Runup to DisCon

It’s been  a crazy week, but then what do you expect when you plan a weekend for 165 of your closest friends?  After  more than two years or planning and  expecting and musing, the 2013 District Conference is about to kick off.

Three years ago, when I first decided to have the event at Spruce Point Inn here in Boothbay Harbor, I did it because I couldn’t imagine explaining to the Chamber and local business community why I would have it somewhere else.  I knew that we would max out Spruce Point Inn — and that Spruce Point Inn is the only venue to even come close in the Region — but I also know that Frank and I are extremely fortunate to live in a “destination” and I would be crazy to have it anywhere else.

What I didn’t realize is that because it is here, we’ve been able to hold down costs by using home hospitality for our speakers, we’ve got all our own club resources to draw on, and maybe best of all:  I don’t have to pack!

I leave in a few minutes to help set up.  It’s going to be a very exciting (and busy) next few days).

Awards and Recognition

It’s getting toward the end of the Rotary year, now, and my life seems to be increasingly filled with awards.

There was the Service Above Self award — Rotary names just a handful of them each year to those remarkably special Rotarians who do a just-plain spectacular job.  I had nominated Terry Hodskins for this award — she is the brains behind “Wrap a Smile,” which in the past 10 years has been responsible for getting almost 19,000 donated quilts to children undergoing Rotaplast and other Rotary – sponsored surgeries.  That’s a huge award, up there with Ann Lee Hussey’s White Hosue Champion of Change award for all the work she has done to promote (and hasten) the end of polio.

And then there are the much smaller awards. I’ve practically cramped my hand signing Zone awards and the Presidential Citations — with 40 clubs, many of them high-achieving, is it any surprise that d0zens of club awards will be presented next week at the District Conference?  And today was the LongHaulers Luncheon, when we took time to thank Rotarians who have marked 20 or more years to the organization.  Each one of them received  a certificate as well — and having prepared about 80 certificates, we just handed them out rather than ceremoniously presenting them one by one.

Endless ceremony, anyone?

No Rotarian does what they do for the recognition, of course.  But in a volunteer organization, recognition is the only form of thanks possible.  And recognition by one’s peers is the highest form of flattery possible.  So recognition it is.

follow the Rotary adventure:  http://www.rotary7780.org

One Man’s Trash … Another Man’s Treasure

As you may have gathered from the Delta references, Frank and I are not at home — we’re in NYC for a little business (remember business) and a little pleasure.  The pleasure part yesterday — a beautiful, warm spring day — involved going down to discover the High Line.

The High Line is an old elevated railway that runs along (above) 10th Avenue from the West VIllage north to Chelsea. It’s  an old warehouse district, and the freight line was once the way that manufacturers got their goods in and out of NYC.  But those days are long gone, and for too long the High Line was no more than urban blight; a deserted elevated line cutting through the neighborhoods.  The only reason it stayed was that Penn Central had long since been nationalized, and no one wanted to pay to demolish the thing.

By the ’90s, the neighborhood began to see something positive in the Line, and about eight years ago Mayor Bloomberg — utilizing money from the federal Rails to Trails program — agreed to invest in the High Line rather than tear it down. 

Today, it’s a mile-plus-long green space 30 feet above the streets, complete with landscaping and benches and art exhibit and a small food court.  And also:  people! For a weekday morning, we were impressed by how crowded the High Line   in a was! And it’s beautifully landscaped — in an urban chic sort of way, as well as offering remarkably different views of a city skyline I thought I knew well.

There’s more:  The High Line has clearly gone far to yuppify the neighborhood.  Apartment buildings are sprouting out of old warehouses; views that once featured the old tracks are now clearly much-sought-after since they now feature the park space.  The neighborhood has everything — except good rail service for its citizens.  And I couldn’t help smiling at what Bloomberg has accomplished:  For whatever it cost to create the High Line, he has managed to revitalize an entire neighborhood, private enterprise putting money into new apartments and shopping complexes.  Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to work?

The Way Life Should Be

I didn’t mince words with the “customer service” I received from Delta Air Lines last Saturday, so it’s only fair that I give equal time to remarkably unequal treatment on Monday.

I drove to the airport that morning, leaving time for several errands on the way.  Everything moved remarkably smoothly, and i arrived at the airport in good time — early enough  catch an earlier flight, as a matter of fact.

I approached the desk with trepidation.  “Can you get me on the flight leaving at 11:45? “  I asked.  “Yes, but it will cost you $50 for the change,”  was the reply.  “Drat,:” I said, knowing full well that was the rule.  “Even if I tell you that Delta canceled my flight last Friday and booked me on one seven hours later?”  The desk clerk didn’t hesitate:  “Okay”  he said, :”Window or aisle?” 

Now THAT is customer service.  Also the reason Frank and I live in Maine.  Thank you very much, Delta!

More Time Yet, Fly By Jet

I guess I should be glad that Delta Air Lines didn’t try to charge me the $50 change fee.

As you know from yesterday’s post, Delta canceled my flight yesterday morning, and rebooked me on a flight leaving that evening at 6:00. When I arrived at LaGuardia, a quick read of the schedule told me that a flight was going out at 3:00 — and when I asked at customer service, I learned that three seats were available.

I only need one.

But I could only be waitlisted for the flight because my ticket was in a different “category.” whatever that means.  So okay, I waited. Reasonably patiently.  About a half-hour before it was time to board the plane I went up to the desk to ask about availabilities. Now, I hope I am polite to desk clerks, and I usually get along fine with them.  The mis-perception might have been that from my perspective, Delta had already delayed me four hours, and from her perspective, she was doing me a favor to get me home ahead of the 6:00 departure schedule.  Whatever.  In any event, the Delta desk clerk was clearly not about to accommodate me any more than the rules allowed, and just as clearly, customer service was not built into her psyche.

