Masters and Servants

It’s been a while since Downton Abbey was last on TV but I've been thinking of Mr. Carson the butler and the rest of the downstairs staff for two weeks now. More than thinking, I've been empathizing with them, though I'd wager that Carson would argue I am nothing like them.

The Yale College Writing Center co-sponsored a lecture on April 8 by David Mitchell, author of Cloud Atlas and several other books. I loved the book, and the film, and was quite willing to do all the work necessary to insure David’s visit went well: ten pages of forms to get an honorarium paid to a foreign national, car service arrangements, hotel booking, hall rental, etc. Everything did go well; the event was well attended and my boss wrote me an especially kind thank you note afterward. I take my job seriously and was pleased he recognized my efforts.

One of the events was a dinner, sandwiched between a Master’s Tea and the lecture; it was for David and nine guests. I was not one of them.

It was perfectly natural that I not be invited and I totally understand that reality. In truth, had I been invited I likely would not have gone: there was too much to do for the evening lecture. (In deeper truth I likely would have not gone because those kind of affairs make me uncomfortable -- why is a subject for another, more soul-searching post). I am not writing to say I should have been invited to the dinner, that I wanted to be invited or to rail against the administrative traditions that kept me from being invited. I am writing only to say I know what it feels like to be the servant. Like Carson, I serve my master; I call him my boss, but he is to me what Lord Grantham is to Carson.

There was a time when it was not “supposed” to be like this. I was a straight-A high school student who entered Notre Dame as an optimistic freshman and managed to make Dean’s List my first semester. I was destined to be, in Tom Wolfe’s words, a Master of the Universe.

Didn’t happen.

I went down a different road. I dropped out of ND, served in VISTA, returned to Notre Dame only to drop out again and then spent 20 odd years in the restaurant business. In 1984 I met Ransom and then in 1986 we reunited and began our life together.

I have few complaints. Just the other day my friend Dan remarked that I had led a fascinating life; I agree. I have been enriched by most everything I ever did and had even one thing been different – think of Bradbury's butterfly – I likely would not have met the man of my dreams and would not be where I am today.

So again, this is not a complaint -- just an observation. There are masters and there are servants in this world. I know which I am.