.... © Jeffrey Dane 2001

Whether we like the idea or not, and whether we admit it to ourselves or not, most of our teachers - and especially our grade-school teachers, who influence us during very formative years - have an effect on us, and a very real bearing on how we turn out as adults. As school children we sometimes had baloney for lunch. Moreover, we largely enjoyed it. Many of us will remember this - but we may not readily realize that baloney of another kind was also in a very real way "fed" to us in the classroom, too: in such cases it took the form of nonsense disguised as information given to us by the very teachers from whom we were learning. Most of us didn't even know it then, and those few who might have suspected it were too young to actually question it, and/or too controlled even to think of objecting to it. We were taught that class distinction doesn't exist in America, and that the country was initially settled by those who had left England because they found class distinction there abhorrent and had had it "up to here" with the inequities between "commoners" and royalty.

It may come as something of a surprise to some that class distinction is very much alive and thriving. It may also make others downright uncomfortable to hear this, but a sentiment worthy of H.L. Mencken is that it's the obligation of the journalist to comfort the troubled and to trouble the comfortable. Class distinction is not official, of course, but it's tangible and with us on a daily basis. As just one example, the partition that literally separates the present-day "nobility" from the common herd can be bought with the purchase of "first class" accommodations on a plane. As another, try getting into the first-class lounge by showing a cabin-class ticket. Since the first class passengers land at the same destination, and at the same instant, as their pets in the cargo hold, I sometimes wonder if such things as a wider seat, porcelain dishes and a fresh rose are actually worth the very marked differences in cost between first class and economy class tickets. Whatever advantages bought by those additional costs seem quite disproportionate - but those with unlimited funds have every right to spend money in the most determined and productive ways they see fit. Our own choices surely represent us best.

Those who need further proof and illustration of contemporary class distinction need only take a close look at what's called the "hospitality" industry, where these disparities seem to be not only most pronounced but are exemplified nearly to perfection. In many cases the inequities are positively palpable. Anyone who's ever worked in a hotel, a private club, or some such entity will have experienced it and can verify it, even if only off the record - and off the premises, away from the eyes of the establishment's "general manager," himself invariably in a position of despotic domination with the employees as his usually helpless and hapless subjects.

By reason of a kind of special "protocol" - a tradition, established Heaven-knows-when and by Heaven-knows-whom, and which is characteristic of this industry - the treatment of hotel and private club employees could be called abusive in all but name. The offenses are committed mostly by management, and very seldom by the public, from whom such injustices are kept hidden. Often spoken to and treated like garbage, such employees are viewed by those at the management level as veritable victims. This may be the hospitality field's own "dirty little secret" and it goes on behind the scenes, where these subtle but real indignities aren't seen by the hotel or club guests. Background personnel, such as those on the janitorial or housekeeping staff, are by design almost invisible to the public. Management largely prefers it this way.

The general manager in such circumstances occupies a place similar to that of the captain of a ship in the 18th century. We all know what kind of authority such men had then, and what kind of punishments they could inflict on their totally defenseless subjects without having to concern themselves with a nuisance incidental like accountability. While corporal punishment is no longer legal or tolerated, many of the despotically oppressive and even vicious characteristics remain with us today in the person of the "general manager" at virtually any hospitality entity. Those who are characterized by qualities like consideration and fairness are the exceptions, not the rule.

For their public performances these people should be nominated for Oscars. In the way they conduct themselves in the presence of guests of the hotel - or members of the club, as the case may be - the quality of their acting is incomparable and gives new significance to the word "practiced." It would have been the envy of Spencer Tracy himself - The Actors' Actor - and would surpass the ego of any of today's superstars. The synthetic smiles they have on the faces they put before the public fool everyone but the employees (without whom the organization couldn't function), who are usually at the mercy, even literally so, of these petty, self-inflating tyrants. The Marquis de Sade could have learned much from these people; perhaps they, in turn, actually learned from his experiences.

The relatively short time I spent earning a living in the hospitality field, as the Front Office Manager at a private social club, was extremely unpleasant for me. It was made so not by my co-workers, with whom I had a wonderful rapport - or by the club's officers, who were almost to a man among the most decent, earnest, distinguished and admirable gentlemen I've ever met. Responsible for the 1990s reign of terror at this place, for almost every employee, was the general manager of the establishment, a man with unquestioned authority who seemed to take a perverted pleasure in seeking and finding imperfection with everything and everyone.

