Community service is supposed to be exactly what it means: serving the community. However, despite our best efforts, the line between self-service and community service tends to be blurred. It makes us feel good to do things for others. Is that simply selfish or is that a testament to the goodness within us? Is there ever an act that is truly selfless? Is there such a thing as community service? These were my thoughts on Saturday while I served my J-Board disciplinary service.
Before I go into my time served, I would like to explicitly say my actions on February 21, which resulted in a J-Board, will not be discussed in this article. It is important, however, to note that I was not the most thrilled student when waking up at 9:00 Saturday morning. It is also important to note that I had very little idea of what Habitat for Humanity does or what service I would be doing (I was just excited that the drive to Malone counted for hours).
Fast forward through the dreary, hour-long drive, we arrive at a house on the corner of a neighborhood street. As I would later discover, the house was constructed around the year 1900. In other words, it is old and worn down. We walked up the steps and through the front door to discover what used to be a living room, completely devoid of its essence. The interior of the house is in the process of being gutted. The carpets were removed, the walls bare and everything appears to be unliveable, save for the refrigerator and plastic eating utensils in the back.
The five of us waddled around like lost ducklings while the workers walked around us. We eventually found the sign-in sheet and waiver form. For three of us, it was our first time working here, but I was the only one who appeared slightly uneasy about the waiver. After signing the papers, we were greeted by Ken.
With his patchy beard, somewhat long, scraggly hair and cargo shorts, Ken appeared to be the lead house-gutter and the only person truly “at home” amidst the tools and debris. The other workers were out of their comfort zone. Along with us SLU students were three other young guys (I’m guessing Clarkson students, don’t ask me why) who were going in and out of the basement with slight grimaces and scowls on their faces.
The one slightly content guy in the group blasted “Baba O’Riley”, by The Who, through his phone while wielding his hammer like Thor. The couple that owns the house was in their late twenties, each appearing like they were beyond exhausted with the renovations. The husband in particular had a look of despair that made me believe that the renovations were his wife’s idea.
The rest of the workers looked as though they belonged in a senior home. As my gutting partner and I followed Ken’s glistening calves upstairs, we saw two old men approximately 76 years old, scrummaging through the dust and pulling out nails. Later on, I saw them carrying miscellaneous boxes and tools to and from the cars. Both were expressionless, neither sad nor glad, as the grey midday light shines on their wrinkles and white hair.
Ken led us to the upstairs bathroom, which we proceeded to destroy. We took our J-Board angers out on the 150-year-old structure, ripping the walls and smashing the wood boards behind it, leaving the room sufficiently gutted by the time we completed our service. The process was, all in all, delightful, despite one close call with an electric wire and lungfuls of dust (reminding me of why we signed the waiver).
Throughout our demolition of the bathroom, an old woman, probably a friend of the other elders, picked up the trash for us. This may not seem significant at first glance, but the boards we were dismembering were four feet long and thick. This woman, tough as the nails on the ground, picked up five, sometimes six of the boards at a time and hauled them downstairs. She was a machine, going up and down the stairs faster than we could demolish.
At one point during our service, the old woman said, “I’m sure glad you boys came here today. Usually I have to do your job!” Drifting in and out of sleep on the car ride back to campus, exhausted from the four hours of work, I thought of her remarks. The men and women there were volunteering, just like we were.
They go to that house almost every day, sweating and working without pay. They labor without questioning it and I can’t help but question it. And maybe that’s the point. Maybe they are simply there because it serves the community. And while I question the reasoning and principles of community service behind the comfort of my laptop, I have to keep in mind the good people on the corner of that street of Malone. Because they are doing something it takes a J-Board to get me to do. They are taking action.