work that starts months before the singing happens and continues long after the standing ovation at the end. Work that, for many of them, is a 12-months-a-year commitment. Do I think they’re ignored? Of course not, ours is the most conscientious group I’ve ever had the pleasure of being a part of. Do I think they get all of the credit and appreciation that the earn and are due? Maybe not. With our choir rushing forward toward our 10th (!!!) season, much of the work that makes the engine run is part of the landscape. It gets done, it’s always gotten done, it will continue to get done forever.
The tornado of activity that surrounds a concert or a fundraising event brings the volunteers to the forefront and their efforts are seen and appreciated; I’m talking about those whose contributions are a little less visible. Come to rehearsal a little early and look around at the activity that’s going on. That space is totally empty (except for the piano) and is magically transformed with Susie’s platform and music stand a sound system put in place (they’re stored at the far end of the building, quite the hike) and 100 chairs apparently setting themselves up.
Consider two things:
- Thank the folks.
- Ask them how you can help.
*The local paper had a paragraph about the whole ocean adventure and two “anonymous surfers”. Snicker.