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By Michael
Mell
Growing up in the 1960s, I spent
many Sunday afternoons visiting my grandparents at their apartment in
Manhattan’s Inwood Park section. They immigrated with my mother to the
United States from Germany before World War II, and their apartment always
had an exotic flavor for me.
While not quite a visit through the wardrobe to Narnia, listening to their
accented English, seeing the paintings and furniture they had brought with
them and the scent of mothballs made me feel like I was in a different
world. In their living room were two chairs where my father and grandfather
sat and talked after lunch. Meanwhile, across the room was a long, narrow
couch; I sat on one end with my mother next to me, and my grandmother next
to her.
Fast-forward to 2005 and a Sunday visit to my parent’s house, the house
where I grew up. Lunch was over, and I was sitting on a similarly narrow
couch in the living room. My father was in a chair across from me, and we
were talking. Now, however, my youngest son was on one end of the couch, I
was in the middle and my mother was on the end.
I looked at my son and had an out-ofbody experience. The sensation was like
being inside of a time-lapse film. Within the space of a few seconds I was
transported back 45 years and felt myself sliding across the couch. When I
returned to reality, I looked toward my mother and realized that, in time, I
would be sliding again.
A Different Viewpoint
This story may seem a bit maudlin to some, but to readers more than 50 years
old, it may resonate. The trip across the “couch of life” (sorry, I know
it’s hokey, but I can’t help myself) is one that everyone makes, and each
“cushion” presents its own unique vantage point.
From where I sit, instead of sending out resumes, I am receiving them.
Instead of waiting to be told what to do, I am doing what needs to be done.
Instead of imagining how I could ever know as much as those around me, I am
teaching those around me. As the Talking Heads sing, “How did I get here?”
Many of us get there via formal and informal apprenticeships.
Apprenticeships have three distinct components: perceived knowledge,
ignorance and true knowledge.
From where I sit,
instead of sending out resumes, I am receiving them. Instead of waiting to
be told what to do, I am doing what needs to be done. Instead of imagining
how I could ever know as much as those around me, I am teaching those around
me.
Perceived knowledge. This is bestowed upon us all by the virtue
of youth. Our years of education and experience pale against a young
person’s fresh view of the world. The self-assurance that comes with
perceived knowledge is extremely valuable, providing energy, strength,
optimism and fearlessness, all of which are useful traits that lead us into
the next component.
Ignorance. Albert Einstein once said,
“Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new.” It is
good to allow new things, make mistakes and learn from them, even though
those mistakes can be a pain in the rear and occasionally expensive. On the
other hand, artists of all stripes first train by learning “technique” and
imitat imitating the masters. The tricky part is finding a balance between
these poles.
When ignorance is achieved (that is, when one realizes that maybe, just
maybe, there are valid reasons for prescribed practices and procedures), it
can replace the bravado of perceived knowledge with apprehension.
“Anything you can do, I can do better” can become “If I only had a brain.”
This is the point where one is receptive to a valuable lesson. It’s not that
experienced persons don’t make mistakes– Lord knows we do – but that we have
learned how to fix them. This can be an extremely liberating concept.
True knowledge. From this point, true
knowledge can be accrued. Over the course of time, with new responsibilities
and challenges, we can grow into capable professionals. Training programs
that specialize in the management of public assembly facilities aid this
process.
Books such as the IAAM’s Public Assembly Facility Management:
Principles and Practices provide specific and concise information about
day-to-day operations. Professional organizations and the Internet provide
access to a wealth of information. All of these are necessary and useful
tools that help train people to operate public assembly facilities.
But ultimately, we acquire true knowledge from time and the fundamental
dynamic of people working with people in different facilities, in different
places and with different levels of experience. Working, teaching and
mentoring enrich us all personally and professionally.
So … who are you sitting next to?
Michael Mell, ASTC, is president
of Theater Design based in Cold Spring, New York. |
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