Living is Giving - The volunteer Experience, Sydney Olympics, 2000
I am the Protocol Assistant to Ottavio Cinquanta, IOC Board Member for Italy
GETTING UNIFORMS
Collection day at UDAC, including accreditation, took 3 hours. There was a carnival atmosphere however, with everybody smiling and laughing and getting to know each other. The volunteers processing us wearing their uniforms with pride whilst WE are still waiting for ours!! We are lining up by the thousands, army style, collecting clothing in large bags. “What size?” I was asked. “10 or 12” I reply. The volunteer gives me a 10 in a shirt, pants, and skirt and I try these on. The shirt would fit my husband. The shoulders are almost at my elbows, and the sleeves about 6 inches too long. I poke my head around the curtain and say ”I think this one is marked incorrectly!” She takes me aside and in a conspiratorial whisper confides: “They’ve made them all very big dear, so the fat people feel better!”. I land up with a size 6 and chuckle to myself.
WAITING WAITING
I have not heard from “my” Italians … and I feel anxious! I feel the way I did when I was pregnant, and waiting to go into labour, friends and family keep calling up and saying “Are you STILL here?” – I am waiting to “pop”! I know they arrived on Saturday, and have been on tenterhooks ever since. Every time the phone rings after that, I jump – but I go to bed, and still no word ….. sigh! I cannot bear it, and travel into the city to the Menzies and the Regent, as if to reassure myself that yes, I AM a volunteer, and I WILL get called soon. I am jealous of the other volunteers already working. There is a breathless kind of “waiting” for something to happen amongst the activity …. Well, we ARE waiting to give birth to the Biggest Event on Earth. When I get home, there are messages on the answering machine from family and friends, wishing me luck …. And e mails from the States, South Africa, the UK, and all around Australia. I am in training for my “marathon” – representing Australia as a volulnteer!
“MY” DRIVER
We have spoken on the phone, and I “know” him from across the room. He is large, just like the text book ex-cop he is, with a belly which he refers to as his “keg” (as opposed to a six pack young men may have!). He has a moustache, thinning grey hair, a big wide, friendly smile, and eyes that twinkle like Santa’s. I know we will work well together. He listens, he smiles, he is resourceful, punctual, works hard, is a skilled and masterful driver: I always felt safe in his presence. We create an awesome team. Ron is a star at crowd control. He greets everybody, and I smile when he says “Evening Men!” as we pass by, like he was inspecting the troops. He is a great ambassador for our country. Ron imbues me with magical qualities that I can talk my way in and out of anything anywhere, get things done, given, or managed, with my “skill, looks and uniform”. Our boss says he is the envy of the rest of the IOC delegation – he has us, “The Elite Team”!
Ron was stopped one day when he got into town by a Japanese family who took his hand, and said “You must be a very proud Australian” – and bowed low several times. He bowed in return, and thanked them. He said later, he was surprised to find he had tears in his eyes. This big, burly, ex-cop.
The Olympics did that to people.
MEETING “MY” ITALIANS!
I go to the Regent to meet Signor. He has assured me we do not need to meet at a designated spot in the lobby, he has seen my photo, he will recognise me. And he does. I am surprised to discover I feel nervous. Me! Who has led programm es to thousands of people from the front of the room. Signor smiles, introduces himself, and there is an awkward moment as he goes to shake my hand. I have a flashback of my training “Do not Touch!” – immediately put it aside, and hand him the Australian waratah flower and card. His eyes light up. We make a small connection. I know we will work well together. They are an attractive couple: she: slim, elegant, exquisitely groomed, pretty. He is handsome and charming.
SYDNEY SYDNEY SYDNEY
I like to think of Sydney as a bride. All polished, pretty, painted and wearing her very best petticoats. Even the jasmine, the rhodedendrons and azaleas have come out early! And we have summer in spring. Our visitors are captivated and seduced by this beautiful, beautiful place. We do not tell them the weather is not like this every day. Snr. tells me “You should pay to live in this beautiful city!” The Olympics brings out all that is very best in Australians, and for the first time in the 27 years I have lived here, I am present to a powerful national pride, which frequently moves me to tears. A journalist in the States says “the best attraction of Sydney is her people!” At this time – we are! – and I am proud.
THE OLLY VOLLY EXPERIENCE
I have been a volunteer in one way or another since I was 4 years old. I have a very happy marriage, a wonderful family, two lovely homes, an above average income, and a demanding job. I do not volunteer because I have nothing “better” to do with my time. I work dozens of hours a week, every week, as a volunteer. I volunteer because I love what it creates for people – and for me. I am leaving in 3 weeks time to take a group of Australian teenagers to Nepal for two months with World Youth International on a cultural exchange programme. I have worked with hundreds of volunteers in many different organisations over the last 45 years – and have never experienced the sense of pride, belonging, and an extraordinary willingness to support and assist each other with absolutely everything. There is a mixture of pride, respect and curiosity from the public about our uniforms and our jobs – and everyone is ready to chat and laugh with us in the street. I have friends who tell me later “I feel so envious of you. I WISH I had been a volunteer! How did you get the job?”
I feel sorry for all the people who are not volunteers. The community spirit amongst us volunteers is palpable: we are smiling, laughing, supporting, and sharing with each other. Could we have life in Australia like this all the time? – this is so much FUN!!! I feel so proud to be Australian.
There are periods of frenetic activity, punctuated by hours of waiting. I sit at the Menzies (our break out staff area) and listen to everybody’s opinions about the Olympics, the inside gossip, and observe some jockeying for “power” and “position” and “pecking order”. Even us volunteers have a structure. It is amusing to see, and sometimes irritating: I remind myself that people who have low self esteem need to prop themselves up ….. and given a uniform, it doubles their power! This is a minor irritation however, and as always, am blown away by the kindess and generosity of these people, my colleagues and who they are in their lives. The Moms and Dads with kids and businesses and jobs and aging, ailing parents. These are not people sitting around looking for something to occupy their time. They have busy lives and have given themselves to the Games freely.
DID WE SEE ANYTHING?
When Ian Thorpe left to ready himself for the 200m, the protocol assistants rushed to fill every corner of the area around the seating (strictly forbidden, but nobody was watching us, all eyes on the pool.) Through a tiny corner, if I crouched down, and looked through the tangle of cables for the cameras, and the legs of people, I could see a tiny section of the pool, through which swam Ian Thorpe on occasion! I cannot describe the roar of the crows, the monumental, Australia wide support that was there for our swimmers, the mighty roar of the crowd shook the walls. I found myself crying – a mixture of pride, relief, and a clarity that I had watched history unfold.
The men’s 100 m medley: there was more at stake than just swimming, this was about AUSTRALIA, this was about OUR country, OUR pool, OUR team, OUR games. Was there ever a more exciting race than this one, which the Americans have held tightly forever? – and following on the heels of the comment by an American swimmer last week that they would “smash the Australian swimmers like guitars”. When this incredible race was done, our men got out of the pool, and in typical Australian larrikin manner, all mimed guitar playing. The crowd loved it! The Protocol Assistants were high-fiving each other as if WE had just won the race!
At several events, I am taken by the venue supervisor to watch a game when there are empty seats. This is particularly exciting when Italy is playing someone, and it gives me lots to talk about with “my” Italians. Snra waves the Italian flag I have given her. She tells me later, it is magic – Italy wins when she waves it. (Another mythical quality Sydney is imbued with!
However, there is a measure of discontent as some female pa’s complaining about how come they cannot see some events, even if there are empty seats! I tell them, we were told when we signed up, we would NOT see anything! I distance myself from this complaining group. Volunteers who inisist they SEE games are beyond the pale. I do not understand this attitude. When and if I am fortunate enough to see some sport, I am thrilled beyond belief, and certainly do not consider this a perk of my job, and am always clear that if the place fills up, I will have to leave.
HOW MUCH WORK DID THEY DO?
Everywhere we go, Snr. C is feted and fawned upon, and called Mr. President. (He is a Member of the IOC for Italy, President of the International Skaters Union, and Chairman of the NOC for Italy – a busy, and important – and powerful! – man). He is at pains to explain to us in the car going home, after I have told Ron that I heard him called “Mr. President” – he says, embarrassed, “Sandra! Please, you know the kind of people we are! – that is NOT how I want to be called!” He tells me, somewhat apologetically, and yet seeking my approval in some way I think – that the treatment, and the assistance he gets is not big headed, but deserved – for the effort they put in. He too, is a volunteer! - I like that! - and every four years they get a 16 day trip to the Olympics. I agree – I do not see any evidence of a gravy train for this man. He works hard – he works the crowd hard, and is always on duty. His wife is the silent, strength beside him. Today, when he was chatting too long with anyone she whispers in his ear, and he gets back to the job at hand. A woman who supports her husband, knows him well, and knows the routine. Another “unseen” volunteer for the Olympics?
THE FAMOUS PEOPLE!
I am standing ten feet away from The American Basketball Team!!! I cannot believe this! My son would be breathless with joy to witness this! I am so excited, that I fumble so much that before I can get a film in my camera they are on the court, and we can hear the game, feel the atmosphere, but not see it …. I have missed the photo opportunity, but I am happy. We are underneath the game!
At the tennis, I watch the practise courts and saw Mark Phillipousos playing, plus both the Woodies – and the coach, Tony Roach. There are a host of international tennis players warming up, and I stand, still and silent, hoping not to draw attention to myself whilst I surreptiously watch the Masters at work. What a thrill!
Our Prime Minister was at the Rowing one Sunday, and Janet Howard and a team of security men dashed by, looking looking for someone. I heard someone say the “The PM is lost”, and a flurrity of activity ensured. Then John Howard walked right up in front of me, smiling and saying “Good Afternoon! “ I was so stunned. Me, who can speak with a mouth full of marbles under water, for once I had no words except “Good Afternoon” in return. The Prime Minister of Australia!
Standing outside in the shae one day, and Chelsea Clinton strolled by. Confident, and skilful, shaking hands, working the crowd, smiling, and talking. “This is the President of the United States of America’s daughter” I was thinking! She headed straight towards us as if to speak, and then she noticed Michael Chang the tennis player, standing right next to me. She stopped and had an animated and extended conversation with him, ending in a kiss and a hug. Michael Chang looked stunned.