She did call me up about five minutes prior to boarding to say that there “might” be a seat available, but that it would be in the emergency exit row.  Did I understand English?  she asked.  I refrained from pointing out that it was the language we were both speaking.  Was English my native language?  I refrained from pointing out that I could answer that question in the affirmative, but she couldn’t.  Could I lift 50 to 75 pounds?  I threw caution to the wind and said I could.  I also said that I preferred the exit row because of the increased legroom.

That was my second mistake.

In the end, she boarded me, and as I walked through the plane I passed a completely empty exit row.  My destination?  The rear bulkhead, with the seats that don’t recline, and in this case, next to the single Dad whose screaming children were in the seat immediately ahead of us.  Since I was the last person onboard, all I had to do was wait until the door closed to move forward to the aforementioned exit row.  Luxury.  All by myself with plenty of stretch.

So, petty airline bureaucracy at work.  The airlines have long since given up any pretense at customer service, but this clerk’s attitude and response was really exceptionally bad.  However, even she couldn’t delay the flight any longer, and I arrived back home in time to get to my evening commitment.  

Day over.

Time to Spare, Go by Air

Frank and I came down to NYC on Thursday for several days of business meetings.  (Remember business?  Even District Governors have business.)  We came down by Amtrak (to quote Frank, the only way to fly), but the plans included me to scoot back to Maine by air for the weekend — a party for a friend who is leaving town, and the GSE potluck for our inbound team – and then on Monday I would scoot back to NYC for the rest of the business meetings.

At least, that was the plan.  When the ATC sequestration kerfuffle made headline news, I had an inkling that this was going to be a bad plan, but there was really nothing to do to fix it at that point. The meetings, however, have been productive, and so has the Metropolitan Opera we have been able to enjoy in the evenings.

Wagner lulled my senses and made me forget about potential travel insanity until this morning, when we awoke to a message that my morning flight from LaGuardia was cancelled, and that Delta had “protected” me on a flight out at 6:30.  That would kabosh the party, but a frantic hour checking out other air, train and bus options didn’t come up with anything that would get me to Maine any sooner and back to NYC in time for our first appointment on Monday, so I regretted the party and in no mood to enjoy the Big Apple at this point, made plans to cool my heels in LaGuardia waiting for the flight.

A check of the monitors showed that there is a Delta flight to Portland leaving at 3:05.  A check at the counter showed that there are seats available.  But the seats aren’t in my “category,” whatever that means, so according to the computer, there are no seats available. Got that?

As a result, I’m officially waitlisted on a flight that leaves in two hours and on which there are empty seats, but the computer won’t recognize my need and availability of those seats until it’s time to board the flight.

If three guys show up in next 2 hours willing to pay full fare to get to Portland this afternoon, I won’t get on.  Otherwise, seems pretty possible that I will.

So much for the customer coming first.  So much for even informing the customer of what to do in order to protect herself.  The truly weird thing is that this situation only makes sense in Airplania — but every member of the traveling public can share a similar story.

Wish me luck getting on the flight!

 

News You Can Use

I spent the fall semester in 1974 in Rome, and so I missed most of the buildup of Watergate, including the Saturday Night Massacre, and also including the events leading up to Spiro Agnew’s resignation.  We American students didn’t trust the Italian newspapers for news –  our mediocre language skills and the Italian over-fondness of adjectives — combined with unbelievable news — we just didn’t accept what we read.  The Herald Tribune wasn’t readily available — at least not in our corner of Trastevere outside the tourist meccas of Rome — and so for news we had to rely on the Rome Daily American, which boasted a news hole that would make USA Today‘s seem generous and incisive in comparison.

When the shootings took place in Columbine, I happened to be in Paris on a business trip. Again, it was hard to believe that what we were hearing and reading about was what was happening.  Although of course it was.

And Frank and I missed seeing the events of  9/1111 live. That Tuesday was moving day for us — the radio was in a box and I had thrown out the TV prior to the move on the grounds that it needed to be replaced anyway.  The movers spent the day hauling our belongings into the apartment building,  and one of our new neighbors took pity on them and kindly left her door open so they could catch snatches of news on their way past.  They shared what they heard with us, real time, but it wasn’t until that evening when we were able to find a sports bar for a bite to eat that we saw the film of the planes flying into the towers for the first time. It was one of the few times in my life that I have consciously sought out a restaurant with the TV blaring.

Fast forward to this past week, and the horrific events in Boston and also in Waco.  Times have changed.  Thanks to CNN and smartphones and Facebook, we had all the news, all the time — or at least what passes for news on CNN.  You give us 22 minutes, we’ll give you shocker headlines and lots of opinion and rumor but very little of substance. And repeat the stories ad infinitum.

All of which is to say that my information about both of last week’s tragedies is a bit superficial.  Today’s NY Times helped, but the explosion in Texas seems to have been subsumed by all things Boston, all the time.

i write this on the bus headed to Portland from Boston.  We flew into Logan Airport, and except for the flag at half-staff, there was nothing to show that Friday’s shutdown had ever happened. So I’m left trying to figure out the details.  Did the planes continue to land, but no way for the passengers to leave the airport?  Did the planes continue to depart, but only with connecting passengers?  I guess I will find out eventually..

All I can say is that American flags are incredibly visible — a clear throwback to the weeks and months after 9/11 — but at the same time it’s clear that lives have returned to  normal — except for those lives that will never know normal again.