One of the rituals my wife and I have is to sit across from each other in our stuffed chairs and read out loud. One of my favorite authors is Robert Fulghum. Below is a portion of his book Maybe (Maybe Not) Since you aren’t here in person to join us, I’d like to do the next best thing…repost it here on the blog, you can pretend I’m reading it to you.
Got to warn you, there is one swear word in it
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When I think of staff meetings, board meetings, or time served on almost any committee, I think of the one man who triumphed over “meeting madness.” The man whose style I sometimes wish I had.
David Dugan was his name. Though he had a college degree in civil engineering, and though he read history for pleasure, he enjoyed the pose of the simpleminded common man. Popeye was his model.
While in college, he had started as right defensive tackle on the football team for four years. After college he made his living as a heavy construction contractor, specializing in sewer systems and pipelines. He ran his life and business in the way he played football- straight ahead up the middle, full power, nothing fancy.
Plainspoken in his conversation, he used one adjective: “sumbitch.” After you got used to it, you didn’t notice when he spoke of his “sumbitch” wife and his “sumbitch” kids and his “sumbitch” friends any more than when he spoke of the “sumbitch” government and the “sumbitch” Russians. He varied the tone a little, but it was all “sumbitch” to him.
I met him at a poker game. I liked him right away. He came to church the next Sunday saying he’d never heard a sumbitch poker player preach. He stayed on to become an active member of the church. We found him kind and generous behind his facade. His laughter kept us loose in tense moments, and his resources kept us in business when we needed help. Dugan’s way was large, and he didn’t hold back when it came to his part in the life of the church. If we had some trash to haul, he’d drive up in a four-ton dump truck. He sent a road grader to move some gravel around, and to fetch a Christmas tree he sent a diesel truck hitched to a Low Boy trailer- the kind used to transport bulldozers. For Dugan there were very few of life’s problems that could not be addressed with heavy equipment and a go- get-’em attitude.
Dugan lured me to his construction site one fall with the promise of being allowed to drive a D 8 Caterpillar tractor. Sitting in his office trailer drinking coffee, he astonished me by throwing open his briefcase to reveal bundles and bundles of hundred-dollar bills, and a .38 caliber pistol. It was like being in a movie when the bank robbers were about to split the loot. Not to worry, He explained that because his projects were often far from town and he had to hire a lot of temporary labor, he made his payroll in cash. He was bonded to carry as much as half a million dollars. And licensed to carry the gun to protect himself.
Because he was often away for long stretches of time, Dugan refused an invitation to serve as an officer of the board of trustees. But when he was in town, he came to board meetings anyhow. He thought he ought to contribute to the life of the church beyond just sitting in a pew, and he wanted to know what was going on from the source, not a newsletter.
As is often the case, “Member of the Board of Trustee” sounds like an important honor, when in fact, the work of the board is more often mundane than not. During the year when Dugan attended meetings, the board’s entire time and energy were devoted to a leaking roof, parking problems, and the difficulty of getting wholesale prices for paper towels and toilet paper. Dugan never said a word. He listened- with chagrin written on his face.
One January evening the board shifted to an even more fascinating problem. On the entrance side of the church, the driveway had developed potholes. Patching had not helped, so it seemed the driveway would have to be repaved. An expensive proposition. However, on the exit side, nearest the church school, the driveway was smooth, encouraging a level of speed thought dangerous to children. Speed bumps would have to be built there and signs posted. More expense.
Three hours had drained away while every possible dimension of this driveway problem had been considered. No solution in sight, the meeting fumbled on.
From his seat outside the board circle, Dugan raised his hand to make a proposal. “Leave the potholes on the entrance side and dig potholes on the exit side. Spray a little tar in them. Call them “speedholes.” He could do it with a shovel and a couple of cans of hot tar in a couple of hours. Free.
The board gnawed on the problem for another hour- worried about being sued and what the neighbors would think.
In exasperation Dugan stood up, placed his briefcase on the table, and asked forcefully, “What’s this sumbitch church worth- the whole sumbitch thing, buildings, land, everything- gimme a round figure.”
They didn’t know about the briefcase.
The church treasurer replied, “Oh, maybe three hundred thousand dollars.”
“Great,” cried Dugan, “I’m gonna buy the sumbitch!”
And he opened his briefcase, laid his pistol aside, and began throwing out bundles of hundred-dollar bills until he reached the established price.
Silence- stunned silence.
“Gimme the deed, and it’s done.” said Dugan.
“What are you going to do with it?” someone asked.
“I’m going to get my crew and equipment over here, and we’ll level the sumbitch and haul it to the sumbitch dump before sundown. And I’ll use the land for the cemetery you guys are headed toward in these meetings of the living dead. I’m going to put up a sumbitch monument to the Unknown God.”
“What’s the gun for, Dugan?” an anxious member asked.
“I was thinking of putting every last one of you sumbitches out of your misery. Too bad it’s against the law.”
Then he chewed the board members up one side and down the other for not spending their time on important things and how he came to church for religion and what he got was pissant construction workers he wouldn’t hire for a day, and bygod if they decided they wanted to get serious about all the things a church ought to be doing in this world, to let him know.
Packing up his money, and his gun, he stomped off out the door, shouting from down the hall, “The sumbitch offer still stands.”
What Dugan said and did had a familiar ring to it.
For all those who have the noble work of the world to do, the question is essentially the same, yes? Fish or cut bait? Dream or do?
Dugan’s acts are nothing new in religious circles, The prophet Jeremiah didn’t use quite those same words, but his message was about the same……
No, we didn’t dig the speedholes. Just too simple a solution.
But there were more than a few times that the board members thought they’d made a great mistake- they should have sold the sumbitch.
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I was telling one of the guys at work about this story last week. He said something that made me feel good…..”Doug, you kind of remind me of him just a little.” (straight ahead up the middle, full power, nothing fancy.)
Hope you have a great day.
