Through a driving rain in the late spring
of 1977, I walked, then ran, a number of blocks from the train station in
center city Philadelphia. I was a disgusted and soaked
28-year-old dressed in my best suit from J.C. Penny’s. I was headed to a committee
meeting to which I had been appointed by the Trustees of a college. We were to
conduct a search for the college's next president . The meeting was held in the
prestigious Union League – a private club for the movers and shakers of
the Philadelphia area. I got to the grand entrance of the Union League with hair
dripping (yes I had hair then!), and any self-confidence I might have had
washed away in the storm. Entering the Union League I was feeling very much out
of place surrounded by accents of marble and dark walnut wood, quiet
classical music, and the scents of fresh cut flowers mixed with the smell of brass and wood
polishes. I was greeted by a man in a black formal suit with long tails, who, I
felt, looked at me with raised eyebrows as he asked my name. I gave my name and
he checked a list. He indicated that my meeting was in such and such a dining
room, but perhaps I might wish to freshen up. This I surmised was a polite way
of saying to me, “You look a mess, try and clean up a bit before you go any
further into the Union League.”
He directed me to a doorway and I walked into another
room and was greeted by another man in a formal suit and long tails who asked
to take my drenched coat. “I’ll attend to this sir,” he said, “the facilities
are this way.” He handed me a white fluffy towel as I entered a room with more
marble, walnut wood, and banks of mirrors. I dried my hair, sopped up the
shirt, and tried to dry my paints. As I left the room the man finished blow
drying my coat and asked if I would like some fragrances. I turned around and
looked at a table filled with deodorants, colognes, and aftershaves – reminding
me of a men's cosmetic counter in an upscale department store. After a few
quirts of fragrances, I headed down the long hallway lighted by numerous chandeliers.
The room was filled with a very long walnut table
surrounded by crimson upholstered armed chairs filled with white haired
men talking and laughing with one another. I was one of the last to enter the
meeting room. The remaining seat at the table was beside the candidate being
interviewed – an internationally recognized author, educator, and speaker. Sheepishly
I sat down hoping my damp pants would not leave a mark on the upholstered
chair. A pair of arms appeared around me and a white linen napkin was being
placed in my lap by a man in a black suit and long tails. From the other side a
man of similar dress opened a menu before me and asked me my beverage
selection. “Water is fine,” I replied, as I tried to inconspicuously hide
behind the rather large leather menu. Lovely menu, but no prices! A knot in my
stomach suddenly developed. I recall thinking, “What’s the cheapest thing on
this menu?”
As the evening went on I began to enjoy the attention
of those who were serving me at the table. Subtly I began to think how great I
was. Here I was dining at the Union League. I had been chosen to be among the
group of esteemed men to select the next president of the college that I had just
graduated from six years earlier. I was sitting beside and talking with an
internationally respected and well known speaker and author. Additionally I was
being waited on literally hand and foot.
I really began to bask in being served
like this. "Sir," I said
to our server with an air of importance, "May I have some more water before our meeting begins?" I comfortably settled back in my upholstered chair and waited for the meeting to begin. It did not
take long for a soggy out of place young man to begin to think more highly of
himself than he ought to, did it? The trip to arrogance is a short one indeed.
