On a hillside overlooking Angel Fire, New Mexico, is a small white chapel, erected in 1968 by Dr. Victor Westphall to commemorate the life of his son, David, who was killed in Vietnam. I discovered the chapel, January 17, 1993, while driving along a mountainous road between Taos and Cimarron. Freshly fallen snow blanketed the landscape, and there was a hush in the air that invited contemplation. I had the chapel to myself as it was Super Bowl Sunday and most of the country was otherwise occupied.
As I was about to leave the chapel, I noticed across the back wall a row of photographs honoring soldiers killed and missing in action. On this particular day, the list included the names of men from Missouri, and my heart skipped a beat when I realized that one of the names belonged to someone I had known. For 25 years, I had lived my life oblivious to the fact that he lost his soon after I left basic training at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri, in the summer of 1968. In that instant, I understood that we never accomplish anything in life by ourselves. We are standing — all of us — on the shoulders of countless unnamed others who have given of and sacrificed themselves so the rest of us might remain free to build a more civilized and enduring society.
That moment also reminded me of the importance of the work we do in parks and recreation and in whose honor we are obliged to do it. Three interlocking themes came to mind — our attitude toward our work, the impact of our work, and the meaning of our work — and the following stories are illustrative of these themes.
Our Attitude Toward Our Work
There’s an old parable about three stonecutters who each were asked the same question: “What are you doing?” The first stonecutter replied, “I’m cutting stone.” The second answered, “I am a stonecutter and I am cutting stones to earn money to support my family.” The third replied, “I am a stonecutter and I am building a cathedral!”
Whether we are groundskeepers in Florida, playground supervisors in California, recreation programmers in Texas, or Morale, Welfare, and Recreation specialists overseas, what really matters is the attitude we bring to our work. How do we approach the work we do? Is it a job, a career, or a calling? It is the attitude we bring that will most influence the impact of the work we do.
The Impact of the Work We Do
We cannot predict if and when the little things we do or say will have big impacts later on. But, the science of Chaos Theory teaches us that such impacts will happen. Popularized as “The Butterfly Effect,” Chaos Theory has proven scientifically that little things do matter. But because we cannot predict if and when they will matter, we must proceed largely on faith that an encouraging word here, a small deed there, may have a monumental impact somewhere down the road.
Each and every one of us cannot help but make a difference in the course of human events. Whether we serve up for our constituencies what they want or what we think they ought to want, we are each in our own way contributing to the unfolding of the future. Through acts of commission and omission, we are bound to have an impact.
Looking back at my early years as a college professor at San Diego State University, there are two instances that illustrate that little things matter, because they sometimes lead to very big impacts. The first occurred sometime in the late 1970s when a young man and his father from North Hollywood, California, dropped by my office to discuss the young man’s future. His siblings were all intellectually gifted and on their way to becoming doctors, lawyers and accountants, but Scott, unlike his brothers and sisters, was neither an intellectual nor partial to book learning. His father wondered if parks and recreation might be a good college major for him, and, after our brief conversation, I concluded, matter-of-factly, that parks and recreation might be a good fit.
Scott enrolled the following fall and took a class or two with me, but I never really gave him another thought. And, that was that — until three years ago when he contacted me and invited me for a visit to his “office,” Yosemite National Park, where he is the assistant superintendent in charge of preserving and protecting John Muir’s “Range of Light.”
The second instance occurred sometime in the mid-1980s. This time, the student’s name was Eric, and he was a journalism major with a parks and recreation minor. Eric was an outdoor enthusiast and a good student, but his mother had passed away recently, and, as he was about to graduate, he was in a funk. I suggested that as a graduation present to himself, he hike the John Muir Trail as doing so might be good for what ailed him.
Again, that was that — until 2005 when I received an email from Eric telling me he had written a book in which he acknowledged the role I had played in his life. The book, The Last Season, was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize in nonfiction, and Eric was selected as Barnes and Noble’s “Discovery Author of the Year.” The Last Season, it turns out, is about the disappearance of a backcountry wilderness ranger in Sequoia/Kings Canyon National Park, a story Eric stumbled upon while hiking the John Muir Trail. Eric has since written two more New York Times nonfiction best-sellers about the war in Afghanistan, The Only Thing Worth Dying For and Fearless, and his last book, Legend, about a Medal of Honor winner’s gallantry during the Vietnam War, was recently released.
My off-the-cuff comments to Scott and Eric changed the course of their lives. At the time, neither I nor they knew my comments would have an impact, but they did. How do I know? Because, more than 20 years later, Scott and Eric each told me so.
The Meaning of the Work We Do
Truly understanding that we are impactful human beings should lift our spirits and energize our attitude toward our life’s work. But, it might also feel a bit unnerving because being impactful brings with it both responsibility and accountability for our actions. So, “What is the meaning of the work we do in parks and recreation?” The 12 soldiers from Missouri and countless others have died for our freedom — a way of life that champions each individual’s opportunity to make the most of his or her God-given talents. Enlivening this freedom, this way of life, is what the field of parks and recreation is ultimately about.
When people are free to choose what they want to do for the pure joy of doing it, they turn to us. We help them unleash their creative energy. Recognizing and respecting the park and recreation profession’s centrality in bringing this fundamental democratic value to life, we, too, are challenged to demonstrate excellence in every aspect of the work we do, however exalted or humble.
In Whose Honor Do We Do Our Work?
Since my epiphany at the Angel Fire Vietnam Memorial in the winter of 1993, I have tried to live my life in conscious appreciation of the sacrifices made by others so we may enjoy the freedom to build a better world. But, I have also come to understand that freedom brings with it an obligation to live our lives in a way that honors those who have given up theirs for us as well.
Every day, we must respect the power we have to make a difference, apply that power with the dignity it deserves, and proceed with the understanding that every little thing we do or say is replete with rippling effects that reverberate far and wide. In all likelihood, we will never know how much of a difference we are making in this world, but rest assured we are making a difference. That fact of life, and faith in ourselves, should be enough to sustain us through good times and bad. To that end, I wish you the very best of success in all the ‘little things’ you do to build a happier, healthier, and more civilized United States of America.
Daniel L. Dustin, Ph.D., is a professor in the Department of Parks, Recreation and Tourism at the University of Utah.