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"How Rome Fell Into My Hands"
By
Court Sullivan
My hands were brittle
and numb from the biting cold. I’d been raking leaves for just
under three hours in the dwindling group of Latin Club members who
braved the weather for charity donations. As a freshman, I
felt somewhat alone in my new club, especially since my friends had
backed out on my invitation to join me that Saturday.
Nevertheless, I vowed to stick with it, and someday spark more
interest in the activities…even in the cold. However, with my
yet-unestablished high school reputation and lone voice out of 150
members, I continued to contribute merely my attendance at the
meetings and activities.
Sophomore
year, I found myself embracing Latin Club as a way to have fun with
my friends and contribute community service. But despite my
enthusiasm, the club did carry a somewhat nerdy and uninteresting
image probably stemming from the name.
“Latin Club?
Come on. Whatta you guys do in there…speak Latin…or play
dead!?” a classmate remarked.
I chuckled,
then informed him that the Romans were known for drunken revelry,
large feasts, and ceremonial orgies. After translating that
into “music, food, and dancing,” I reminded him that there was a
Latin Club party coming up next weekend. Needless to say, I
had little trouble improving the club’s popularity.
Junior year
arrived, and I decided it was time to make my move on the Latin
Club. The name consul, the equivalent of president, jumped out
from the nomination form like a lone image in a 3-D comic book.
However, the presidency required a partnership—an ancient Roman
safeguard carried on symbolically in our club. No problem!
My friend Sankeerth and I couldn’t have shared more interest.
Thus, the campaign for “Court & Sankeerth” was born, but by no means
an heir to the throne. Our opponents were none other than two
of the biggest academic powerhouses in the senior class:
Annie, who aced the SAT; and Christy, president of two other major
clubs. Together they proved our valiant efforts basically
futile in their shadow. “Next year,” spoke the voice of optimism.
Senior year
brought to our campaign the confidence of a veteran TV sitcom versus
a “pilot.” Could anyone else possibly have wanted to be Latin
Club president as much as we did? We could take no chances.
The only
way to win was to buy big markers. But the first day of visual
campaigning was the next day, and we still lacked markers with this
essential trait. Sankeerth cringed at the thought of making
some proportionally ridiculous effort for such an “insignificant”
tool of victory at such an ungodly hour of night. But I stood
firm and he had no choice; we must have the markers. Only, the
last hours of specialty art stores had drawn to a close hours ago.
Ahaa! Wal-Mart—the 24-hour superstore savior about to serve my
needs.
“Excuse me
sir. Could you direct me to some unusually large poster
board markers?”
The
employee looked confused. He hesitated. I tensed.
“Follow me
back to the craft section,” he said. The rest is history.
Sankeerth
and I met early in the morning before school the next day striding
confidently into school clutching our pride and joy: a 20-foot
long, almost 2-foot tall banner with our names printed neatly in a
Magnum .44 marker. Of course we’d be the only ones to put up a
campaign device so early—moreover such an overwhelming one.
But just when the world seems so simple, the opponents show up.
To my dismay, our archrivals, Johnny, senior class president, and
Yvonne, cheerleading captain, were already preparing to hang
their equally impressive banner across the middle of the room!
What ensued
was labeled “the most widespread campaign effort for Latin Club
offices ever” by our teacher, Mrs. Hankins. To me, it could
have been more appropriately labeled “the biggest backfiring
imaginable of the election-hype we had intended to create for
ourselves.” We now had three pairs of opponents running for
president, and the Latin room (campaign headquarters) was decorated
a mess. Of course, maybe that was only because the more signs
others put up, the less visible ours became.
We worked
relentlessly for almost three weeks promoting our campaign, using
posters, a proposed trip to Six Flags, and a “Top 14 Reasons” list
as our platform. Finally, election day arrived. As the
meeting began, I could almost hear our fate being counted aloud,
ballot by ballot. As if purposely arranged, we were the last
candidates summoned to the podium to offer any last words as to why
we would be best suited to govern the Latin Club. A hush fell
over the room, and everyone eyed me intently. But there were
no words to a perfect ending. Our campaign had spoken for
itself, and I dared not disturb our momentum with a last-minute
desperation speech. I spoke simply and sincerely, then stepped
down. This year, our efforts were rewarded.
Our Latin
teacher had always seen us as the comical twins with good grades.
After our first meeting a month later though, we seemed to add a
dimension to her perspective. In the midst of her
reevaluation, she turned to us from the front of the room as we were
at the door.
With
glowing sincerity and a warm sigh of relief she said, “You guys
really had that meeting well-organized and under control. I’m
proud of you two.”
For a
second, the empty space between Mrs. Hankins and us seemed to
shrink. I truly felt glad to earn her respect, and I knew it
was the beginning of a yearlong faculty-to-student relationship that
I would reflect on with inspiration someday. I felt the time
and effort of three years, and the last three weeks in particular,
culminated in one moment of accomplishment…and inexpressible
satisfaction.
“Oh, and
don’t forget to design and order the club T-shirts, schedule our
charity drive, and get the meeting’s minutes from the secretaries,”
she added.
“Don’t worry,”
I thought, “I haven’t forgotten we have jobs to do.” The year
had just begun, and if enthusiasm were a gas station, we had just
filled up.
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