The official reason he gave me for my eventual dismissal was "inadequate performance" - but that such a determination was made after a full fourteen months of service belies its legitimacy. The real reason is that I ultimately said No to him when he told me he wanted me to spend time working in the kitchen, and also as a waiter, "as part of your training." (The logic of just how working in the kitchen and working as a waiter would contribute to my training as the Front Office Manager still escapes me). He enjoyed and got away with making up his own rules as he went along; such people usually give reasons that are quite transparent.

I had my own reasons for not complying; they were specific and valid; and most importantly, my reasons satisfied me. My concurrence with what he wanted would have set a very troublesome precedent, and I decided that I'd not allow this to happen. He advised me he himself had agreed to such things during his own training. Further, the fool tips his hand: I couldn't believe my ears when he actually told me that his having worked in kitchens had damaged the skin on his hands. His tactic backfired. Evidently he thought this revelation would be an inducement for me to agree to his proposition and make the same mistakes he had - and if what he wanted was sympathy for his own misfortune he certainly wasn't getting it from me. "To have agreed to that was your decision. This one is mine," was my response (which didn't please him).

Then came the turning-point. "We'll make a waiter out of you yet!" is what I was told one day soon afterward in the employees' dining room by the club's comptroller - and with the most cocky self-assurance I'd ever heard in anyone's voice. For her to have opened her mouth about this was a mistake, because although I acknowledged her remark with total silence it was in fact at that very moment I resolved that her prediction would never come to pass. And it never did.

Evidently the manager was conceited enough to have already informed others, including the chef, about his plans for me even before he had told me about them - and, by extension, before he knew of my refusal. This is a critical point, because he had spoken too soon. He had assumed, wrongly, that I would accept intimidation, of any kind and in whatever form. I told him that he had hired me and that he had the right to fire me, if he really wanted to - but that until or unless he did, I would remain at the front office, which was the specific position for which I had been hired. He had clearly underestimated me, and in so doing, created for himself a very uncomfortable situation. This was something for which I was not to blame.

What he had done was confirmed for me when someone on the kitchen staff remarked, "I hear you're going to be working with us!" I made certain my consistent response to such remarks was, "You'll have to ask the general manager about that." My strategy worked beautifully. Evidently he was approached about it on at least several occasions, which must have irked him sore.

I decided to put an end to the nonsense once and for all when I was asked by the chef yet again (and for the last time, as it turned out) when I was going to start working in the kitchen. I simply replied, very matter-of-factly, "I'm not - not at any time, under any circumstances, or for any reason." Silence can be eloquent and it frankly gave me a world of satisfaction to know that the manager's ill-advised plan had blown up in his face, and that my patience and consistent refusal to acknowledge others' questions had made him look like a fool.

In keeping with traditional corporate procedure, he focused only on what best suited him, and I was accused of being "inflexible." That I had never before refused any reasonable request or instructions evidently didn't matter to him, and he threatened me with eventual dismissal from the job "for insubordination." He never realized of course that I silently awaited, with the greatest pleasure and anticipation, the advent of that day when I'd no longer have to contend with The Job From Hell. I found it noteworthy that this "general" manager used what's commonly a military term, "insubordinaton." It showed clearly where he was coming from, where he was going, and it's ideally suggestive of the very concept of class distinction.

He sought fault as though it were buried treasure, absolutely gloating when errata turned up, and used whatever other inconsistencies he found to try to invalidate my accomplishments and contributions to the club, however modest they may have been (and there's value even in modest accomplishments). On the day of my eventual termination, he had the nerve to ask for a written resignation from me. Naturally, I refused; I wasn't about to thusly relinquish on his whim whatever unemployment benefits I might soon be entitled to. It was a sad reflection on him if he really believed I would do so.

The job itself I hated with the same passion I have for writing. It can be disturbing to have to coddle people whose chief delights are those of the table, and who hold veritable summit meetings to decide what they're going to eat at their next banquet function - yet who, in their fixation with frugality that would give Silas Marner pause, insist on substituting potato chips and pretzels for the usual hors d'ouvres, and soft drinks for wine, in order to minimize costs (these are the people who buy boats with the equivalent of my life's savings); whose raison d' etre is shopping and lunching; who pride themselves on keeping in the building their own private stock of wines, as though it were a personal accomplishment born of their own efforts and skills; and who smoke ninety-dollar cigars. Now I'm finished contributing to their life style at the expense of my life span. How glad I was to be rid of that job is unimaginable. I was actually delighted when I eventually received my "government grant" ( - a euphemism for unemployment benefits).

