Unus pro omnibus, omnes pro uno.

The controversy that led me to step down from the presidency of my running club last week had its genesis in a dispute over who would direct the upcoming training program that is currently closely associated with a national marathon in the area. Briefly, the club’s director of training, one of three club veeps I inherited, chose himself to be director of this complex program. However, acting in the best interests of the club and after personally conferring with him last summer, I appraised him in a lengthy memo that I was appointing the director of the then-ongoing club 10-Miler Training Program to be the new program’s director instead. Briefly, that program director's credentials and track record were far superior to anyone else's in the club. The club's director of training had no track record.

I requested the training director to instead direct the much less complex upcoming 10K Program as his initial foray into directing club training programs. He hadn't ever directed a training program before, nor even been a site director.

Tomorrow I’ll post the memo I sent him, with names edited out for the sake of privacy, showing that I didn’t undertake the decision lightly. It’s very long. I stated several compelling reasons for the choice. I had unstated reasons also, that centered upon the director of training personally. He was inexperienced and I lacked confidence in his judgment and reliability. In my opinion, I was acting in the best interests of the club and he was acting in the best interests of himself. He absolutely ignored the memo and took actions in undercutting it that absolutely roiled the club.

Some other characters are about to enter this story. Called straight out of an Alexandre Dumas novel, three other board members (one's position is disputed and unconfirmed), all well under thirty, rode to this early-thirties veep’s rescue. (I'm approaching sixty.) Here's the crucial fact--these three amigos, all very close friends. absolutley and totally control the club's website all by themselves.

Free at last.

You might recall that I felt honored to assume the presidency of my running club half a year ago. Here's what I sent to my club's board earlier this week.

Thursday, November 5, 2009 at 5 p.m.

To the [name of club] Board,

Unfortunately, I feel that I can no longer properly discharge my
special responsibilities as President of the club, which includes
being in general charge of the business, affairs, and property of the
club. The refusal of key board members to furnish me with requested
information has prevented me from properly monitoring the club
activities for which I am putatively responsible. Therefore for
personal reasons, and in the best interests of the club, I hereby
resign, effective at 10 a.m. on Saturday, November 7, 2009.

The new President will be [name], the current Vice President of
Operations. I have already spoken with her about this. [She] has
been very active in the club and on the board, and she is a past
recipient of the Justine Peet Volunteer of the Year Award. She will
be a fine and capable successor and she has my complete confidence.

I leave behind a club that is even stronger than when I assumed the presidency, with several important associations and programs either implemented or expanded during my tenure. It has been my honor and pleasure to serve both the club members and the Washington running community for the past several years as a volunteer coach, as the director for several club training programs, as a board member and as club President. I am especially proud that I am a past recipient of the Justine Peet Volunteer of the Year Award.

I will naturally support [the new President's] transition in any way I can, and I can be reached at [this email address]. Thank you for your
continued support of the club.

Peter

The Snow Dome Rule

Coming into Los Angeles
Bringing in a couple of keys
Don't touch my bags if you please
Mister Customs Man (Arlo Guthrie)

"Is this your bag?"

Leaving San Diego after being out there a week on business, the TSA guy had pulled my carry-on bag off the conveyor belt coming out of the X-Ray machine.

"Yes."

"Do you mind if I look through it?"

I thought, I have a choice? "No," I said.

He put the bag on a table and told me to have a seat in the chair next to the table. He didn't want me interfering with his search.

He unzipped the canvas bag and started removing items. Out came a dress shoe, followed by some technical briefs, which were dry but vintage since I'd worn them running that week. He spotted the ziploc bag containing my toiletries. Inside, amongst tiny tubes of toothpaste, mouthwash and shampoo was something the size of an apple, wrapped in tissue paper.

He held the plastic bag, eying it. "Do you have a snow globe in here?"

Snow globes are those clear, water-filled plastic domes depicting tourist spots that easily fit into the palm of your hand. You can create a blizzard effect inside it by shaking it. I have a friend who collects them. This one depicted the U.S.S. Midway, a navy aircraft carrier moored in San Diego harbor that is open to the public for tours. (Right: The U.S.S. Midway.)

"Yes."

Unwrapping it, he asked me if I knew the snow globe rule.

"No," I said, "but it's under three ounces."

He turned it over and frowned. On the price sticker on the bottom of the globe, next to the printed words "Made in China," the label read "2.9 oz." I had written that on the sticker that morning when I stuffed the dome into my clear quart-sized carry-on toiletry bag.

The guard said, "Wait here," and left. He came back shortly.

"I imagine you're gonna think this sucks, but my supervisor said there is insufficient corroboration that this item contains less than three ounces of fluid. Therefore you have two choices. You can either dispose of the item now or you can go back out to the ticket counter, check this through as luggage, and re-enter through security."

(Left: The flight deck on the U.S.S. Midway, overlooking San Diego.) As I contemplated re-entering the thirty minute line for security screening, I had an image of me standing around waiting for a fruit-sized item to come down the conveyor belt in baggage claim at National Airport. What if they misplaced it. Could I put in a claim for it? Would they drive it out to my house once they located it?

I said, "You don't have to wonder about whether I think this sucks. I do. And what is the snow globe rule?"

"Well, many times these things are filled with antifreeze which is a hazardous material and can't be brought aboard a plane."

I thought of a jet plane filled with thousands of gallons of aviation fuel and hundreds of quarts of de-icer fluid and shuddered to think of the damage I could inflict with 2.9 ounces of anti-freeze. Maybe I could pour it down some child's throat to create a terror incident with it.

"Of course, this snow dome is filled with water, not antifreeze." I said. "Perhaps we could send it out for testing to verify that. Or better yet, please give it a good home, officer." I didn't want to get placed on the no-fly list. It's a long bus ride to Washington DC from San Diego.

TSA is on the job. And by the way, the alert level is Code Orange. Does anyone know what that means, or when it wasn't Code Orange?