Developing My Social Consciousness

One of my seventh grade teachers turned out to be one of the most influential people in my life. His name was Mr. Bodecker. If I ever knew his given name, it is now long forgotten. He was incredibly intelligent and held some very unpopular political opinions. I had a great deal of respect for him.


One day he took me aside. ' I need to talk to you.


'You and I are what are called intellectuals. We live by our brain power. And we tend to get above ourselves. I don't want you to make that mistake. I cannot stand the thought of you becoming a snob.'


He was talking very seriously; clearly this was something important to him. 'We like to think that we are the most important people in society, but we aren't. Not at all. Society could get along without us perfectly well. It wouldn't be as easy or as much fun, but it would be possible. We are not the meat and potatoes of society. Not even the vegetables.'

'We are just the dessert.'

We are not just the dessert, we aren't the cake, we aren't even the frosting. I think we're those little sugar sprinkles that decorate the top of the cake.






Maybe we add a little beauty, a little sweetness, but people ought to wash out there mouths after eating those, they form cavities and eating too much makes them fat. My dear young lady, we have to be careful not to become just a top-heavy burden.'

'There are, however, people who really are necessary. Mostly they all into roughly three categories.'

'First are the producers, most importantly those who provide us with food. Farmers. And farm workers of all sorts. Nobody could live without the food they provide, the nourishment necessary to sustain life.'



'But that food wouldn't do us any good if it rotted on the farm, so we also need people to get it to us. Truck drivers, loaders, packers, grocers, all the people that get that food to us/


'And then there are those who clean up the mess. These are the least respected, but vitally important. Have you ever thought what it would be like if the garbage collectors refused to pick up your trash?




--An aside. In fact, I lived in Las Vegas for a time. Summers there in the desert are very, very hot, temperatures often hovering around 45C (115F) in the summer. I will never forget the summer the garbage collectors went on strike. My garbage was taken care of, though, thanks to Bodecker's teaching.)

'And the sewer workers and the grave and most women.'

That took me up. 'Huh?!'


'Most women spend most of their lives cleaning up after others, keeping homes livable. Think about your own home.' What could I say? My mother was more interested in drinking coffee and smoking ciagarettes with our neighbor than cleaning the house.


I heard him loud and clear, though. I vowed then and there never to be the perfect housekeeper.

'These are people society cannot get along without. Those who produce. Those who distribute. Those who clean up. These are the most important people, the ones most deserving of our respect. The ones who rarely get it.'


'Most of these people are workers, working class people, not the intellectuals.

'Remember, we make life enjoyable; they make life possible. I suggest you learn to appreciate the workers and always treat them with the highest respect. If you ever start to consider yourself above these people, I promise you, I'll hunt you down and pull you down a few notches.'

To this day, his words are almost a mantra to me, a sort of poem.


Those who produce,
Those who distribute,
Those who clean up the mess.


These ideas weren't really new to me, however, although this expression of them was. I didn't exactly start singing L'Internationale. Although I was never actually a Communist, I have always been quite a bit left of centre. I was told I'd outgrow this perversion, but I never have.



This philosophy of respecting workers has served me well in practical ways.


When I was, for a short time, playing the role of 'professor,' my colleagues couldn't figure out why, when some work needed done in my office, such as a light changed, it was done at once, while it took days or even weeks for the same service to be given them, or why I couldn't walk across campus without a groundskeeper handing me a flower or two.


As I mentioned above, my garbage collectors came and took mine during the strike, a way of saying thanks for the cold lemonade in the summer and hot coffee in the winter. ( I still provide those to our garbage collectors, by the way. Just a small way of saying thanks.) My 'colleagues' and my neighbours, of course, resented me, but they had never had a Bodecker, I guess, the set them down the correct path.


Note: The picture of the Sikh farm workers is from the Sacramento Valley in 1912, from a website called, Sikhs: The Most Visible Yet Most Misunderstood Minority. You might like to check it out.