I helped the ex Minister of Sport John Brown and his wife find the Olympic lounge.
Ordinary, pleasant Australians, who smile and say thank you.
We are taken from the Olympic family lounge to the Vice President of the Modern Pentathlon’s suite. Thomas Bach (The Vice president of the IOC) and his wife are there, and so is Prince Alberto of Monaco. “My” Italian lady sits next to Juan Antonio Samaranch. I see famous and important people everywhere, and am only sorry that I cannot recall who they all are!
WHAT HAPPENS AT HOME
It is 11.30 pm most nights when I get home. I leave around 7.30 am. Every night I type up my diary of the day, wash the shirt I wore today, and iron the shirt I washed yesterday so I can wear it tomorrow. (Only two shirts). My beloved husband and son are not holding the house together as much as I had hoped. The dishes pile up in the sink. The carpets remain un-vaccuumed, the fridge remains empty, the laundry overflows, and the garbage spills over. Thankfully, my Mom arrives on a white charger, and unpacked the shopping I had ordered form Coles on line, oversees the window cleaning man, the house cleaners, makes dog food, washes the sheets and does the ironing. Nobody can do a great job without somebody behind them assisting with the details. My Mom and Dad are my support team, and they are diong their bit for the Olympics by helping me. My Dad has been really sick with bronchitis and I feel somewhat guilty that I have not been able to visit him. I am very tired when I get into bed, but am so exited about all that has happened in the day, I do not sleep for ages.
GENEROSITY
Ron has been on 2 days break, and “my” Italians are so happy to see Ron return. So am I. The relief driver was good, but definitely not Ron! They both say immediately “Welcome Back, Ron!!!” They hand him a gift, and say “Thank you, Ron!” They do the same for me. What a gift! I have a beautiful Georgio Armani scarf, the finest sheerest silk you can imagine, navy blue, in a cardbaord box, tied with a cotton loop. Ron has an excellent grey silk Versace tie, elegant and refined. Ron says he has never bought a suit that cost as much as this tie probably did.
On our last day, he tells me again what a wonderful thing we have done, Ron and I, and ALL of us volunteers. “We could not have the Games without you volunteers. You have done a wonderful thing for your country. You have personally assisted the Australian economy! I am very grateful to you. (Wow! I didn’t know we were doing that!!!) He says he has been the envy of all the other IOC members, having Ron and I as “his staff”.
Some late nights, Snr. would insist that Ron drive me home to Gordon from the city or SOP. This was strictly against the rules, but much appreciated by me after many long successive days. (Ron jokes he wasn’t willing to inflict me on other train passengers …. “Heaven knows WHAT she might do!”)
TIME OFF
We have been told to organise days off for ourselves when we need them. However,
I notice my reluctance to do so, and in leave “my” Italians in the care of someone else. I feel very proprietorial about them! I work 23 days straight, and never feel resentful. If only we could harness this quality and recreate it in our workplaces. I am enjoying myself so much! Our job ends on Sunday , 1st October, at noon. I am already clear I will be “taking care of them” until Tuesday evening, when I put them on the plane for Milano. After all, they are “mine”!!
TRAIN TRAVEL TO WORK
Every day I intend to read the paper on the train, as it is my only time to do so, but never can – everybody talks to me and I talk to everybody, and the spirit of community is very strong. We have a license to talk to anybody during the Olympics, and it is wonderful! People ask about my uniform, my job, where the tolilets are!, the medal tallies, etc. The public believes that a volunteer is imbued with extraordinary wisdom about a vast number of affairs! The trains are a happy place to be, run precisely on schedule, and are squeaky clean. One day I talk so much to one visitor that I miss my stop and have to double back. Travelling to work has never been so much fun!
SENORA CINQUANTA’S DAY OFF!
I carried strawberries, kiwi fruit, champagne in a cooler bag, a white damask cloth and napkins, and glass bowls and Tim Tams on the train – quite a feat, given the crowds – however, everybody is so cheerful and so happy. We are taking Snra. and her girlfriend, Snra. Magri, on a picnic today, and to see the sights. Ron has the car gleaming, and everything is packed in the boot. We drive over the Harbour Bridge to Mosman, through the shops, and down to the zoo, showing them the skyline – Sydney is seductive, at her best, showing off in the best possible way …. And then to Balmoral, which they adore. We walk down the promenade, they exclaim and take photos, and kind Aussies take photos of all of us – I am so proud to be Australian, the spirit is moving and I am in heaven. We drive to Manly, take them along the beach front, point out the Corso, and up to North Head, where the view is spectacular, and there are a crew of St. John’s Ambulance waiting there - in the heat – for what, I wonder?
From there we drive to Duffy’s Forest, to Waratah Park, the home of Skippy – and Snra. C. insists beforehand that she must pay. She says it is “my shot” (her “shout”) – (she is becoming Australian, using our colloquialisms!) and asks if I will take care of the finances, handing me $230 …. I go ahead and buy four tickets, and bags of food for the kangaroos, and in we go – they are in heaven, surrounded by cockatoos, cookaburras, dingos, aggressive emus, which Ron attempts to tame, wombats, and when we get to the koalas, the mother in them emerges, and they are all pouts and tut tuts, and murmuring soothing sounds. We take masses of photos, and are allowed to stroke them, and then we go to the kangaroos, who delight them as there are babies with legs and heads popping out of pouches.
We head to Palm Beach, and a lovely restaurant, and Snra. invites us to join them for lunch. Ron follows the lead of the ladies and orders salmon and asparagus – it arrives, very nouvelle, a tiny portion, I look at the size of Ron and the size of the meal, and ponder how much of his large tummy it will fill. However, he inisists that is all he will have. The meal arrives, and it is one of those delicate, daintily arranged small portion, the size of an entrée…. I look at Ron, but not a trace of a smirk mars his happy features …. I am trying not to giggle, it takes about 35 seconds to eat this dish. Ron must be starving. Snra. Presses him to eat more, he gracefully declines.
Back at the hotel, I give her the strawberries and kiwi fruit I have brought, and compliment her on her astute purchases of pashmina shawls today. She says “Sandra, I will KISS you before I leave! – you know us Italians!!” Snr. thanks us profusely for the wonderful day the women have had and for “keeping my wife busy” – he is smiling and obviously well pleased.
MEDAL PRESENTATIONS
He is presenting medals tonight, and I cannot believe how much I am clucking about this confident, wordly man as if he were a child of mine. I have given him a comb and a tiny spray bottle of facial water refresher, telling him he must be the most impeccable and handsome of the presenters of the medals on TV. He is tickled at this gesture, and says “My wife will carry it in her handbag …” I am as proud as a mother at the Christmas concert, and take a dozen photos of him presenting medals.
I preen and posture with pride.
THEIR EXPERIENCE OF AUSTRALIA (AND US)
Snr. jokes about how “tough” Australian women are, especially me! He confides to Ron in a loud voice, “Ron, if I require a special service, and they cannot help me, I will say “If you do not assist me, I will send Sandra Groom back here!” – then they will help me, yes!” Peals of laughter at this joke on me. Ron, the Aussie, and Ottavio, the Italian, are males, and united. Where we are born makes no difference. I love this laugher, this joking, this unspoken admiration of our toughness. It’s true. Australian women ARE tough! His wife too, likes this interpretation of women. She says it has little outlet in Italy!! Women too, are the same the world over, and Snra. and I are bonded by small smiles of encouragement and what we know about our place in the world. Our love for our husbands fuels our strength. We make jokes about males being the boss, but woman knowing they are.
Some days they say “Sandra, we never have to look for you – you are always there!” and tell Ron, “You are a computer! – a machine! – what you do with this motor car!” They tell the man in the mobile phone shop who has worked tirelessly with me for 3 hours to get his phone sorted out “You are a genius! Thank you!”
One night, Ron, God bless his big cotton socks, sits outside the restaurant until about 11.30 pm to wait for them to take them back to the hotel. A taxi ride would have sufficed, but no, says Ron, not for “our” Italians ….
LOSING “MY” ITALIANS
I am standing amongst world champion fencers, pouring out of a side door, security is holding back the crowds. Snr. has presented a medal, I am to meet them here, but its chaos! They cannot find me, I cannot see them, and my phone does not work in the bowels of the building. I feel sick. What a hopeless PA I must be! - I have lost them! Eventually I hear Snr. call “Sandra!” with such relief on his face. I fall upon them, like a Mother reunited with a lost child, almost sobbing with relief, and pat his face tenderly, hugging her arms to me. They accept this – they are Italians. Oure relationship has moved to another level.
TREKKING IN DARLING HARBOUR
One evening, about twelve of the Italian delegation are going to dinner at a place called Nicks Bar and Grill. Ron knows where it is, and drops us at Sega World at Darling Harbour, and we walk through the thousands, with the party following me like the Pied Piper. I have where I am going. Presenting a confident front, I keep walking, they keep following. We get to Nicks. The wrong Nicks, as it turns out, they have all entered the restaurant, talking and removing jackets and visiting the loo. I have to herd them out of the restaurant, (this feels like a cattle drive!) It is quite a task with 12 animated, noisy, gesticulating Italians, all offering different suggestions and opinions. I cannot speak Italian, and their English is limited. I keep walking, they keep following. It’s a long way to the second Nicks. Now I feel like the Keystone Cops. I meet an off duty volunteer, quickly explain my dilemma, and he runs ahead and comes back with the reassuring news, that yes, (the right!) Nicks is ahead. (This is how volunteers assisted each other during the Games – I don’t know who he is, but I want to say THANK YOU!) I, meanwhile, am trying to maintain my composure, waving my white hat in the darkness for the dozen Italians to follow, and keeping a cheerful expression, as if to say “I know EXACTLY what I am doing!” I was very relieved to get to the restaurant – a brand new one, which I had never heard of before – about a kilometre from the original one. These elegant Italian women in their high heels were teetering about in agony by the time we got there, and they were very pleased to sit down. Meanwhile, I have bluffed my way through another potentially explosive situation.
CATHY RUNS!
