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West Bend Spanish teacher has golden memories of his stint as a volunteer driver at the Olympics
The Olympic Games are more than sports. They bring the people of the world together in a cooperative effort for a common purpose. I was part of the 1996 Centennial Olympics in Atlanta. I had responded to a call to Returned Peace Corps Volunteers, seeking interpreters. I thought my language skills might be needed, so in 1995 I filled out several forms. Months passed; I thought I had been forgotten. Then in May 1996 I heard from the Atlanta Committee for the Olympic Games (ACOG), asking if I would like to be a "VIP motor pool driver."
So on July 10 I found myself in downtown Atlanta, standing in line to get my official ACOG badge and studying the map of MARTA, the local subway system. The accreditation process took about 3 hours, including clearing security and waiting out a fire alarm. A card for free Coca-Cola products and a MARTA pass came with my badge labeled "Driver- Transportation."
All volunteers received an official uniform (khaki pants, colorful shirts with a rings-and-flowers design, straw hat, blue belt, brown socks and shoes) thanks to Hanes and Reebock, among the official sponsors of the 1996 Olympic Games. This required a few more hours and two more subway rides. I was worried that it was taking much too long and was taking time away when I could be doing some work, but I realized later that there was no need to be in a hurry, and the key to survival, sanity, and enjoyment during the Olympic experience was PATIENCE.
I was assigned to the motor pool at the Olympic Stadium, but I also spent some time at fleet headquarters near the Georgia Dome. I took an orientation tour of the various Olympic venues (hotels, offices, stadia, etc.) that I might need to drive to in the course of my two-week volunteer stint. I rode along with others before I went solo. I carried maps and other instructions with me like a bible. I reported for a daily shift, averaging about eight hours, but some as short as five hours and once as long as twelve. The 12-hour shift was the day of the Opening Ceremonies. We needed to arrive early, as we were to be locked down for security purposes, and we needed to stay to the very end to see if we were needed to drive people who had attended the show.
Volunteers were not paid, but the perks were nice, and the people were helpful, friendly, and competent. Although we found things to complain about, I was impressed with the organization and the pride of the local people, and with the enthusiasm of the volunteers, both local and those like me from further afar. Our motor pool lounge, where we spent a lot of time waiting to be called, was quite comfortable. We got a meal each shift, and of course all the Coke, Sprite, Diet Coke, and PowerAde you could drink. We had two TVs, which besides regular channels had the direct feeds from NBC at each venue, so we could choose from several events, commercial-free and commentary-free. We could avoid some of the hype and US-centered bias of the regular NBC coverage. Even though I had no tickets to see events in person, on TV I enjoyed watching Spain vs. France in team handball, rowing, equestrian events, beach volleyball, and even weightlifting. We watched the Opening Ceremonies on the direct feed, without interruptions.
The shifts included a lot of time in the motor pool waiting to drive. I read and watched a lot of TV. (I also had time to write a draft of this essay.) Our supervisors often apologized for the down time, saying that "soon it will get busy." I returned home just before the Centennial Park bombing. A few days later I called the motor pool to see how they were doing, and no, they were still not busy. It was hard to know just how many drivers would be needed, and clearly they had to guess on the high side.
Most of our passengers were Olympic officials and workers, not celebrity-type VIPs. (But the evening of Opening Ceremonies the assigned drivers for Celine Dion and Mark Spitz were hanging around our motor pool with their beepers.) Highlights were when I could drive passengers such as a Mexican sports official and three Cuban journalists. Through driving and other contacts, I spoke Spanish quite a bit, along with some French and Portuguese. Of course at an international event such as this, one hears up to a dozen languages in the course of a day.
I highly recommend this volunteer experience. Anyone with the time could do it. I would volunteer again and might try to stay longer. I am thankful that my status as a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer got me into it. Over 500 RPCVs were involved in the Olympic effort, out of some 42,000 volunteers and 4,000 paid staff.
Who were the drivers? I met fellow volunteers from California, New Jersey, and Germany; teachers from Illinois, Georgia, Texas, New Orleans, and Minnesota; Filipino- and Korean-Americans; retired and semi-retired people; helpful and gracious folks from the Atlanta area; Atlantans who needed my help to deal with their own subway system (for many local people, the Olympics provided the first time they chose to use their own mass transit system.) Two students from Barcelona, site of the 1992 games, were part of our motor pool. Other volunteers and paid staff were college students and recent graduates. ("Olympic Volunteer" will look great on a resume.) Some were borrowed employees from Olympic sponsors such as Belle South and IBM. We established a comfortable routine and a transient camaraderie. Our motor pool included fluent speakers of French, German, Spanish, Catalan, Korean and Japanese.
I am not a sports person; it did not bother me that I had no time to be a spectator at any events. But I enjoyed the Olympic-related activities and exhibitions at Atlanta's museums and churches, and hanging around Centennial Olympic Park. I wish I had brought along a friend or relative, but it was fascinating to feel the atmosphere and to watch as Atlanta transformed itself. We volunteers filled the stadium for the final dress rehearsal of the Opening Ceremonies, and the mood was incredible; ordinary people do extraordinary things. I enjoyed being part of international cooperation, a celebration of the best qualities of humanity.
I heard that the mood changed after the bombing, but people seemed determined not to allow a mad bomber to ruin a wonderful effort. I had been in the bombed part of the park just a few days earlier. I was impressed by the friendly and joyful atmosphere - people of every color and continent mixing and moving about freely and confidently. After the bombing, there was a lot less petty complaining; things got put into perspective.
I never got into the trading and buying of pins, but I passed out a few Peace Corps pins, and I was given some pins by those I drove. I will treasure the Cuban Olympic pin from Sigfredo. The pins seem to symbolize the best and the worst of the diversity of the Olympics: pins represented the various countries, particular sports, official sponsors like UPS and AT&T, and at least 20 different Coca Cola pins. They could be cheap, rings, mini-works of art or kitsch, and national flags. My favorite pin-related joke goes like this:
"Did you hear about the problem with the Xerox Olympic pins?"
"No. What happened?"
"Well, they're just copies."
If you are a WEAC member and would like to submit an article for OnWEAC, contact Editor Bill Hurley by e-mail here or by calling 800-362-8034, extension 225.
Posted August 16, 1996