The Coordinator
by
Fred Narvey
David Ben Gurion, the first Prime Minister of the State of Israel, once said, "He who does not believe in miracles is not a realist." It sounds like a contradiction in terms, eh? I have always considered myself a realist, but let me tell you what happened to me, and you be the judge.
I was the program coordinator for The Club. We conduct open forums on a variety of subjects once a month, during the fall and winter. We invite distinguished speakers and the topic must be timely.
My wife had taped a program on our VCR entitled, "The Perplexed", a philosophical discussion between the religious and the secular. What could be more timely? So I suggested to the club that there should be a screening of "The Perplexed" at our next public forum, and that we invite a Rabbi and a secular person to act as commentators after the showing. The club took kindly to the idea.
I proceeded to rent the hall, invite the commentators, prepare copy for the posters, the newspapers, the radio and TV stations.
Three weeks before the program was to take place, it suddenly struck me that it might be a good idea to review "The Perplexed" tape. So I asked my wife, "Where is The Perplexed?"
"You mean, 'Where are The Perplexed, dear", my wife answered. She always corrects my English. "No, no, honey", I said, "I mean The Perplexed tape." "Oh, that! You will find it on the shelves underneath the towels, together with all the other tapes in the linen closet."
I opened the linen closet and turned hot and cold all over.
There were three shelves, underneath the towels, packed two deep, were the video tapes. Some tapes had the contents identified, some were not marked at all, some had jackets, some were without jackets. I didn't trust myself to speak. I merely motioned to my wife and pointed at the linen closet. "We'll find it, we'll find it," my wife assured me.
We'd better find it," I answered, "or my head will roll. I've already done all the advertising."
For the next three hours we searched for the tape without success. Our home was a shambles and so were my nerves.
After a sleepless night, I began phoning all over town, looking for a copy of "The Perplexed".
The Winnipeg Public Library never heard of it. The Jewish Public Library offered to loan me a book entitled Advice to the Perplexed by Maimonedes, but no tape. The National Film Board didn't have a copy either. However, using their computer, they discovered where I could procure a copy! I was elated! The source was Criterion Films, Vancouver, B.C. I phoned them immediately.
"Yes, sir," the lady answered my query, "we will mail a copy of the video to you as soon as we receive your cheque for $107.00."
"I'm afraid you didn't understand me, madam," I said, "I don't want to buy the film. I merely want to rent it."
"I understood you perfectly, sir," she answered. "The rental fee is $107.00, and you may only show it once and then mail the tape back to us immediately."
I was in no position to argue, let alone to haggle, so I agreed to the price and the terms.
My hand trembled as I made out the cheque. I was so exhausted from the sleepless night and all the excitement that I decided to wait until the next day to mail the cheque.
To soothe my shattered nerves, I decided to re-read a humorous story entitled, "Joys of Parenthood", written by our beloved humorist, Sholem Aleichem. I looked through the bookshelves but couldn't find any books by Sholem Aleichem. Now, I am usually a fairly calm person, but this time I shouted at my wife, "Where is Sholem Aleichem?" Fortunately my wife wasn't wearing her hearing aid, so it sounded like a perfectly conversational tone to her. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, dear," she replied, "I moved all our Yiddish books downstairs to the recreation room."
I looked through practically every shelf, but there weren't any books by Sholem Aleichem in sight. Finally, I got to the bottom shelf - and found a video tape marked, The Perplexed!
I bounded up the stairs, bellowing like an elephant, and didn't stop bellowing until I tore up the cheque for $107.00 made out to the Criterion Film Co. I hid the tape in my dresser drawer, underneath my socks. Then I told my wife the good news and refused to tell her where I had hidden the tape. She said she didn't realize I could be so cruel.
The showing was scheduled for Sunday afternoon at 2:00 p.m. I asked two members of the program committee to meet me at the hall by 1:00 p.m. just to make sure that everything was O.K. The caretaker did her work well. There were one hundred chairs set up in the hall. The TV and the VCR were in place, and a table and chairs were arranged for the chairperson and the commentators. The caretaker even remembered to put a large bowl on a small table by the door.
"Well, gentlemen," I said to my friends, "all we have to do now is to try out the tape and make sure that the people at the back of the hall can see the picture; otherwise, we will have to put the TV on the table." So we put the tape in the VCR - but couldn't get a picture on the TV! My friends tried pulling wires and pushing buttons. Nothing helped.
"The TV always worked in the hall," the caretaker assured me. "So what's the explanation?" I asked. "The explanation is - it's a machine," she replied. "It works and it works, till it stops working!" My ulcer let me know that it understood the situation perfectly.
In the meantime, people were streaming into the hall and putting money into the large bowl on the small table.
By five minutes to 2:00, every seat in the hall was occupied and all we could get on the TV screen was "snow"!
As chairperson of the program, it was up to me to give the audience some kind of an explanation. But what could I say? Should I say that the commentators would make their comments on a film that the audience was not going to view? No, that wouldn't do.
I cleared my throat and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, it appears that we are experiencing technical difficulties..."
Just then I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and a smiling young man said to me, "What's the problem?"
"Can you fix a TV set?" I asked.
"No,' he replied, "but I might be able to help you. I just closed up our cottage at the beach. I was so anxious to see The Perplexed that I came here directly instead of going home. I still have our TV set in the van. Should I bring it in?" Should he bring it in! Should he bring it in! Who ways "no" to a Messiah? I felt like kissing him on both cheeks!
The TV worked, the commentators were excellent, and the question and answer period was lively. The program was a huge success, and everybody was happy!
Could it be that David Ben Gurion was right when he said, "He who does not believe in miracles is not a realist"?