The stadium is packed with 115,000 people and it seems like 20,000 volunteers when Cathy Freeman walks out in her zoot suit. We, the Olly Vollies, and the crowd roar our approval. This young woman, beloved of all Australians, must feel the stress of winning this race so profoundly. She carries the hopes of the Aboriginal nation, and she stands for reconciliation between us.
I have a wonderful view along with hundreds of other volunteers all lined up and waving flags …. Until half way throughout the race, on the run home, the crowd as one, leaps to its feet, screaming and yelling, people are jumping and clutching their heads and their faces and hanging on to ech other, eyes popping ….I have never heard a sound like it …. The crowd are carrying her on their voices, she is running faster than she has ever run, leaving the English woman and the Nigerian (?) woman behind her …. As she loops the track, the flash bulbs follow her like a Mexican wave …. She comes home 2 m ahead of the others …. If possible the crowd roars ever louder!
“Our Cathy” has won …. The volunteers are hugging each other, some are crying, and jumping and we believe we have helped her win by our support. I feel exhausted, as if I have run with Cathy, my legs are trembling, my heart is pounding, I am weepy.
“We” won!
CAUSING A MIRACLE TO MARCH
Bob Carr (NSW Premier) is giving the volunteers ticker tape parade on Thursday 5/10/00. How wonderful! There is a party for Protocol the night before. However, I am flying to Adelaide to lead a 3 day training for World Youth International the same day at precisely the time the march starts. I work out: I could catch a later flight, and still be there in time for the training and I am committed to attending both the training and the parade. I call my director in Adelaide, and ask about the ticket, can it be changed? Unfortunately, it cannot , it is a 21 day advance purchase ticket, and electronic. Refusing to be thwarted, I go to the Ansett desk at the Regent, and tell her my story. I am (obviously) a volunteer, and want to be at the parade! I ask her to cause “A Miracle”. She taps away, makes a phone call and does! “No problem, all confirmed – your flight is now at 6 pm!” I kiss her, tell her she is a Champion, bequeath all my grandchildren to her, and leave, very excited. One more example of people’s willingness to “go the extra mile” during the Games.
ROMA IN THE REAR
We drive to the Superdome – there are three Italians in the back seat, all talking at once. It is comical. Nobody is listening to anybody else, and there are at least two mobile phones in active use, and extra curricular conversations occurring all at once. I glance at Ron, and we shake our heads imperceptibly in wonder at this marvel of communication. We are all happy.
He regales us with funny stories on many days, and we laugh until our jaws ache. Our drives are generally great fun. Sometimes they hold hands and talk very quietly in Italian to each other, and Ron and I fade into the background. Other times I “know” when I can be playful and bossy with them. I have brought Andrea Bocelli CD’s to play Italian music for them – they are delighted. We play these late at night, very softly, when they are tired, or when he has come from a stressful meeting. I am learning their facial expressions and how best to support them. With silence. Music. A joke. A request for a plan for tomorrow.
AUSTRALIA VS ITALY – NOW WHAT?
I have become Italian at all the events, waving our Italian flag, which we now call the International flag, as it is the red, white and green. Its spine broke during an enthusiastic moment, and has been repaired with Japanese chopsticks, by my husband, Gerald, with his African engineering, carried by Aussie me. Italy is playing Australia at the basketball. This will require all my protocol skills! Snr. says, with a sly smile, he does not need to carry the flag today, perhaps I will need it to wipe my tears when Italy beats Australia? I think he may be right, Italy is a powerful team, but I smile slyly back, and say “We shall see!”
I find an illegal spot from which to watch the match. The GAME IS FANTASTIC! – The team play a great game, and Andrew Gaze and Shane Heal play a mighty game. It is neck and neck, we are in the lead. At half time, they take the lead. This is nail biting and aggressive play. The crowd is going bonkers, people crying and singing and yelling and jumping out of their seats with excitement. I am shouting myself hoarse – and WE WIN!!!! 65 – 61, basketball history, we are through to the finals!!! I am jigging up and down and hugging strangers! When I collect “my” Italians, I say “Snr. perhaps you now will need my flag to wipe your tears on???” He laughs uproariously and they both place an affectionate arm arorund my shoulders. They congratulate us with generosity.
TEACHING “MY” ITALIANS TO USE THE SEAT BELTS
From the first day, I have had a strict rule. No seat belts on, no car movement. I can tell they are unused to being told what to do, and Snr. good naturedly tells me “In Italy, rules are made to be broken!” I say, “In Australia, we wear our seat belts.” I refuse to budge on this point. He likes to extract his “revenge” in a playful manner, and makes jokes about how bossy I am. It becomes a source of amusement to us all. One day I am slow to put mine on. He is quick to say “Sandra, please put your seat belt on”. I immediately respond: “It is the sign of a great teacher when the pupil begins to teach the teacher ….” He slaps his thigh and roars laughing, chucking his wife’s chin, and saying, “Maria Louisa! – did I not tell you, it will be 20 seconds before a response from Sandra – but no, it took her only 3 seconds!!!” He likes my cheek, and he enjoys “our games”. I suspect not many people challenge this man – and even fewer women – and he admires my boldness.
AM I THE DRIVER’S MUM?
It is 34 degrees and poor Ron has to wait outside in the car for us. I ask him again, has he got water? He always replies “Yes Mum!” to my questions. From the first day, when I placed his accreditation card tape under his collar, he responded with “Thanks Mum!” This is a relationship with a man I have not had before. Based on a solid foundation of friendship and mutual respect for each other and our skills, a complete commitment to supporting each other, and an almost uncanny ability to “work magic” in difficult and seemingly unworkable situations. Time and time again, Ron and I come up trumps, with a precision and a dedication to alignment. We call these events “miracles” and congratulate each other. At the end of the Olympics, I am surprised to discover how much I miss this man, and our shared commitment to excellence. This is a man who I probably would never have met in ordinary circumstances, given where we live, and what we do, and yet we have created this extraordinary relationship.
PROMOTION FOR “MY” ITALIAN
Snr walks briskly towards me, sitting in the chair I have taken ownership of in the lobby. He is smiling, energised, ecstatic, and very emotional. “Today is a very important day for me, Sandra, today I have been elected to the Board of the IOC!!!” I am thrilled! I want to run around the lobby of the Regent and tell everybody. I congratulate him profoundly. I want to hug him, but feel this is not appropriate. I am so proud of “my” IOC Member and that he has chosen to tell me straight out of his meeting. People are coming up to him and shaking his hand. His eyes gleam with achievement.
RON SAYS GOODBYE
Ron says goodbye to “our” Italians. He has declined to come to the airport, saying he would be “a basket case”. This big, burly cop, moved to tears, by farewelling people we did not know 3 weeks ago. His face is red, he is having difficulty controlling his emotions, his Adam’s apple moves rapidly, he blinks, but is unable to stop the tears from spilling over. He extends his hand to Snr. who surprises us all by throwing his arms around Big Ron. Now my eyes fill with tears, I am transfixed by this scene. A small Italian man, and a big Australian man, bound by the Olympics. I am so moved I forget to take a photo of this happening! Ron gives them both an Honorary Police Pin. Snr. is absolutely delighted, he is an ex cop himself, and is as pleased as can be. Ron tells me later, “I couldn’t believe it! I actually kissed another man today!” A breakthrough for a big boofy bloke with a big boofy heart.
BONZER BUS RIDE
I have left them at the Closing Ceremony, and want to be home to see it myself on TV. Ron has taken the car out as the roads are closed. I walk for 40 minutes to get to the bus stop. The crowds are leaving, and people are tired and happy and smiling, even kids in pushchairs are in good spirits! The bus driver is a young, cheerful, Aussie guy, a young version of Crocodile Dundee. He is elling jokes, introducing people, laughing, teasing people, and I am delighted to be there, and note with much pride the response of our visitors. What an Ambassador for Australia this guy is! Can we bottle him?? This is a delightful way to end a tiring and emotional day. He tells us how to get off, he will stop pretty much anywhere for us. He is having the time of his life, tells me he has left his wife and children in the country to do this, and can’t wait to see them. But “Man! What a ball I’ve had!” Everybody on this bus are talking to each other and having a whale of a time …. I realise that this is the first time that I have been a part of the crowd! I have been insulated in my designated black Statesman with a designated Driver. I am thrilled to be a part of this crowd, and can see why Australia and Australians are being given such a great rap around the world! The driver seems to think I am an Official – and a paid one at that – and I am quick to let him know that no, I am a volunteer – and LOVING MY JOB! I feel very proud.
WHAT CAN WE LEARN?
A piece from Column Eight in the Sydney Morning Herald: Somewhere in Sydney, a long snaking queue in a bank, and no action. One of the customers says in a loud voice “What we need in here is a couple of Olympic Volunteers to get this handled!”. Laughter from the customers, stony stares from the staff.
LAST DAY ON THE JOB
Today is the last day of my duties, which officially ended on Sunday, but I figure these are “my” people and “my” responsibility until they are on the plane. I want to do this. I press my uniform, and carefully dress, always proud as ever, to wear it – and feeling sad, board the train for the city. The streets are being closed off for the Athletes Parade, and there are thousands of people milling about, and road blocks, and we cannot get to the mobile phone store to have his mobile restored to Italian mode.
I suggest we have lunch, and after lunch, get the phone sorted out. We find an Italian pizza place, and Snr. says, “So you wear your uniform to the end, huh?” We sit down, he orders wine and food. This is the first time that I have sat at a table with both of them and eaten a meal, and I feel a little strange. Snra. hands him a package, which he tactfully places under a napkin, whilst he acknowledges me generously. He then hands me his card, President of the International Skating Union …. and a fine gold chain, with a tiny gold and black medallion, with ‘ISU’ inscribed on it. He says: “This is your gold medal, for being the BEST!” My eyes fill with tears ….. So do his. And hers. We have completed something together, and I feel very happy, very proud, and a clarity that this can never be the same again. I say I will always remember them both when I wear this.
I give them the small gifts I have brought: A cup saying “Numero Uno” for him, which he loves, his male ego well pleased, and Snra. loves the tiny malachite face I have given her. We have developed an ease – not quite a friendship, given the status of our relationship – but an appreciation and a pleasure in each other’s company.
