Barrett Dorko
23-10-2006, 02:47 PM
It’s been a quiet week in Cuyahoga Falls…
I drove through several blinding rain storms after I left Mobile and headed west toward Baton Rouge. The perfectly flat terrain allowed me to see the lightening strikes far ahead so the weather came as no surprise, but driving at high speeds on an unfamiliar highway while fighting the fatigue of an especially early wakening, a long run, a class with many questions and the darkening sky began to take its toll. I was relieved to finally see the hotel and roll to a stop.
A year ago I came to this same hotel to say pretty much the same things and found it absolutely crammed with families evacuated from New Orleans. In the mix were pets and exhausted insurance agents. The doors to many of the rooms were festooned with artwork produced by the children and elaborately decorated names of those now living inside. I found it charming and sad all at once.
On Wednesday evening I saw that the hotel had returned to its original state, the lobby quiet and the bar inviting, no dogs riding the elevator and no clue about who lived in the room next door to mine. I found the meeting room assigned to Cross Country and was immediately concerned. Several tables set up in the back of the room were perched above a three step drop down into a pit where I found the screen and projector stand. Anyone seated in the last two rows would only be able to see me from the neck up. Worse than that, the screen was obscured by a railing that extended across its width half way down, the vertical struts further hiding anything projected there. Standing in the front, I couldn’t see the people in the last two rows unless they stood up.
When it’s raining like it did on Wednesday afternoon I rarely think to stop. Often this is too dangerous an option but, beyond that, something compels me to get wherever it is I’m going even in the face of discomfort or fear. I simply lean forward in the seat, grasp the steering wheel tightly and stop singing along with the CD. I focus and wait for this need for such an effort to end. This has always gotten me through, so far, and Wednesday was no exception.
I actually wakened several times during the night I was so concerned about what half the class would have to put up with in this room. Several conversations with the hotel sales manager got me nothing but apologies. This room would have to do, and I thought a bit about what I might say or do in order to make those sitting in the back comfortable and welcome. Then I watched the first dozen students arrive and all of my concerns vanished. Seven chose seats that offered the worst possible view. No one chose to walk down the stairs to the front where I was seated.
The day before I had read a column by Garrison Keillor ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Garrison_Keillor). Some of you might recognize that these essays always began in a manner similar to his famous “Lake Wobegon” stories. He wrote of the persistent kindness he found in the southern states, of how easily people touch one another and use terms of endearment when addressing perfect strangers: “A woman checking I.D.s at the airport saw me coming the other day and said, "Good morning, sunshine." She didn't know me from Adam. She glanced at my driver's license and said, "Have a good flight, darling." This was in the South, of course -- in Austin, Texas, to be exact. Northern women would no sooner address a strange man as "sunshine" than they would ask if you wanted to see their underwear… When the plane pulled up to the gate in Chicago, a woman touched my knee and said, "It was good talking with you, darling." Up here in the north, a man wouldn't touch a stranger on the knee or address her as "darling," lest he be reported to the Attitude Police.”
Keillor also wrote of the opposition to this attitude when it came to the people southerners voted into office, people he refers to as “dreadful idiots.”
Often I rearrange the tables in the room before the class arrives. I bring the tables closer to the center and angle those in the front away from the door in an effort to soften what people see when they enter. I imagine the therapists feeling welcome and safe. I smile when they enter.
But it appears that this is looked at with great suspicion, and the fear many live with constantly when forced to confront their practice overwhelms their naturally friendly manner. It will drive them to the back of a room that offers little in the way of access to the teaching but appears to be the perfect hiding place. On Thursday several seats up front remained empty all day. Beyond the railing the room was packed.
I thought of the disparity between attitude and action Keillor had mentioned in his column the day before. I thought of how those who’d been through the horrors of Katrina had eventually come forward to proclaim that they were present by placing their own artwork in a place it could be easily seen. Is that what it takes?
Again it was clear to me that fear is the primary force behind the behavior of so many of my colleagues, no matter how they might behave at work. In effect, many pull over to the side of the road while I keep driving.
