March 1971

One of the young folks reads this column. I know, for it was he who placed me squarely behind the eight ball with, "Dad, it was interesting, but what did it have to do with the League?"

This was a time to talk about life, the uncertainty of each undertaking, the personalities involved in most organizations, the goals and dreams of officers and committees, and the relationship of time, talent and efforts of individuals. The League is a great example. So many have worked so hard and done so much, yet the struggle always lies ahead.

The problems are compounded with growth. There is more and more to absorb, understand, and solve. The first bruises, cuts, and frustrations pile on. Suddenly, you find that not everything objectionable is dissipated by someone patting you on the head or kissing where it hurts. Now that you are somebody, you have problems and at least you must share in their solution.

Most are aware of the urgent inner call to push forward to the next plateau. Never are we quite satisfied or secure.

So it has been for this association of some 150,000 federal employees, many of whom do not know a thing about the League or its function. They only hear indirectly that it might lend a big hand if you are planning a trip or wanting to buy something at a discount. Who really relates to the other 54 agencies and their employees? We have our own niche and that's enough for anyone to chew.

Like the young man with all the dreams and ambitions, the League has grown and stumbled. It has plunged forward, made great strides, fallen and gotten up to try again. The potential is always the incentive. That many people and that many agencies and a central interest and dedication--Think of the possibilities if that many spoke with one voice. Yes, mountains could be moved. Hope springs with some real justification.

The League is not at that point yet, but our little pattern of a life example must take a man into those years he calls the prime of life. He has learned that the late teenager who was ready to save the world at 18, is now 30 and can't save fifty cents.

The mortgage payments and the rent are always due; the grocery costs mount; the car needs unexpected repairs; there must be insurance in case something happens to the head of the household...

We want the best for each one and can't always convince each component that we are doing the best we can, have stretched the resources and income to the best advantage, and next year we will have the time and the money to take that long anticipated trip with the entire family. Yes, the pot is at the end of the rainbow.

If the struggle of life for an individual never ends as long as there is life, what of an organization that is in effect a loose federation with many of the components more interested in the immediate backyard of the own R&W?

Such thoughts took me back to boyhood. Old Charlie Scott sat on an oak stump. He had been laying a flagstone walk around our house, and he was both hot and tired. A young chap sat at his feet to show him the toad frog which had hopped out from under the porch.

Gently he lifted the toad into the cup of a powerful, calloused hand. Then he explained the superstition that warts would come off the toad and onto the hand of the little boy who picked him up. No, not on a big, tough, black hand. After all, warts are white. That's what he said anyway.

I didn't believe Charlie, and I told him so... But I did watch my hands for a couple of weeks. And I do go out the same door I came in when I'm visiting someone, and don't want to break a friendship. Charlie said I should do that.

Maybe some of you will understand that I do not believe any of this stuff about being born under a certain sign that makes me jovial, and bright and capable and understanding and happy and willing and... I just glance at the Farmer's Almanac to find out when the bad storms are coming. I don't set any store by what it says.

I don't think there is anything to Friday the 13th, but I was in a banzai attack in World War II on April 13th, a Friday. I had an accident on such a day and was in the middle of a severe wind storm on another...and in the center of a violent confrontation between two strong arm groups of men on a Friday the 13th. I don't believe in such things.

On my desk is a round, black object. It has a white circle with a black eight in the circle. They call it an eight ball. If you shake it soundly and ask a question it give an answer. I don't really believe the things it indicates... Or do I?...

I asked about the prospects for the League of Federal Recreation Associations in 1971 and turned up the window in the bottom of the eight ball. There seemed to be an eye looking back at me. Then, an eyelid opened and closed a couple of times (I saw the eyelashes). Then suddenly it was there. The answer which I must believe flashed forth...OUTLOOK GOOD.

David L. Brigham
Executive Director