Sunday, March 21, 2004
Noblesse oblige
My 10th grade honors English teacher, Mr. Hinkle, tried to teach us about noblesse oblige when we read "A Rose for Emily". At the time, it just seemed like one more point in the lesson plan, an unfamiliar term that he was defining for us.
Now I know better.
Because today, I got a note from the 20th reunion committee that says that the venue for the reunion has been changed--to a country club. I did some searching and found that the Class of '83 had their reunion there too. I couldn't find anything online that says exactly when this particular country club quit being "restricted," but I'd be willing to bet it's within my lifetime. I'm sure it's within Mr. Hinkle's.
The thing is, the folks who are planning the reunion aren't being snobbish or exclusionary. At least, I'm sure they don't see that they are. They were nice people in high school, and they're probably nice people now. They're just clueless rich people, with a well-developed noblesse oblige. They like the country club, they're comfortable there; why wouldn't the rest of us be? Why wouldn't the people whose grandparents, and maybe even parents, were turned away (or never considered applying) because of their race, or their religion, or maybe because their money came from the oilfields rather than from their grandfather's bank, be happy to go there for their high school reunion?
I'm sure it wouldn't even occur to them that those of us who were more Molly-in-Pretty-in-Pink than Molly-in-The-Breakfast-Club might have some issues with country clubs. They were places where the rich kids hung out in the summer and worked on their tans. They came back in the fall, looking healthy and tan, with natural-looking streaks in their hair, sporting new Polo oxford shirts and Levi's 501's. Those of us who worked at the mall or slung ice cream or herded little kids around all summer came back with bad perms and pastel retro-print shoulder-padded shirts because we didn't know any better... or worse, off-brand oxford shirts with a running horse instead of a polo player, with Calvin Kleins from the discount store and fake gold add-a-bead necklaces, because we did know but had no way of implementing that knowledge.
"This behind their hands; rustling of craned silk and satin behind jalousies closed upon the sun of Sunday afternoon as the thin, swift clop-clop-clop of the matched team passed: 'Poor Emily.'"
[I don't remember whether Mr. Hinkle covered the tried-and-true double use of jalousie or not, but that would have been a good one too.]
But anyway.
There are plenty of good reasons not to have the reunion at a country club. The fact that these people didn't seem to see any of them doesn't mean that they're bad people, or that they're snobs. They're blind, though, and the noblesse oblige that allowed them to be effortlessly polite--nice, nearly chummy, even--when one of us who didn't belong showed up at one of their parties, or joined Junior Board, or ran into one of them at our dad's office picnic or a church function, lets them think that they're doing The Right Thing by invoking the privileges of second- or third-generation country club membership to host our reunion there.
My 10th grade honors English teacher, Mr. Hinkle, tried to teach us about noblesse oblige when we read "A Rose for Emily". At the time, it just seemed like one more point in the lesson plan, an unfamiliar term that he was defining for us.
Now I know better.
Because today, I got a note from the 20th reunion committee that says that the venue for the reunion has been changed--to a country club. I did some searching and found that the Class of '83 had their reunion there too. I couldn't find anything online that says exactly when this particular country club quit being "restricted," but I'd be willing to bet it's within my lifetime. I'm sure it's within Mr. Hinkle's.
The thing is, the folks who are planning the reunion aren't being snobbish or exclusionary. At least, I'm sure they don't see that they are. They were nice people in high school, and they're probably nice people now. They're just clueless rich people, with a well-developed noblesse oblige. They like the country club, they're comfortable there; why wouldn't the rest of us be? Why wouldn't the people whose grandparents, and maybe even parents, were turned away (or never considered applying) because of their race, or their religion, or maybe because their money came from the oilfields rather than from their grandfather's bank, be happy to go there for their high school reunion?
I'm sure it wouldn't even occur to them that those of us who were more Molly-in-Pretty-in-Pink than Molly-in-The-Breakfast-Club might have some issues with country clubs. They were places where the rich kids hung out in the summer and worked on their tans. They came back in the fall, looking healthy and tan, with natural-looking streaks in their hair, sporting new Polo oxford shirts and Levi's 501's. Those of us who worked at the mall or slung ice cream or herded little kids around all summer came back with bad perms and pastel retro-print shoulder-padded shirts because we didn't know any better... or worse, off-brand oxford shirts with a running horse instead of a polo player, with Calvin Kleins from the discount store and fake gold add-a-bead necklaces, because we did know but had no way of implementing that knowledge.
"This behind their hands; rustling of craned silk and satin behind jalousies closed upon the sun of Sunday afternoon as the thin, swift clop-clop-clop of the matched team passed: 'Poor Emily.'"
[I don't remember whether Mr. Hinkle covered the tried-and-true double use of jalousie or not, but that would have been a good one too.]
But anyway.
There are plenty of good reasons not to have the reunion at a country club. The fact that these people didn't seem to see any of them doesn't mean that they're bad people, or that they're snobs. They're blind, though, and the noblesse oblige that allowed them to be effortlessly polite--nice, nearly chummy, even--when one of us who didn't belong showed up at one of their parties, or joined Junior Board, or ran into one of them at our dad's office picnic or a church function, lets them think that they're doing The Right Thing by invoking the privileges of second- or third-generation country club membership to host our reunion there.
permalink posted by The Vintage Reader @ 9:53 PM 
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