“KISS AND CRY” AT THE AIRPORT
The trip to the airport is uneventful, we are there in plenty of time. I have done this a thousand times myself, and know the ropes. We sail through, and then are greeted by a volunteer. She asks, “May I take your guests through Immigration?” I am stunned at the extent of our Australian hospitality to our guests. She chats and reassures them with grace. I feel a little jealous that she is taking my charges. Too soon, we are at the gate. My heart lurches, and my throat is suspiciously tight. We take photos. There is always the awkwardness when we say goodbye to people we care about. Cheekbones and noses bump, and bags get in the way. My eyes prickle dangerously, and then I am weeping openly. Snra. says “It is not long. Nine months until we meet again. Then, it will be my turn to call you ‘Snra’”. (Gerald and I have had plans for 2 years to visit Europe next year, and they have invited us to visit them). More kisses – they are gone.
The tears are rolling down my cheeks. I feel bereft. I walk to the trains, slowly. For the first time in weeks, there is no rush, I do not have to be anywhere at a certain time. I wish Ron was here. He would understand. I have nobody at this moment to take care of! No organisation or plans or phone calls to make. Our Olympic banners are flying, there are photographs all over the place of our Olympians, our airport shines, the staff are beaming. I feel a tremendous sense of satisfaction for a job well done, and yet feel curiously lost in my own city. Then a gleaming silver train arrives and I am headed home.
My husband, Gerald has organised for me to have a massage at home tonight. I take off my uniform slowly, as if to keep it on, will keep me connected. I shower, and enjoy the heat, and the relaxed pace of it …. And when Marty starts to massage me, I start to cry, and cry for about 30 minutes. He is anxious, “Are you OK? – are you in pain?” But no, it’s a release, it’s a relief, it’s knowing I’ve done my best, and done a great job.
My tears are about the spirit of the Olympics – me, who has never been particularly interestsed in sport at all! – and its the sense of community I’ve experienced. It’s the hundred small wins that Ron and I have had to make their stay memorable, and the laughter and the tension we have shared. Its for all the medals our athletes have won, and all the medals they have lost. Its about what its taken for every athlete to be here, and for every roar of applause we Australians gave the underdogs. Its about the people I have met, and the support we have given each other ….. what do you need, how can I help? Its about my family, missing them, and being in my home again, and allowing the guilt of not being there to care for my aging parents to emerge.
Its about being part of history, as Juan Antonio Samaranch says, “The Best Olympic Games Ever!” – and part of the biggest workforce in peace time, ever – 180,000 people - 47,000 of whom are volunteers. And I have been one of them. I’m proud, very proud, to be Australian. I know I’ve given my Personal Best.
I know I want to go to Athens!!
PROTOCOL ASSISTANTS PARTY AND MUSTANG SALLY LETS HER HAIR DOWN
The Menzies Hotel fills up fast, so many Protocol people! – the Italian team find each other, and stick together. Drinks are free. Food is scarce. We have speeches and games. And Karaoke. I get up with another PA, a man, and we do our rendition of “Mustang Sally”!! We get roars of approval from the crowd. I do the “shboom shboom” stuff, and let him do the front stuff, he has a good voice. What fun! We win the prize for the best act. I am told we were the topic of conversation going home in the train that night. “They were a great ACT! – this man and woman, must have been married, as they knew each other well, fantastic performers! - and were so well rehearsed!” I find myself paraded around the room on a man’s shoulders, a victory lap, and people are clapping! (I wonder if this is Strictly Protocol? – and what Margaret McLennan and Wendi Balbi would think if they could see me now!)
TICKER TAPE PARADE FOR THE VOLUNTEERS
The atmosphere on the train to the ticker tape is full on party! Are there any regular workers in Sydney? – as the train seems full of uniformed Olly Vollies, laughing, talking, swapping stories, and taking photos of each other …. Like family, we have been through an experience, (can I draw a comparison to a war? – you have to be in it to know it, you cannot have observed it from a distance). Now we are bonded, like family, we have permission to say and do things to each other, “Will you watch my handbag”, or ”I need to pee” and you know it will be safe with this total stranger who wears his uniform with the same pride I do. The laughter and the love on that train was palpable. Wynyard/Town Hall/and St James Station are bursting with blue and white uniforms. We meet people in black, who were the dressers of the Opening and Closing Ceremonies. People in costumes, and the Drizabone clad medal presenters. There are very few protocol people. I scan the news and the papers, and seldom does a protocol uniform feature. Festivities continue through every street, with Vollies blocking up entrances to the station, and station staff directing vollies, who just a couple of days ago, were directing others – more reason for laughter. We chat together, proudly, and take a zillion photos.
I miss Ron. My Olympic partner. We should be marching together. I know he cannot be here due to work commitments, and vow to march for us both. The Italian team are chatting and talking - we have an anxious moment. There are so many of us in HERE, what if there is nobody out THERE to cheer us on?? We march and turn into Park Street. Our jaws drop. There are literally THOUSANDS of people, ten deep, lining the streets, shouting, waving, blowing kisses, and calling “Thank you” over and over and over. We are completely unprepared for this, and many of us begin to cry. People are smiling and waving, and marching in time to the band behind us, singing “Waltzing Matilda” and “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary” – people are waving banners and flags and high-fiving us. Cries of “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie – Oi, Oi, Oi,, Oi!” are rampant. (The Italians once asked us, what does Aussie Aussie Aussie, Oink, Oink, Oink mean?”) People are holding their hands out, wanting to touch us, weeping and beaming, the pride on their faces in us is just the most touching experience, and I find I am frequently crying, marching along, enjoying being a “hero”.
Michael Knight is on the corner, signing autographs. There is a boo/hiss from the crowd. An Olly Volly holds up a sign and a group shouts “Sandy, Sandy, Sandy! – Oi, Oi, Oi!”
THANKS MOM AND DAD
My husband is in the crowd, beaming and waving a flag, so proud. I run and kiss him. I am so sad my Mom and Dad are not here ….. how they would have loved this pomp and circumstance of the parade! Dad is not well enough, he has 4 hairline fractures in his pelvis, and Mom is caring for him. I understand, and I miss them. I find a face of a man, about my Dad’s age, he is smiling at me with pride – I take his hand and say “My Dad cannot be here today, so I want to thank YOU for being here instead and for supporting me in this!” He is an old Digger, his eyes fill up, and he takes my hand in both of his, and says “Thank you darlin’!” There is a lady, my Mom’s age close by. I hold her hand and thank her too. Today, for me, she represents my Mom. She smiles broadly, holds my hand tight, and says “You did such a good job, thank you!!!” I feel satisfied, I have included my parents in this great day.
THE DOMAIN
We eventually get to the Domain, where crowds of people are streaming in …. There are colourful food booths dotted around, Thai, Indian, Vego, Hot Dogs, Dutch Koekies, Sushi, Pancakes, Corn on the Cob, and Ice Cream, truck loads of cokes and cold drinks, and the Olly Vollies are lined up – the q eventually extends half way across the park,and meet in the middle, given there are food booths on both sides. There are a hundred loos, and the stage is gearing up, music is playing, the sun is beaming down, and “party” is definitely the mood here. Us Italians have managed to stay together, which is quite a feat in this vast crowd. We eat standing up and talking, eventually winding our way through the crowds to the other side, where we find a spot of shade. People are q-ing up for free newspaper subscriptions for 2 weeks and a special edition, including every vollie’s name, bound books of results of the games, by colour and by game, and Bonds have t shirt stands. Juan Antonio Samaranch’s famous words are inscribed on the chest “The most dedicated and wonderful volunteers ever – 1st October, 2000”. I queue up twice – once for me, and once for Ron. Monica Trapaga is singing her heart out, in a great red dress, Bob Carr makes a truly wonderful speech, and like our Prime Minister earlier this week, is “crowd surfed” – John Williamson sings ….. and then Wendi Balbi, (our Protocol longest serving 4 years volunteer) and Lex Watson are given the keys to the city on behalf of the volunteers by our Lord Mayor, Frank Sartor. I am so proud of Wendi!
DID THE REST OF AUSTRALIA PARTICIPATE?
Reluctantly, I leave, I have a plane to catch to Adelaide. I have a Training Programme to run in Adelaide, and 20 people waiting for me. (It turns out to be the best training programme I have ever led (from feedback received). I am so inspired by what I have experienced, and my participants get the benefits!) I enjoy wearing my uniform on the plane, and am staggered to discover when I get to Adelaide, that none of the Olympic Spirit is there. There is no party atmosphere. People are lined up, resigned and tired. Nobody recognises the uniform. I’ve left the party of Sydney, and am so surprised at this lack of passion! People do not know what we have been up to! I take Olympic Pins for the kids (this is a blood sport in Sydney by now) – and they do not know what they are. People are non-plussed at my passion, my sharing, and my experiences.
Did the rest of Australia miss out on this amazing experience I wonder?
Luckily, I didn’t! The following week, when I get home, I write to Margaret McLennan, of IOC Protocol and Relations. I thank her for my Olympic Experience, and ask her, “Can I come to Athens? What do I need to do?”
Sandra Groom
4th November, 2000
MY CONTRIBUTION TO
LIVING IS GIVING – THE VOLUNTEER EXPERIENCE 2000
BY SANDRA GROOM
(PROTOCOL ASSISTANT TO OTTAVIO CINQUANTA, IOC BOARD MEMBER FOR ITALY)
GETTING UNIFORMS
Collection day at UDAC, including accreditation, took 3 hours. There was a carnival atmosphere however, with everybody smiling and laughing and getting to know each other. The volunteers processing us wearing their uniforms with pride whilst WE are still waiting for ours!! We are lining up by the thousands, army style, collecting clothing in large bags. “What size?” I was asked. “10 or 12” I reply. The volunteer gives me a 10 in a shirt, pants, and skirt and I try these on. The shirt would fit my husband. The shoulders are almost at my elbows, and the sleeves about 6 inches too long. I poke my head around the curtain and say ”I think this one is marked incorrectly!” She takes me aside and in a conspiratorial whisper confides: “They’ve made them all very big dear, so the fat people feel better!”. I land up with a size 6 and chuckle to myself.
