The Coonridge Digest: No meetings, mailings, maulings or meddling?

Greetings from the Ridge.

I am not a "joiner." I swear I’m not. I mean, I join things, but I’m not a joiner.

Joiners sign up for every club, organization, cause, and movement in sight then pretty much forget that they ever joined. I guess they’re building a hefty obituary. I’m always startled to read someone’s obit in the paper and find that we’re fellow Kiwanians or Presbyterians or Democrats or Left-Handed-Mystics-of-the-Ancient-Lint-Brush, but I’d never seen them at a meeting, a service, rally or lint removal.

Me, I just join when I’m pressured. "Freida, we’d love to have you as a part of our organization. I know you’re a very busy person and you won’t really have to do anything. We just need membership and it’d be an honor to have you on our roll."

So you send in your membership fee then before you get home you’re bombarded with requests to give, sell, canvas, preside, chair and bring a covered dish. Either these organizational recruiters are terrible liars or they have a God-awful memory.

True story: I was approached by a certain political party which I won’t mention by name but if you can spell D-e-m-o-c-r-a-t-i-c you’d be getting very, very close. Our little town of Coonridge was short one precinct committee person and they said they just needed a name to put on the form.

"But I won’t have to do anything?"

"Don’t worry, Freida, we’ll do it all for you."

"No meetings?"

"No meetings."

"No mailings?"

"No meetings, mailings, maulings or meddling. We just need the name of a good Democrat."

To tell you the truth I agreed simply to irritate this old Republican I’d married. It was about two days before I received my first notice to attend a meeting of the party. I ignored it. Next month, next notice. I threw it in the trash. There’s nothing wrong with party membership, but if I have one more meeting in my life then they’ll have to bury me inside a podium with an agenda in my hand.

Then came "the letter."

"Dear Mrs. Crump." (I’d already lost my first name) "Please mark one of the boxes below: A, I will do my job as promised, or B, I will resign." It was signed by the county chairlady. I returned the threatening card after adding a new check box of my own tell Madame Chairman where she could stick her appointed office and just how high she could fly with it in that position.

Why do people do these things? In retailing it’s called the bait-and-switch. In human relationships it’s just plain rude.

Back in the day, people looked forward to these meetings with more enthusiasm. The monthly meeting of your lodge, club or committee was a welcome respite from a week of hard work. Nowadays many folks have schedules so packed with places to go and people to see that our nightly meeting is simply something to check off and get done with before we tackle the next day’s round of places we really should be.

My grandpa looked forward to the monthly meeting of his Anti-Horse-Thief-Association. The organization dates from pre-Civil War days and has now changed its name to the Anti-Thief Association although they spend more time sponsoring Little League teams than shooting pony bandits. But nothing would keep Grandpa from a meeting. The smell of pipe and cigar smoke would roll out of the one-room schoolhouse where they met, and Grandpa’s fondest memory was of the night someone stole George Wilson’s gavel. George was the president of this organization dedicated to abolishing thievery and one of his own members had robbed him of his official object of office. When Grandpa got home that night he shook an old maple gavel out of his boot. "Must of fallen in there," he chuckled.

Maybe that’s what I’ll do the next time someone begs me to join an organization that "won’t take any of my time." I’ll steal their gavel.

You ever in Coonridge, stop by. We may not answer the door but you’ll enjoy the trip.