Making a difference
Does it matter if we know?
What matters is we can make a difference in other people’s lives. It doesn’t matter if we remember, but I get renewed every time those experiences come to mind. I was prompted to write this post by Anaya🕊✨ and her observations about “The People We Remember for no Reason.”
For me, making a difference is the big raison d’être, fancy French for “reason to be”. It’s not something you plan or intend. It’s not a notch-on-your-belt. It’s not a Mother Teresa thing, but a moment in time that when you did something and it has a lasting effect on someone else.
Yes, we need to be vigilant, not vigilante. On the lookout. It’s why I put shells on the shadow so I could see and be alert when the opportunity presents itself.
Sometimes you expect them. You’re trained to see them. You are a first-responder, mid-wife, plumber, teacher. What you do, by definition, makes a difference. You may not get a thank you, but some form of instant gratification is part of the job you signed up to do.
Other times you don’t know until much later when you discover what you did have an impact. You are an inventor, engineer, social worker, community organizer, a high school coach. You are not likely to get a thank you and gratification is delayed.
Most of the time you don’t think about it, you just go about your business, but you are shocked and quiver a little at the discovery. By then it is no longer about what you did, but what the person did. It’s his or her story and you are just the underline of the word.
I’ve intentionally excluded examples of family. I think all families are somewhere on the “dysfunction scale” and we all need help along the way. Making a difference for family is what being a part of a family is all about.
I’ve spent most of my life in public service of some kind. Those kinds of jobs have a sense of mission to them. Because my parents were missionaries, maybe that’s why I’ve sought them out. For example, as a staffer in the US Senate in the late 60s, I did all the research and concept development for what became known as Pell Grants, a government program to help those without the financial means to go to college without the burden of repaying a loan.
I did it for my boss, Senator Harrison A. Wiliams, Jr., from New Jersey, who was chairman of the US Senate Labor and Public Welfare Committee at the time in the late 60s.
A week or so passed after I presented the idea to him. He then asked me if he could give it to Senator Claiborne Pell, from Rhode Island, who had “not come up with any good ideas yet” as Chairman of the Education Subcommittee. He said he felt sorry for him, that this idea would energize him and give him purpose. He asked would I mind.
The bill went into effect in 1972 and it’s still operating. I recently learned that someone who writes on Medium got a Pell Grant. That’s the first time I’ve known someone who directly benefited from what I did on that scale.
Here are three times I discovered I made a difference.
1. Teaching kids how to swim.
I can teach anyone how to swim (used to be anyway). By swimming, I mean, going from fear of water to jumping into the deep end of a pool and doing a modified breaststroke or dogpaddle across the pool, about 50 feet, without stopping. I was certified water safety instructor by the American Red Cross, so I knew the basic principles of how to swim.
Nowadays you can learn to do anything using YouTube. All my stuff was developed in the late 50s and early 60s. My method required one hour a day for five consecutive days, time to incubate and take root. A week at summer camps was ideal.
I remember this one kid, Nameless Now. He came to the lesson, but chose not to get in the water, so I let him sit on the edge, dangle his feet in the water and watch. He showed up for four straight days. The final test was on Friday morning. Saturday was Parents’ Day when everyone who got a swimming metal could show off.
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When the time came, Nameless was there with everyone at the deep end of the pool. Everyone had crossed, but him. He just stood there. Staring across the pool. Then he looked at me. I just nodded my head. With that, he jumped in and dogging paddled across to everyone’s cheers.
Following is a video of how he did it and how I made a difference in his life. I also learned that there are many ways to teach someone how to swim.
2. Teaching adults how swim!?
Unlike kids, adults who I taught to swim had been afraid of the water all their life. Learning how to swim was a now or never proposition. They were strangers to each other but shared a common fear. It was on their bucket list. Consequently, I used plastic buckets as one of the toys for the first lesson of splashing around and having fun.
My first job after graduating from the University of South Florida was Director of Aquatics at the Tampa Bay Boys Club. My mornings were free, so I asked if I could open the pool for adult lessons. I got the go-ahead but had no idea what to do.
Then I decided I would teach them the same way I did kids.
We played in the water and ended the first hour playing Ring-around the Rosey, “all fall down”. With fear of water gone, I taught them how to do the “turtle float”. Soon they discovered the natural buoyancy of water: The rest was easy.
3. Making Sunday School Class Fun:
By the mid-70s, my high-pressure job at the White House was getting to me. I decided to stop working on Sundays and attend Saint Mark’s, a local historic Presbyterian church for some forgotten balance in my life. Soon, the pastor, James Macdonald, talked me into teaching a Sunday School Class on my conditions. I did not have to use their lesson plans. I could do what I wanted. I wanted to enable the class to do what they wanted to do. I didn’t know his son Eric would be one of the 14-year-old kids.
Making a long story short, Eric suggested the class should give Judas a post-humorous trial as he called it. Here is what happened.
I suggested we practice a trial and if it worked, then put it on “for real” in front of the congregation, including issuing subpoenas for jury duty from members of the church. The trial went on as rehearsed and the jury reached a verdict within the time limit we had agreed on.
Eric had managed to get a hung jury in a hanging case of biblical proportions.
Jump 40 years later: I was putting the final touches on my memoir, Men ‘n Mirrors. There was one detail bugging me. Whatever happened to Eric, the pastor’s kid who insisted on being the Defense Attorney for Judas. I wondered if a couple of Sunday School lessons had made a difference in any of the kids lives, the members of the congregation.
I tracked down the good reverend and discovered he was not in good health. Someone at the church was kind enough to pass my query along to Eric who eventually returned my call. I asked about his father and expressed my sorry at the news. In parting, I asked if he remembered the Judas trail.
I was stunned by his reply. He said yes, “I can’t forget it. I think of that trial regularly. I’m a States Public Defense Attorney for the State of Maryland.” Then he added that it was one of my easier cases, but it inspired me to be a lawyer and become a States’ Defense Attorney.
