Doling Out Well-Deserved Gold Stars
The piano music during cocktails was easy and familiar, all the old tunes that take people back to a softer time when spring nights were honeysuckle-sweet and full of promised romance.
The piano player did not demand the attention of the people at the party, but everyone knew there was something fine coming from the piano, something that made a wash of moonlight over the hotel reception room. The piano player was a blind man named Billy Burdin. He set the tone for a good evening.
It was a dinner given by the Crippled Children’s Society and more than 200 people turned out. If people had known the speeches would be so short and the dinner so good, there would have been three times as many.
The sad truth is that dinners given by charitable or political organizations are usually evenings of dull endurance. No one means them to be that way. They just are. The dinner committee skimps on the main course because they think no one will notice because no one expects banquet food to be good. And everyone who has been a member of the organization for more than an hour feels impelled to say a few words. Their intentions are good and the results too often like being stuck in gridlock with an almost-empty gas tank.
Maybe the 63 years that the Crippled Children’s Society has been helping disabled people, mostly kids, in Southern California have given them an extra edge of know-how.
More than that is the leadership of the president and director of the organization, Marilyn Graves. She’s determined, resourceful, indefatigable, a slender, poised woman who always says, “Why, yes, I think we can manage that.”
And they do. One of the many nice things about attending one of the society’s events from a dinner to its annual big-rig rally is that Marilyn stretches every dollar. She knows where every one goes and why. Because of the problems of her charges, she has to have a superb professional staff and their salaries are fixed expenses. Everything else is subject to Marilyn’s stretch.
The dinner the other night was to thank Carlos Moorehead, a congressman from the 22nd District, who convinced the Department of Housing and Urban Development that his plan of constructing and operating residences for the physically handicapped in Glendale and Pasadena was a great and workable idea.
The congressman got HUD to unbuckle $1.4 million for the Maple Park Apartments, a 24-unit building designed for physically and developmentally disabled adults who are capable of living independently.
Crown House in Pasadena is a group home where ambulatory, non-elderly disabled people live in a 10-bedroom house, serving 15 people. Moorehead got $725,000 for that one.
Los Angeles County Supervisor Mike Antonovich read messages of congratulations from President Bush and from HUD Secretary Jack Kemp to the dinner guests.
Others on the brief program were Tom Hatten of television, the Rev. Dan Toller, a former All-Pro football player who played with the Rams, and actor Joe Campanella, who led the Pledge of Allegiance.
Music for the dinner was by the Bill Hadnott trio, a bass, drum and guitar with a singer who sang the notes and said the words just like the composers and lyricists wanted them done.
Maybe I had such a good time at the event because I know a lot of people who have worked hard and uncomplainingly for the society for a long time. They all act as if it were very special to belong and they approach every project as if it were a carnival. Mary Ann Thomas, Cay Noble and Diana Landeen have been part of Marilyn Graves’ dependable cadre for as long as I’ve known them. When Diana and Jack Landeen’s two sons, Steven and Jeffrey, were in their teens, they worked every summer at Camp Joan Meir above Malibu, the camp run by the Crippled Children’s Society. They have horseback riding, swimming, beach parties, campfires. The boys helped with everything, especially swimming and even cooking. Marilyn and her crew provide activities for crippled children all year long.
When you do something for the Crippled Children’s Society, you get a gold star. That’s the way it makes me feel.
I knew it was going to be a good event when Patsy and I left the house that morning. It started out with some local magic. Down the hill a quarter of a block from our driveway stood three young deer with big ears. They stood in the middle of the street, poised and relaxed and pleasantly curious.
Finally, after a few minutes, I let the car roll forward a few feet. They turned their white-flagged rears toward us and sauntered up the side street. Then, as if on command, they all turned and looked at us over their shoulders, friendly and unafraid. Any day that starts with three deer in front of your house and ends with good friends is a beamish day.