I didn't inform the club members that I'm an author, since my real work - writing - was irrelevant to the "job" - how I earned my livelihood. The general manager, however, still made it a point, though needlessly, of reminding me on several occasions that I was to make no mention of my publication credentials to club members or guests, adding, "You have to know your place around here!" The tone of his remark was self-explanatory. He may have been insulted by inference: the only time his name appeared in print was on memos and written reprimands directed at underlings, all of whom he usually treated like servants while he treated himself like French royalty - and had others do likewise.

He was in a position where he was operatively getting away with murder. From the train station each morning he'd phone the valet to instruct the chef to have his breakfast ready and brought to his office the instant he arrived. To insure he'd not be caught in one of his most frequent activities - sitting in his office reading his newspaper or magazines - he insisted on being informed just as soon as any officer of the club entered the building. Ask him an honest question and he'd get positively annoyed that you would ask "a question like that" - and not to bother him with such nuisance questions would get him positively annoyed that you didn't apprise him of the matter at hand. It may sound funny to some, but it wasn't. Normal behavior was not a feature of his nature. It was very, very sad.

Early one morning a guest was waiting for a club member. I'd never actually met him but he looked very familiar. I asked him his name. "Jastrow," he replied. The eminent astronomer, Dr. Robert Jastrow, gave us in one of his writings a scenario worthy of thought: "For the scientist who has lived by his faith in the power of reason, the story ends like a bad dream. He has scaled the mountains of ignorance, he is about to conquer the highest peak, and as he pulls himself over the final rock, he is greeted by a band of theologians who have been sitting there for centuries." In keeping with the principle of human courtesy, I told Dr. Jastrow I was pleased to meet him, that I admired his work, and I briefly commented about the recent passing of his colleague, Dr. Carl Sagan. All of this took place within less than one minute, and he seemed genuinely pleased to have had even this brief and innocent conversation.

When the general manager arrived and asked me the status of things that morning, I told him that the club had earlier had as a visitor Dr. Robert Jastrow, a prominent astronomer. - The manager blew up, ranting and lecturing me about personal decorum and how club members and their guests shouldn't be fawned over, no matter who they are, that being "star struck" is immature, that only fools are impressed with celebrity, etc. (This was the man who had waited outside in inclement weather for Nancy Reagan's arrival - and who made a point of personally accompanying her, along with her host, to the banquet room where a luncheon was being held for her). I was never able to figure out what it was that had set him off on this occasion, but it was no isolated exception: such things happened frequently. His conduct gave me - and other employees - the distinct impression that he was on some kind of medication, because this was not the behavior of a rational person. I did conclude, though, that he might not have recognized Dr. Jastrow at all, and that perhaps he was annoyed that I knew who he was.

I was aware that he was watching me like a hawk after a special luncheon for Tom Wolfe, to see if I'd have the audacity to say anything to the famous author. One could absolutely sense that he was hoping I'd do so and thus provide even more grist for his mill. I decided to approach Mr. Wolfe - for the purpose of helping him get into his coat, which I had brought over to him. "Why, thank you" the author said to me with a smile. "You're quite welcome, Mr. Wolfe," I responded. I was later subjected to a brief but intense grilling by the club manager about "what kind of conversation" I had had with Tom Wolfe.

I know that the general manager had received a number of letters and fax messages about me - perhaps a dozen or more - from various club members and/or their secretaries. These were letters of commendation which expressed thanks for my having orchestrated a certain event for them at the club, for having made various special arrangements, etc.,etc. I'm aware of these tangible forms of their appreciation because they were kind enough to fax or mail me copies - blind copies - of these communications they had addressed originally to the general manager about me. For whatever his reason(s) may have been, he brought to my attention only one of those communiqués and never made mention of any of the others. It's reasonable to presume that even more such complimentary notifications about me had been sent to him, since not every one of the senders might have copied me on those missives. I did, however, make a point of taking home copies of these documents whenever I received one, mindful of the possibility that I might some day find them useful in a very practical way.

There were three different committees, and their members had to be sent fax messages on a consistent basis: they were asked to check whether or not they'd attend the next committee meeting(s), and then fax the message(s) back to us. When I first became an employee, the procedures of sending, receiving, and keeping track of these faxes were a logistical nightmare, because some people were on only one committee, some on two, and some on all three. This involved the transmission of multiple messages with multiple fax pages, varying from person to person, for each individual committee member, depending upon how many committees each club officer was on.