WAITING WAITING
I have not heard from “my” Italians … and I feel anxious! I feel the way I did when I was pregnant, and waiting to go into labour, friends and family keep calling up and saying “Are you STILL here?” – I am waiting to “pop”! I know they arrived on Saturday, and have been on tenterhooks ever since. Every time the phone rings after that, I jump – but I go to bed, and still no word ….. sigh! I cannot bear it, and travel into the city to the Menzies and the Regent, as if to reassure myself that yes, I AM a volunteer, and I WILL get called soon. I am jealous of the other volunteers already working. There is a breathless kind of “waiting” for something to happen amongst the activity …. Well, we ARE waiting to give birth to the Biggest Event on Earth. When I get home, there are messages on the answering machine from family and friends, wishing me luck …. And e mails from the States, South Africa, the UK, and all around Australia. I am in training for my “marathon” – representing Australia as a volulnteer!
“MY” DRIVER
We have spoken on the phone, and I “know” him from across the room. He is large, just like the text book ex-cop he is, with a belly which he refers to as his “keg” (as opposed to a six pack young men may have!). He has a moustache, thinning grey hair, a big wide, friendly smile, and eyes that twinkle like Santa’s. I know we will work well together. He listens, he smiles, he is resourceful, punctual, works hard, is a skilled and masterful driver: I always felt safe in his presence. We create an awesome team. Ron is a star at crowd control. He greets everybody, and I smile when he says “Evening Men!” as we pass by, like he was inspecting the troops. He is a great ambassador for our country. Ron imbues me with magical qualities that I can talk my way in and out of anything anywhere, get things done, given, or managed, with my “skill, looks and uniform”. Our boss says he is the envy of the rest of the IOC delegation – he has us, “The Elite Team”!
Ron was stopped one day when he got into town by a Japanese family who took his hand, and said “You must be a very proud Australian” – and bowed low several times. He bowed in return, and thanked them. He said later, he was surprised to find he had tears in his eyes. This big, burly, ex-cop.
The Olympics did that to people.
MEETING “MY” ITALIANS!
I go to the Regent to meet Signor. He has assured me we do not need to meet at a designated spot in the lobby, he has seen my photo, he will recognise me. And he does. I am surprised to discover I feel nervous. Me! Who has led programm es to thousands of people from the front of the room. Signor smiles, introduces himself, and there is an awkward moment as he goes to shake my hand. I have a flashback of my training “Do not Touch!” – immediately put it aside, and hand him the Australian waratah flower and card. His eyes light up. We make a small connection. I know we will work well together. They are an attractive couple: she: slim, elegant, exquisitely groomed, pretty. He is handsome and charming.
SYDNEY SYDNEY SYDNEY
I like to think of Sydney as a bride. All polished, pretty, painted and wearing her very best petticoats. Even the jasmine, the rhodedendrons and azaleas have come out early! And we have summer in spring. Our visitors are captivated and seduced by this beautiful, beautiful place. We do not tell them the weather is not like this every day. Snr. tells me “You should pay to live in this beautiful city!” The Olympics brings out all that is very best in Australians, and for the first time in the 27 years I have lived here, I am present to a powerful national pride, which frequently moves me to tears. A journalist in the States says “the best attraction of Sydney is her people!” At this time – we are! – and I am proud.
THE OLLY VOLLY EXPERIENCE
I have been a volunteer in one way or another since I was 4 years old. I have a very happy marriage, a wonderful family, two lovely homes, an above average income, and a demanding job. I do not volunteer because I have nothing “better” to do with my time. I work dozens of hours a week, every week, as a volunteer. I volunteer because I love what it creates for people – and for me. I am leaving in 3 weeks time to take a group of Australian teenagers to Nepal for two months with World Youth International on a cultural exchange programme. I have worked with hundreds of volunteers in many different organisations over the last 45 years – and have never experienced the sense of pride, belonging, and an extraordinary willingness to support and assist each other with absolutely everything. There is a mixture of pride, respect and curiosity from the public about our uniforms and our jobs – and everyone is ready to chat and laugh with us in the street. I have friends who tell me later “I feel so envious of you. I WISH I had been a volunteer! How did you get the job?”
I feel sorry for all the people who are not volunteers. The community spirit amongst us volunteers is palpable: we are smiling, laughing, supporting, and sharing with each other. Could we have life in Australia like this all the time? – this is so much FUN!!! I feel so proud to be Australian.
There are periods of frenetic activity, punctuated by hours of waiting. I sit at the Menzies (our break out staff area) and listen to everybody’s opinions about the Olympics, the inside gossip, and observe some jockeying for “power” and “position” and “pecking order”. Even us volunteers have a structure. It is amusing to see, and sometimes irritating: I remind myself that people who have low self esteem need to prop themselves up ….. and given a uniform, it doubles their power! This is a minor irritation however, and as always, am blown away by the kindess and generosity of these people, my colleagues and who they are in their lives. The Moms and Dads with kids and businesses and jobs and aging, ailing parents. These are not people sitting around looking for something to occupy their time. They have busy lives and have given themselves to the Games freely.
DID WE SEE ANYTHING?
When Ian Thorpe left to ready himself for the 200m, the protocol assistants rushed to fill every corner of the area around the seating (strictly forbidden, but nobody was watching us, all eyes on the pool.) Through a tiny corner, if I crouched down, and looked through the tangle of cables for the cameras, and the legs of people, I could see a tiny section of the pool, through which swam Ian Thorpe on occasion! I cannot describe the roar of the crows, the monumental, Australia wide support that was there for our swimmers, the mighty roar of the crowd shook the walls. I found myself crying – a mixture of pride, relief, and a clarity that I had watched history unfold.
The men’s 100 m medley: there was more at stake than just swimming, this was about AUSTRALIA, this was about OUR country, OUR pool, OUR team, OUR games. Was there ever a more exciting race than this one, which the Americans have held tightly forever? – and following on the heels of the comment by an American swimmer last week that they would “smash the Australian swimmers like guitars”. When this incredible race was done, our men got out of the pool, and in typical Australian larrikin manner, all mimed guitar playing. The crowd loved it! The Protocol Assistants were high-fiving each other as if WE had just won the race!
At several events, I am taken by the venue supervisor to watch a game when there are empty seats. This is particularly exciting when Italy is playing someone, and it gives me lots to talk about with “my” Italians. Snra waves the Italian flag I have given her. She tells me later, it is magic – Italy wins when she waves it. (Another mythical quality Sydney is imbued with!
However, there is a measure of discontent as some female pa’s complaining about how come they cannot see some events, even if there are empty seats! I tell them, we were told when we signed up, we would NOT see anything! I distance myself from this complaining group. Volunteers who inisist they SEE games are beyond the pale. I do not understand this attitude. When and if I am fortunate enough to see some sport, I am thrilled beyond belief, and certainly do not consider this a perk of my job, and am always clear that if the place fills up, I will have to leave.
HOW MUCH WORK DID THEY DO?
Everywhere we go, Snr. C is feted and fawned upon, and called Mr. President. (He is a Member of the IOC for Italy, President of the International Skaters Union, and Chairman of the NOC for Italy – a busy, and important – and powerful! – man). He is at pains to explain to us in the car going home, after I have told Ron that I heard him called “Mr. President” – he says, embarrassed, “Sandra! Please, you know the kind of people we are! – that is NOT how I want to be called!” He tells me, somewhat apologetically, and yet seeking my approval in some way I think – that the treatment, and the assistance he gets is not big headed, but deserved – for the effort they put in. He too, is a volunteer! - I like that! - and every four years they get a 16 day trip to the Olympics. I agree – I do not see any evidence of a gravy train for this man. He works hard – he works the crowd hard, and is always on duty. His wife is the silent, strength beside him. Today, when he was chatting too long with anyone she whispers in his ear, and he gets back to the job at hand. A woman who supports her husband, knows him well, and knows the routine. Another “unseen” volunteer for the Olympics?
THE FAMOUS PEOPLE!
I am standing ten feet away from The American Basketball Team!!! I cannot believe this! My son would be breathless with joy to witness this! I am so excited, that I fumble so much that before I can get a film in my camera they are on the court, and we can hear the game, feel the atmosphere, but not see it …. I have missed the photo opportunity, but I am happy. We are underneath the game!
At the tennis, I watch the practise courts and saw Mark Phillipousos playing, plus both the Woodies – and the coach, Tony Roach. There are a host of international tennis players warming up, and I stand, still and silent, hoping not to draw attention to myself whilst I surreptiously watch the Masters at work. What a thrill!
Our Prime Minister was at the Rowing one Sunday, and Janet Howard and a team of security men dashed by, looking looking for someone. I heard someone say the “The PM is lost”, and a flurrity of activity ensured. Then John Howard walked right up in front of me, smiling and saying “Good Afternoon! “ I was so stunned. Me, who can speak with a mouth full of marbles under water, for once I had no words except “Good Afternoon!” in return. The Prime Minister of Australia!
Standing outside in the shae one day, and Chelsea Clinton strolled by. Confident, and skilful, shaking hands, working the crowd, smiling, and talking. “This is the President of the United States of America’s daughter” I was thinking! She headed straight towards us as if to speak, and then she noticed Michael Chang the tennis player, standing right next to me. She stopped and had an animated and extended conversation with him, ending in a kiss and a hug. Michael Chang looked stunned.
I helped the ex Minister of Sport John Brown and his wife find the Olympic lounge.
Ordinary, pleasant Australians, who smile and say thank you.
We are taken from the Olympic family lounge to the Vice President of the Modern Pentathlon’s suite. Thomas Bach (The Vice president of the IOC) and his wife are there, and so is Prince Alberto of Monaco. “My” Italian lady sits next to Juan Antonio Samaranch. I see famous and important people everywhere, and am only sorry that I cannot recall who they all are!