One day I might discover that they were far more sensible than I.
I drove through several blinding rain storms after I left Mobile and headed west toward Baton Rouge. The perfectly flat terrain allowed me to see the lightening strikes far ahead so the weather came as no surprise, but driving at high speeds on an unfamiliar highway while fighting the fatigue of an especially early wakening, a long run, a class with many questions and the darkening sky began to take its toll. I was relieved to finally see the hotel and roll to a stop.
A year ago I came to this same hotel to say pretty much the same things and found it absolutely crammed with families evacuated from New Orleans. In the mix were pets and exhausted insurance agents. The doors to many of the rooms were festooned with artwork produced by the children and elaborately decorated names of those now living inside. I found it charming and sad all at once.
On Wednesday evening I saw that the hotel had returned to its original state, the lobby quiet and the bar inviting, no dogs riding the elevator and no clue about who lived in the room next door to mine. I found the meeting room assigned to Cross Country and was immediately concerned. Several tables set up in the back of the room were perched above a three step drop down into a pit where I found the screen and projector stand. Anyone seated in the last two rows would only be able to see me from the neck up. Worse than that, the screen was obscured by a railing that extended across its width half way down, the vertical struts further hiding anything projected there. Standing in the front, I couldn’t see the people in the last two rows unless they stood up.
When it’s raining like it did on Wednesday afternoon I rarely think to stop. Often this is too dangerous an option but, beyond that, something compels me to get wherever it is I’m going even in the face of discomfort or fear. I simply lean forward in the seat, grasp the steering wheel tightly and stop singing along with the CD. I focus and wait for this need for such an effort to end. This has always gotten me through, so far, and Wednesday was no exception.
I actually wakened several times during the night I was so concerned about what half the class would have to put up with in this room. Several conversations with the hotel sales manager got me nothing but apologies. This room would have to do, and I thought a bit about what I might say or do in order to make those sitting in the back comfortable and welcome. Then I watched the first dozen students arrive and all of my concerns vanished. Seven chose seats that offered the worst possible view. No one chose to walk down the stairs to the front where I was seated.
The day before I had read a column by Garrison Keillor ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Garrison_Keillor). Some of you might recognize that these essays always began in a manner similar to his famous “Lake Wobegon” stories. He wrote of the persistent kindness he found in the southern states, of how easily people touch one another and use terms of endearment when addressing perfect strangers: “A woman checking I.D.s at the airport saw me coming the other day and said, "Good morning, sunshine." She didn't know me from Adam. She glanced at my driver's license and said, "Have a good flight, darling." This was in the South, of course -- in Austin, Texas, to be exact. Northern women would no sooner address a strange man as "sunshine" than they would ask if you wanted to see their underwear… When the plane pulled up to the gate in Chicago, a woman touched my knee and said, "It was good talking with you, darling." Up here in the north, a man wouldn't touch a stranger on the knee or address her as "darling," lest he be reported to the Attitude Police.”
Keillor also wrote of the opposition to this attitude when it came to the people southerners voted into office, people he refers to as “dreadful idiots.”
Often I rearrange the tables in the room before the class arrives. I bring the tables closer to the center and angle those in the front away from the door in an effort to soften what people see when they enter. I imagine the therapists feeling welcome and safe. I smile when they enter.
But it appears that this is looked at with great suspicion, and the fear many live with constantly when forced to confront their practice overwhelms their naturally friendly manner. It will drive them to the back of a room that offers little in the way of access to the teaching but appears to be the perfect hiding place. On Thursday several seats up front remained empty all day. Beyond the railing the room was packed.
I thought of the disparity between attitude and action Keillor had mentioned in his column the day before. I thought of how those who’d been through the horrors of Katrina had eventually come forward to proclaim that they were present by placing their own artwork in a place it could be easily seen. Is that what it takes?
Again it was clear to me that fear is the primary force behind the behavior of so many of my colleagues, no matter how they might behave at work. In effect, many pull over to the side of the road while I keep driving.
One day I might discover that they were far more sensible than I.