Legacy By: Michael E.

Reid

You may forget but

Let me tell you this:

Someone in some future time

Will think of us

Sappho
Translated from the Greek by Mary Barnard

Carol Hatton died. I couldn’t believe it when I saw her obituary in the Herald. I knew

she had been battling cancer, going in and out of remission, and only suddenly learned

about her death.

I was quite moved. Actually, I couldn’t even read the obituary, and chastised Bill for

showing it to me as I was heading out the door for church. With my mind on my sermon

and the two services I was about to lead, I could not fully consider Carol’s death. I

couldn’t take it in.

Although she was not a personal friend of mine, I knew and respected her. When I

moved to Carmel to work at York School, Carol was at Santa Catalina. She was highly

regarded in the community, and I was proud to be her colleague.

1
When Community Hospital opened its search for a new VP we both applied and ended up

as the two finalists for the position. She was the ultimate selection, and I called to

congratulate her and tell her that if I had to loose to anyone, I was way proud to have lost

the position to her.

She was an excellent fundraiser and went on to lead a successful campaign for the Breast

Cancer Center. She left a significant legacy for the entire community on the Monterey

Peninsula.

We can change the world.

Thinking about Carol caused me to consider the idea of legacy. I have always been

motivated by wanting to make a difference in the lives of others, but am particularly

sensitive to this now, as I and continue to search for employment, and hope to find

opportunities where I too can leave a mark on the world.

Thusfar, my work has primarily been in the lives of people. Who knows how these

intangible acts have born fruit. I can only hope that those I have touched will go on to

touch and change others in a sort of chain of healing and grace.

But, I long to leave something tangible behind, to be a part of something big – like Carol

and the Breast Cancer Center, or my grandfather and the Panama Canal.

2
I went to Panama a few years ago and had the great pleasure of seeing the Panama Canal.

It was truly an awesome sight, and an experience I will never forget.

My mother had told me that my grandfather, Cyril and his brother Ferdinand traveled

from Jamaica to Panama to work on the Panama Canal, so I was especially interested and

hoped to find a deeper connection to him as well.

On the premises there is a sort of museum where you can learn more about the history

and science of the canal. I was thrilled to be there and was immediately taken by the

large photo murals of the canal in its various stages – lining the walls of the exhibit hall.

The images had been enlarged to the point where the faces of the workers could actually

be seen. There were endless faces, and I studied every one.

Building the canal was an enormous feat that took hundreds of thousands of hands for

over a decade. Men and women came from all over the world to work on the canal.

Many died due to very dangerous working conditions and a variety of illnesses that

plagued the worksites. Walking past the immense photo illustrations, I was moved by

the enormity of the project and the huge investment of human lives that was made. I

thought about the workers, their pain and the families from which they were separated -

some temporarily and others never to be seen again.

3
Knowing my grandfather’s connection to that place, I felt particularly sensitive to the

images that surrounded me. The thought of his once being there, working under such

difficult conditions and contributing his sweat and (possibly) blood to the building of the

canal, filled me with awe and pride.

My grandfather died many years before I was born so, I never had the opportunity to

meet him. But, coming to that place, I felt closer to him than I ever did before.

He was a part of something tangible and meaningful – bigger than himself, something

that would last for generations to come.

As I walked further through the exhibit, I noticed a computer terminal where you could

type in the name of an original canal employee, and pull up the actual record of that

person’s employment. Apparently, like at the Wall of Honor on Ellis Island, people from

all over the world come to the canal with hopes to make a connection with a relative who

once walked through and left his or her own mark behind.

That place of personal engagement, bridging the past with the present created (at least for

me) a sacred space, visited by pilgrims piecing together the truth of our past – the fragile

pieces of a family story.

4
So, I cued up and waited my turn, growing more excited the closer I got to the terminal.

As people found their loved ones, they would shout with joy, expressing exhilaration in

their native tongue. Others walked away crestfallen, when matches could not be found.

How accurate and complete could their record keeping have been, anyway? We are

talking about 100 years ago!

Regardless, I and countless others took our chances and waited our turn to see if we too

were connected to such an awesome place.

When I finally got to the terminal, I quickly keyed in my grandfather’s name and to my

absolute astonishment, could not believe my eyes when I saw an actual match, with his

dates of birth, hire and completion. What a thrill! It was a feeling that I cannot describe.

Suddenly, there was a tangible legacy to which I was a part and an almost visceral

connection to my grandfather – a man who I felt I had finally met, face to face.

What might the legacy be that I am leaving behind?

As I continue to comb through employment ads, talk to head hunters, send off countless

resumes, and watch the months drift by, I can only hope that like Carol and my

grandfather, what I have already done will indeed bear fruit, and that the future will

provide another chance for me to make a difference.

5
“You May Forget But” by Sappho, translated from the Greek by Mary Barnard, from Faith and Doubt,

2007, Patrice Vecchione, Ed., New York, Henry Holt and Co. 2007.