WHAT HAPPENS AT HOME
It is 11.30 pm most nights when I get home. I leave around 7.30 am. Every night I type up my diary of the day, wash the shirt I wore today, and iron the shirt I washed yesterday so I can wear it tomorrow. (Only two shirts). My beloved husband and son are not holding the house together as much as I had hoped. The dishes pile up in the sink. The carpets remain un-vaccuumed, the fridge remains empty, the laundry overflows, and the garbage spills over. Thankfully, my Mom arrives on a white charger, and unpacked the shopping I had ordered form Coles on line, oversees the window cleaning man, the house cleaners, makes dog food, washes the sheets and does the ironing. Nobody can do a great job without somebody behind them assisting with the details. My Mom and Dad are my support team, and they are diong their bit for the Olympics by helping me. My Dad has been really sick with bronchitis and I feel somewhat guilty that I have not been able to visit him. I am very tired when I get into bed, but am so exited about all that has happened in the day, I do not sleep for ages.
GENEROSITY
Ron has been on 2 days break, and “my” Italians are so happy to see Ron return. So am I. The relief driver was good, but definitely not Ron! They both say immediately “Welcome Back, Ron!!!” They hand him a gift, and say “Thank you, Ron!” They do the same for me. What a gift! I have a beautiful Georgio Armani scarf, the finest sheerest silk you can imagine, navy blue, in a cardbaord box, tied with a cotton loop. Ron has an excellent grey silk Versace tie, elegant and refined. Ron says he has never bought a suit that cost as much as this tie probably did.
On our last day, he tells me again what a wonderful thing we have done, Ron and I, and ALL of us volunteers. “We could not have the Games without you volunteers. You have done a wonderful thing for your country. You have personally assisted the Australian economy! I am very grateful to you. (Wow! I didn’t know we were doing that!!!) He says he has been the envy of all the other IOC members, having Ron and I as “his staff”.
Some late nights, Snr. would insist that Ron drive me home to Gordon from the city or SOP. This was strictly against the rules, but much appreciated by me after many long successive days. (Ron jokes he wasn’t willing to inflict me on other train passengers …. “Heaven knows WHAT she might do!”)
TIME OFF
We have been told to organise days off for ourselves when we need them. However,
I notice my reluctance to do so, and in leave “my” Italians in the care of someone else. I feel very proprietorial about them! I work 23 days straight, and never feel resentful. If only we could harness this quality and recreate it in our workplaces. I am enjoying myself so much! Our job ends on Sunday , 1st October, at noon. I am already clear I will be “taking care of them” until Tuesday evening, when I put them on the plane for Milano. After all, they are “mine”!!
TRAIN TRAVEL TO WORK
Every day I intend to read the paper on the train, as it is my only time to do so, but never can – everybody talks to me and I talk to everybody, and the spirit of community is very strong. We have a license to talk to anybody during the Olympics, and it is wonderful! People ask about my uniform, my job, where the tolilets are!, the medal tallies, etc. The public believes that a volunteer is imbued with extraordinary wisdom about a vast number of affairs! The trains are a happy place to be, run precisely on schedule, and are squeaky clean. One day I talk so much to one visitor that I miss my stop and have to double back. Travelling to work has never been so much fun!
SENORA CINQUANTA’S DAY OFF!
I carried strawberries, kiwi fruit, champagne in a cooler bag, a white damask cloth and napkins, and glass bowls and Tim Tams on the train – quite a feat, given the crowds – however, everybody is so cheerful and so happy. We are taking Snra. and her girlfriend, Snra. Magri, on a picnic today, and to see the sights. Ron has the car gleaming, and everything is packed in the boot. We drive over the Harbour Bridge to Mosman, through the shops, and down to the zoo, showing them the skyline – Sydney is seductive, at her best, showing off in the best possible way …. And then to Balmoral, which they adore. We walk down the promenade, they exclaim and take photos, and kind Aussies take photos of all of us – I am so proud to be Australian, the spirit is moving and I am in heaven. We drive to Manly, take them along the beach front, point out the Corso, and up to North Head, where the view is spectacular, and there are a crew of St. John’s Ambulance waiting there - in the heat – for what, I wonder?
From there we drive to Duffy’s Forest, to Waratah Park, the home of Skippy – and Snra. C. insists beforehand that she must pay. She says it is “my shot” (her “shout”) – (she is becoming Australian, using our colloquialisms!) and asks if I will take care of the finances, handing me $230 …. I go ahead and buy four tickets, and bags of food for the kangaroos, and in we go – they are in heaven, surrounded by cockatoos, cookaburras, dingos, aggressive emus, which Ron attempts to tame, wombats, and when we get to the koalas, the mother in them emerges, and they are all pouts and tut tuts, and murmuring soothing sounds. We take masses of photos, and are allowed to stroke them, and then we go to the kangaroos, who delight them as there are babies with legs and heads popping out of pouches.
We head to Palm Beach, and a lovely restaurant, and Snra. invites us to join them for lunch. Ron follows the lead of the ladies and orders salmon and asparagus – it arrives, very nouvelle, a tiny portion, I look at the size of Ron and the size of the meal, and ponder how much of his large tummy it will fill. However, he inisists that is all he will have. The meal arrives, and it is one of those delicate, daintily arranged small portion, the size of an entrée…. I look at Ron, but not a trace of a smirk mars his happy features …. I am trying not to giggle, it takes about 35 seconds to eat this dish. Ron must be starving. Snra. Presses him to eat more, he gracefully declines.
Back at the hotel, I give her the strawberries and kiwi fruit I have brought, and compliment her on her astute purchases of pashmina shawls today. She says “Sandra, I will KISS you before I leave! – you know us Italians!!” Snr. thanks us profusely for the wonderful day the women have had and for “keeping my wife busy” – he is smiling and obviously well pleased.
MEDAL PRESENTATIONS
He is presenting medals tonight, and I cannot believe how much I am clucking about this confident, wordly man as if he were a child of mine. I have given him a comb and a tiny spray bottle of facial water refresher, telling him he must be the most impeccable and handsome of the presenters of the medals on TV. He is tickled at this gesture, and says “My wife will carry it in her handbag …” I am as proud as a mother at the Christmas concert, and take a dozen photos of him presenting medals.
I preen and posture with pride.
THEIR EXPERIENCE OF AUSTRALIA (AND US)
Snr. jokes about how “tough” Australian women are, especially me! He confides to Ron in a loud voice, “Ron, if I require a special service, and they cannot help me, I will say “If you do not assist me, I will send Sandra Groom back here!” – then they will help me, yes!” Peals of laughter at this joke on me. Ron, the Aussie, and Ottavio, the Italian, are males, and united. Where we are born makes no difference. I love this laugher, this joking, this unspoken admiration of our toughness. It’s true. Australian women ARE tough! His wife too, likes this interpretation of women. She says it has little outlet in Italy!! Women too, are the same the world over, and Snra. and I are bonded by small smiles of encouragement and what we know about our place in the world. Our love for our husbands fuels our strength. We make jokes about males being the boss, but woman knowing they are.
Some days they say “Sandra, we never have to look for you – you are always there!” and tell Ron, “You are a computer! – a machine! – what you do with this motor car!” They tell the man in the mobile phone shop who has worked tirelessly with me for 3 hours to get his phone sorted out “You are a genius! Thank you!”
One night, Ron, God bless his big cotton socks, sits outside the restaurant until about 11.30 pm to wait for them to take them back to the hotel. A taxi ride would have sufficed, but no, says Ron, not for “our” Italians ….
LOSING “MY” ITALIANS
I am standing amongst world champion fencers, pouring out of a side door, security is holding back the crowds. Snr. has presented a medal, I am to meet them here, but its chaos! They cannot find me, I cannot see them, and my phone does not work in the bowels of the building. I feel sick. What a hopeless PA I must be! - I have lost them! Eventually I hear Snr. call “Sandra!” with such relief on his face. I fall upon them, like a Mother reunited with a lost child, almost sobbing with relief, and pat his face tenderly, hugging her arms to me. They accept this – they are Italians. Oure relationship has moved to another level.
TREKKING IN DARLING HARBOUR
One evening, about twelve of the Italian delegation are going to dinner at a place called Nicks Bar and Grill. Ron knows where it is, and drops us at Sega World at Darling Harbour, and we walk through the thousands, with the party following me like the Pied Piper. I have where I am going. Presenting a confident front, I keep walking, they keep following. We get to Nicks. The wrong Nicks, as it turns out, they have all entered the restaurant, talking and removing jackets and visiting the loo. I have to herd them out of the restaurant, (this feels like a cattle drive!) It is quite a task with 12 animated, noisy, gesticulating Italians, all offering different suggestions and opinions. I cannot speak Italian, and their English is limited. I keep walking, they keep following. It’s a long way to the second Nicks. Now I feel like the Keystone Cops. I meet an off duty volunteer, quickly explain my dilemma, and he runs ahead and comes back with the reassuring news, that yes, (the right!) Nicks is ahead. (This is how volunteers assisted each other during the Games – I don’t know who he is, but I want to say THANK YOU!) I, meanwhile, am trying to maintain my composure, waving my white hat in the darkness for the dozen Italians to follow, and keeping a cheerful expression, as if to say “I know EXACTLY what I am doing!” I was very relieved to get to the restaurant – a brand new one, which I had never heard of before – about a kilometre from the original one. These elegant Italian women in their high heels were teetering about in agony by the time we got there, and they were very pleased to sit down. Meanwhile, I have bluffed my way through another potentially explosive situation.
CATHY RUNS!
The stadium is packed with 115,000 people and it seems like 20,000 volunteers when Cathy Freeman walks out in her zoot suit. We, the Olly Vollies, and the crowd roar our approval. This young woman, beloved of all Australians, must feel the stress of winning this race so profoundly. She carries the hopes of the Aboriginal nation, and she stands for reconciliation between us.
I have a wonderful view along with hundreds of other volunteers all lined up and waving flags …. Until half way throughout the race, on the run home, the crowd as one, leaps to its feet, screaming and yelling, people are jumping and clutching their heads and their faces and hanging on to ech other, eyes popping ….I have never heard a sound like it …. The crowd are carrying her on their voices, she is running faster than she has ever run, leaving the English woman and the Nigerian (?) woman behind her …. As she loops the track, the flash bulbs follow her like a Mexican wave …. She comes home 2 m ahead of the others …. If possible the crowd roars ever louder!
“Our Cathy” has won …. The volunteers are hugging each other, some are crying, and jumping and we believe we have helped her win by our support. I feel exhausted, as if I have run with Cathy, my legs are trembling, my heart is pounding, I am weepy.