In time, I designed a 1-page message that could be faxed to all committee members, one right after the other, thereby saving them time and effort individually in response, and also saving time, effort, and costs for the club at large in the marked decrease in the number of fax pages transmitted. Before this, the innumerable variables precluded a blanket message that could apply to all committee members; now, however, only one fax page, covering all committee contingencies, was ultimately exchanged each way.

One morning a committee member complimented me on my initiative in having thought of and designed the 1-page fax message to replace the bothersome multi-pagers, that he and others found it much more convenient than before, etc. Later that day the general manager (to whom the committee member had evidently mentioned it) asked me what had prompted me to re-design and simplify the fax notices. The tenor of his question, and his anticipatory expression, revealed clearly what I could immediately foresee: that whatever answer I provided would be unsatisfactory, and I didn't have to be clairvoyant to predict this. When I told him that the new way was clearly more efficient in that it was easier and less time-consuming for the committee members in their responses, and more cost-effective for the club, he replied, "You didn't do that to make it more convenient for them. You did it to make things easier for yourself!"

It's been said that you can't argue with logic and that you can't argue with success. Clearly some people can, on both counts. What I had done benefitted everyone - but what bothered this man with the Napoleonic power complex and a mean streak that even a blind person could see, was that I might have been one of those who benefitted. This unforgettable incident exemplied not only the kind of man he was but also the futility of the situation I was in. With the consistent disruptions, it was extremely difficult for me to keep order with the petty-cash box (one of my innumerable responsibilities). My consistent reminders and pleas for help in this regard fell on ears deafer than Beethoven's.

Early in my employment I arrived one day wearing dark brown suede shoes. "Black shoes! Black shoes only!" was the comment from the man famous among the employees as the personification of impatience. Normally this would strike any reasonable person as a strange and even wasteful request, quite unworthy of regard, considering that most of my time was spent behind the front desk, where I was visible only from above the waist. It isn't so strange, though, when it's coming from someone whose need for control and to micro-manage every facet of someone's day is a literally pathological feature of his daily life. He had a very hard time of it when I told him - and carefully explained exactly why - I needed to customize some of my computer menus and icons in accordance with the specifics of how I prepared the various documents I generated and revised daily. He ultimately "permitted" it, but very grudgingly. Some would take the subtle, more polite approach and say that his sense of priorities needed major adjustment. Others would be plainer, and say that such people are, in a very real sense, lunatics.

He was from a country that traditionally prides itself on its own refinement, grace, and elegance, but whose citizens have a world-wide reputation for looking down their noses at "the great unwashed," and anyone and anything not indigenous to their own culture. In keeping with this attitude, he made it a point of stocking wines almost exclusively from his native land, feeling perhaps that these were the only ones worthy of his tastes, and that wines from other countries were totally sub-standard and corresponded to the savages who inhabit those places.

Employees can perform well when they're offered conditions under which good performance is possible and encouraged. An occasional touch of flexibility and understanding, and even a hint of kindness and appreciation for something, can be a remarkable incentive for most people. It's likely that this never even occurred to those in charge, since I saw none of it during my tenure at this establishment. I did, however, hear the manager lament that because I had done such a poor job and had made him "look bad," his superiors had reduced the amount of his own Christmas bonus. I didn't believe it then and I don't believe it now. I never saw an entity where morale was lower than it was at that place.

I did have a wonderful rapport with all of my co-workers. The only exception was the man on a massive power trip, the Robespierre of general managers - but it was the exception that made the difference between an enjoyable job where I could have been far more productive for the organization, and a hateful one where my hands were tied at every turn. I do owe him some gratitude, though: he unwittingly furnished me with the material for this article.

One doesn't take an early retirement unless one is able to - and I'm very thankful for my good fortune in having now been able to take that early retirement I had always hoped for. Now, rather than a place filled with petty hostilities, my writing - my real work - awaits me each day - - and now, instead of having to live for weekends and holidays, I live for and enjoy each and every day.

---

Author's Autobiography:

Jeffrey Dane is an independent historian, researcher and author whose work appears in publications in the USA and abroad in several languages including Danish, German, Russian and Swedish. He was recently informed (by a European orchestra conductor) that one of his articles - about Leonard Bernstein - is scheduled to be translated into Bulgarian.

---

If you haven't used the 'Vox Populi', get started! Send in your comments and critique on
Inditer.com writers. Inditer.com is a community of like minded writers.
Each wants and deserves the help of the other. Do it! It won't cost a dime! You'll be glad you helped!

The Jeffrey Dane Main Page - - Email Jeffrey Dane - -

- - -