“We” won!
CAUSING A MIRACLE TO MARCH
Bob Carr is giving the volunteers ticker tape parade on Thursday 5/10/00. How wonderful! There is a party for Protocol the night before. However, I am flying to Adelaide to lead a 3 day training for World Youth International the same day at precisely the time the march starts. I work out: I could catch a later flight, and still be there in time for the training and I am committed to attending both the training and the parade. I call my director in Adelaide, and ask about the ticket, can it be changed? Unfortunately, it cannot , it is a 21 day advance purchase ticket, and electronic. Refusing to be thwarted, I go to the Ansett desk at the Regent, and tell her my story. I am (obviously) a volunteer, and want to be at the parade! I ask her to cause “A Miracle”. She taps away, makes a phone call and does! “No problem, all confirmed – your flight is now at 6 pm!” I kiss her, tell her she is a Champion, bequeath all my grandchildren to her, and leave, very excited. One more example of people’s willingness to “go the extra mile” during the Games.
ROMA IN THE REAR
We drive to the Superdome – there are three Italians in the back seat, all talking at once. It is comical. Nobody is listening to anybody else, and there are at least two mobile phones in active use, and extra curricular conversations occurring all at once. I glance at Ron, and we shake our heads imperceptibly in wonder at this marvel of communication. We are all happy.
He regales us with funny stories on many days, and we laugh until our jaws ache. Our drives are generally great fun. Sometimes they hold hands and talk very quietly in Italian to each other, and Ron and I fade into the background. Other times I “know” when I can be playful and bossy with them. I have brought Andrea Bocelli CD’s to play Italian music for them – they are delighted. We play these late at night, very softly, when they are tired, or when he has come from a stressful meeting. I am learning their facial expressions and how best to support them. With silence. Music. A joke. A request for a plan for tomorrow.
AUSTRALIA VS ITALY – NOW WHAT?
I have become Italian at all the events, waving our Italian flag, which we now call the International flag, as it is the red, white and green. Its spine broke during an enthusiastic moment, and has been repaired with Japanese chopsticks, by my husband, Gerald, with his African engineering, carried by Aussie me. Italy is playing Australia at the basketball. This will require all my protocol skills! Snr. says, with a sly smile, he does not need to carry the flag today, perhaps I will need it to wipe my tears when Italy beats Australia? I think he may be right, Italy is a powerful team, but I smile slyly back, and say “We shall see!”
I find an illegal spot from which to watch the match. The GAME IS FANTASTIC! – The team play a great game, and Andrew Gaze and Shane Heal play a mighty game. It is neck and neck, we are in the lead. At half time, they take the lead. This is nail biting and aggressive play. The crowd is going bonkers, people crying and singing and yelling and jumping out of their seats with excitement. I am shouting myself hoarse – and WE WIN!!!! 65 – 61, basketball history, we are through to the finals!!! I am jigging up and down and hugging strangers! When I collect “my” Italians, I say “Snr. perhaps you now will need my flag to wipe your tears on???” He laughs uproariously and they both place an affectionate arm arorund my shoulders. They congratulate us with generosity.
TEACHING “MY” ITALIANS TO USE THE SEAT BELTS
From the first day, I have had a strict rule. No seat belts on, no car movement. I can tell they are unused to being told what to do, and Snr. good naturedly tells me “In Italy, rules are made to be broken!” I say, “In Australia, we wear our seat belts.” I refuse to budge on this point. He likes to extract his “revenge” in a playful manner, and makes jokes about how bossy I am. It becomes a source of amusement to us all. One day I am slow to put mine on. He is quick to say “Sandra, please put your seat belt on”. I immediately respond: “It is the sign of a great teacher when the pupil begins to teach the teacher ….” He slaps his thigh and roars laughing, chucking his wife’s chin, and saying, “Maria Louisa! – did I not tell you, it will be 20 seconds before a response from Sandra – but no, it took her only 3 seconds!!!” He likes my cheek, and he enjoys “our games”. I suspect not many people challenge this man – and even fewer women – and he admires my boldness.
AM I THE DRIVER’S MUM?
It is 34 degrees and poor Ron has to wait outside in the car for us. I ask him again, has he got water? He always replies “Yes Mum!” to my questions. From the first day, when I placed his accreditation card tape under his collar, he responded with “Thanks Mum!” This is a relationship with a man I have not had before. Based on
a solid foundation of friendship and mutual respect for each other and our skills, a complete commitment to supporting each other, and an almost uncanny ability to “work magic” in difficult and seemingly unworkable situations. Time and time again, Ron and I come up trumps, with a precision and a dedication to alignment. We call these events “miracles” and congratulate each other. At the end of the Olympics, I am surprised to discover how much I miss this man, and our shared commitment to excellence. This is a man who I probably would never have met in ordinary circumstances, given where we live, and what we do, and yet we have created this extraordinary relationship.
PROMOTION FOR “MY” ITALIAN
Snr walks briskly towards me, sitting in the chair I have taken ownership of in the lobby. He is smiling, energised, ecstatic, and very emotional. “Today is a very important day for me, Sandra, today I have been elected to the Board of the IOC!!!” I am thrilled! I want to run around the lobby of the Regent and tell everybody. I congratulate him profoundly. I want to hug him, but feel this is not appropriate. I am so proud of “my” IOC Member and that he has chosen to tell me straight out of his meeting. People are coming up to him and shaking his hand. His eyes gleam with achievement.
RON SAYS GOODBYE
Ron says goodbye to “our” Italians. He has declined to come to the airport, saying he would be “a basket case”. This big, burly cop, moved to tears, by farewelling people we did not know 3 weeks ago. His face is red, he is having difficulty controlling his emotions, his Adam’s apple moves rapidly, he blinks, but is unable to stop the tears from spilling over. He extends his hand to Snr. who surprises us all by throwing his arms around Big Ron. Now my eyes fill with tears, I am transfixed by this scene. A small Italian man, and a big Australian man, bound by the Olympics. I am so moved I forget to take a photo of this happening! Ron gives them both an Honorary Police Pin. Snr. is absolutely delighted, he is an ex cop himself, and is as pleased as can be. Ron tells me later, “I couldn’t believe it! I actually kissed another man today!” A breakthrough for a big boofy bloke with a big boofy heart.
BONZER BUS RIDE
I have left them at the Closing Ceremony, and want to be home to see it myself on TV. Ron has taken the car out as the roads are closed. I walk for 40 minutes to get to the bus stop. The crowds are leaving, and people are tired and happy and smiling, even kids in pushchairs are in good spirits! The bus driver is a young, cheerful, Aussie guy, a young version of Crocodile Dundee. He is elling jokes, introducing people, laughing, teasing people, and I am delighted to be there, and note with much pride the response of our visitors. What an Ambassador for Australia this guy is! Can we bottle him?? This is a delightful way to end a tiring and emotional day. He tells us how to get off, he will stop pretty much anywhere for us. He is having the time of his life, tells me he has left his wife and children in the country to do this, and can’t wait to see them. But “Man! What a ball I’ve had!” Everybody on this bus are talking to each other and having a whale of a time …. I realise that this is the first time that I have been a part of the crowd! I have been insulated in my designated black Statesman with a designated Driver. I am thrilled to be a part of this crowd, and can see why Australia and Australians are being given such a great rap around the world! The driver seems to think I am an Official – and a paid one at that – and I am quick to let him know that no, I am a volunteer – and LOVING MY JOB! I feel very proud.
WHAT CAN WE LEARN?
A piece from Column Eight in the Sydney Morning Herald: Somewhere in Sydney, a long snaking queue in a bank, and no action. One of the customers says in a loud voice “What we need in here is a couple of Olympic Volunteers to get this handled!”. Laughter from the customers, stony stares from the staff.
LAST DAY ON THE JOB
Today is the last day of my duties, which officially ended on Sunday, but I figure these are “my” people and “my” responsibility until they are on the plane. I want to do this. I press my uniform, and carefully dress, always proud as ever, to wear it – and feeling sad, board the train for the city. The streets are being closed off for the Athletes Parade, and there are thousands of people milling about, and road blocks, and we cannot get to the mobile phone store to have his mobile restored to Italian mode.
I suggest we have lunch, and after lunch, get the phone sorted out. We find an Italian pizza place, and Snr. says, “So you wear your uniform to the end, huh?” We sit down, he orders wine and food. This is the first time that I have sat at a table with both of them and eaten a meal, and I feel a little strange. Snra. hands him a package, which he tactfully places under a napkin, whilst he acknowledges me generously. He then hands me his card, President of the International Skating Union …. and a fine gold chain, with a tiny gold and black medallion, with ‘ISU’ inscribed on it. He says: “This is your gold medal, for being the BEST!” My eyes fill with tears ….. So do his. And hers. We have completed something together, and I feel very happy, very proud, and a clarity that this can never be the same again. I say I will always remember them both when I wear this.
I give them the small gifts I have brought: A cup saying “Numero Uno” for him, which he loves, his male ego well pleased, and Snra. loves the tiny malachite face I have given her. We have developed an ease – not quite a friendship, given the status of our relationship – but an appreciation and a pleasure in each other’s company.
“KISS AND CRY” AT THE AIRPORT
The trip to the airport is uneventful, we are there in plenty of time. I have done this a thousand times myself, and know the ropes. We sail through, and then are greeted by a volunteer. She asks, “May I take your guests through Immigration?” I am stunned at the extent of our Australian hospitality to our guests. She chats and reassures them with grace. I feel a little jealous that she is taking my charges. Too soon, we are at the gate. My heart lurches, and my throat is suspiciously tight. We take photos. There is always the awkwardness when we say goodbye to people we care about. Cheekbones and noses bump, and bags get in the way. My eyes prickle dangerously, and then I am weeping openly. Snra. says “It is not long. Nine months until we meet again. Then, it will be my turn to call you ‘Snra’”. (Gerald and I have had plans for 2 years to visit Europe next year, and they have invited us to visit them). More kisses – they are gone.
The tears are rolling down my cheeks. I feel bereft. I walk to the trains, slowly. For the first time in weeks, there is no rush, I do not have to be anywhere at a certain time. I wish Ron was here. He would understand. I have nobody at this moment to take care of! No organisation or plans or phone calls to make. Our Olympic banners are flying, there are photographs all over the place of our Olympians, our airport shines, the staff are beaming. I feel a tremendous sense of satisfaction for a job well done, and yet feel curiously lost in my own city. Then a gleaming silver train arrives and I am headed home.
My husband, Gerald has organised for me to have a massage at home tonight. I take off my uniform slowly, as if to keep it on, will keep me connected. I shower, and enjoy the heat, and the relaxed pace of it …. And when Marty starts to massage me, I start to cry, and cry for about 30 minutes. He is anxious, “Are you OK? – are you in pain?” But no, it’s a release, it’s a relief, it’s knowing I’ve done my best, and done a great job.
My tears are about the spirit of the Olympics – me, who has never been particularly interestsed in sport at all! – and its the sense of community I’ve experienced. It’s the hundred small wins that Ron and I have had to make their stay memorable, and the laughter and the tension we have shared. Its for all the medals our athletes have won, and all the medals they have lost. Its about what its taken for every athlete to be here, and for every roar of applause we Australians gave the underdogs. Its about the people I have met, and the support we have given each other ….. what do you need, how can I help? Its about my family, missing them, and being in my home again, and allowing the guilt of not being there to care for my aging parents to emerge.
Its about being part of history, as Juan Antonio Samaranch says, “The Best Olympic Games Ever!” – and part of the biggest workforce in peace time, ever – 180,000 people - 47,000 of whom are volunteers. And I have been one of them. I’m proud, very proud, to be Australian. I know I’ve given my Personal Best.
I know I want to go to Athens!!
PROTOCOL ASSISTANTS PARTY AND MUSTANG SALLY LETS HER HAIR DOWN
The Menzies fills up fast, so many Protocol people! – the Italian team find each other, and stick together. Drinks are free. Food is scarce. We have speeches and games. And Karaoke. I get up with another PA, a man, and we do our rendition of “Mustang Sally”!! We get roars of approval from the crowd. I do the “shboom shboom” stuff, and let him do the front stuff, he has a good voice. What fun! We win the prize for the best act. I am told we were the topic of conversation going home in the train that night. “They were a great ACT! – this man and woman, must have been married, as they knew each other well, fantastic performers! - and were so well rehearsed!” I find myself paraded around the room on a man’s shoulders, a victory lap, and people are clapping! (I wonder if this is Strictly Protocol? – and what Margaret McLennan and Wendi Balbi would think if they could see me now!)
TICKER TAPE PARADE FOR THE VOLUNTEERS
The atmosphere on the train to the ticker tape is full on party! Are there any regular workers in Sydney? – as the train seems full of uniformed Olly Vollies, laughing, talking, swapping stories, and taking photos of each other …. Like family, we have been through an experience, (can I draw a comparison to a war? – you have to be in it to know it, you cannot have observed it from a distance). Now we are bonded, like family, we have permission to say and do things to each other, “Will you watch my handbag”, or ”I need to pee” and you know it will be safe with this total stranger who wears his uniform with the same pride I do. The laughter and the love on that train was palpable. Wynyard/Town Hall/and St James Station are bursting with blue and white uniforms. We meet people in black, who were the dressers of the Opening and Closing Ceremonies. People in costumes, and the Drizabone clad medal presenters. There are very few protocol people. I scan the news and the papers, and seldom does a protocol uniform feature. Festivities continue through every street, with Vollies blocking up entrances to the station, and station staff directing vollies, who just a couple of days ago, were directing others – more reason for laughter. We chat together, proudly, and take a zillion photos.
I miss Ron. My Olympic partner. We should be marching together. I know he cannot be here due to work commitments, and vow to march for us both. The Italian team are chatting and talking - we have an anxious moment. There are so many of us in HERE, what if there is nobody out THERE to cheer us on?? We march and turn into Park Street. Our jaws drop. There are literally THOUSANDS of people, ten deep, lining the streets, shouting, waving, blowing kisses, and calling “Thank you” over and over and over. We are completely unprepared for this, and many of us begin to cry. People are smiling and waving, and marching in time to the band behind us, singing “Waltzing Matilda” and “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary” – people are waving banners and flags and high-fiving us. Cries of “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie – Oi, Oi, Oi,, Oi!” are rampant. (The Italians once asked us, what does Aussie Aussie Aussie, Oink, Oink, Oink mean?”) People are holding their hands out, wanting to touch us, weeping and beaming, the pride on their faces in us is just the most touching experience, and I find I am frequently crying, marching along, enjoying being a “hero”.
Michael Knight is on the corner, signing autographs. There is a boo/hiss from the crowd. An Olly Volly holds up a sign and a group shouts “Sandy, Sandy, Sandy! – Oi, Oi, Oi!”
THANKS MOM AND DAD
My husband is in the crowd, beaming and waving a flag, so proud. I run and kiss him. I am so sad my Mom and Dad are not here ….. how they would have loved this pomp and circumstance of the parade! Dad is not well enough, he has 4 hairline fractures in his pelvis, and Mom is caring for him. I understand, and I miss them. I find a face of a man, about my Dad’s age, he is smiling at me with pride – I take his hand and say “My Dad cannot be here today, so I want to thank YOU for being here instead and for supporting me in this!” He is an old Digger, his eyes fill up, and he takes my hand in both of his, and says “Thank you darlin’!” There is a lady, my Mom’s age close by. I hold her hand and thank her too. Today, for me, she represents my Mom. She smiles broadly, holds my hand tight, and says “You did such a good job, thank you!!!” I feel satisfied, I have included my parents in this great day.
THE DOMAIN
We eventually get to the Domain, where crowds of people are streaming in …. There are colourful food booths dotted around, Thai, Indian, Vego, Hot Dogs, Dutch Koekies, Sushi, Pancakes, Corn on the Cob, and Ice Cream, truck loads of cokes and cold drinks, and the Olly Vollies are lined up – the q eventually extends half way across the park,and meet in the middle, given there are food booths on both sides. There are a hundred loos, and the stage is gearing up, music is playing, the sun is beaming down, and “party” is definitely the mood here. Us Italians have managed to stay together, which is quite a feat in this vast crowd. We eat standing up and talking, eventually winding our way through the crowds to the other side, where we find a spot of shade. People are q-ing up for free newspaper subscriptions for 2 weeks and a special edition, including every vollie’s name, bound books of results of the games, by colour and by game, and Bonds have t shirt stands. Juan Antonio Samaranch’s famous words are inscribed on the chest “The most dedicated and wonderful volunteers ever – 1st October, 2000”. I queue up twice – once for me, and once for Ron. Monica Trapaga is singing her heart out, in a great red dress, Bob Carr makes a truly wonderful speech, and like our Prime Minister earlier this week, is “crowd surfed” – John Williamson sings ….. and then Wendi Balbi, (our Protocol longest serving 4 years volunteer) and Lex Watson are given the keys to the city on behalf of the volunteers by our Lord Mayor, Frank Sartor. I am so proud of Wendi!
DID THE REST OF AUSTRALIA PARTICIPATE?
Reluctantly, I leave, I have a plane to catch to Adelaide. I have a Training Programme to run in Adelaide, and 20 people waiting for me. (It turns out to be the best training programme I have ever led (from feedback received). I am so inspired by what I have experienced, and my participants get the benefits!) I enjoy wearing my uniform on the plane, and am staggered to discover when I get to Adelaide, that none of the Olympic Spirit is there. There is no party atmosphere. People are lined up, resigned and tired. Nobody recognises the uniform. I’ve left the party of Sydney, and am so surprised at this lack of passion! People do not know what we have been up to! I take Olympic Pins for the kids (this is a blood sport in Sydney by now) – and they do not know what they are. People are non-plussed at my passion, my sharing, and my experiences.
Did the rest of Australia miss out on this amazing experience I wonder?
Luckily, I didn’t! The following week, when I get home, I write to Margaret McLennan, of IOC Protocol and Relations. I thank her for my Olympic Experience, and ask her, “Can I come to Athens? What do I need to do?”
MY CONTRIBUTION TO
LIVING IS GIVING – THE VOLUNTEER EXPERIENCE 2000
BY SANDRA GROOM
(PROTOCOL ASSISTANT TO OTTAVIO CINQUANTA, IOC BOARD MEMBER FOR ITALY)
GETTING UNIFORMS
Collection day at UDAC, including accreditation, took 3 hours. There was a carnival atmosphere however, with everybody smiling and laughing and getting to know each other. The volunteers processing us wearing their uniforms with pride whilst WE are still waiting for ours!! We are lining up by the thousands, army style, collecting clothing in large bags. “What size?” I was asked. “10 or 12” I reply. The volunteer gives me a 10 in a shirt, pants, and skirt and I try these on. The shirt would fit my husband. The shoulders are almost at my elbows, and the sleeves about 6 inches too long. I poke my head around the curtain and say ”I think this one is marked incorrectly!” She takes me aside and in a conspiratorial whisper confides: “They’ve made them all very big dear, so the fat people feel better!”. I land up with a size 6 and chuckle to myself.
WAITING WAITING
I have not heard from “my” Italians … and I feel anxious! I feel the way I did when I was pregnant, and waiting to go into labour, friends and family keep calling up and saying “Are you STILL here?” – I am waiting to “pop”! I know they arrived on Saturday, and have been on tenterhooks ever since. Every time the phone rings after that, I jump – but I go to bed, and still no word ….. sigh! I cannot bear it, and travel into the city to the Menzies and the Regent, as if to reassure myself that yes, I AM a volunteer, and I WILL get called soon. I am jealous of the other volunteers already working. There is a breathless kind of “waiting” for something to happen amongst the activity …. Well, we ARE waiting to give birth to the Biggest Event on Earth. When I get home, there are messages on the answering machine from family and friends, wishing me luck …. And e mails from the States, South Africa, the UK, and all around Australia. I am in training for my “marathon” – representing Australia as a volulnteer!
“MY” DRIVER
We have spoken on the phone, and I “know” him from across the room. He is large, just like the text book ex-cop he is, with a belly which he refers to as his “keg” (as opposed to a six pack young men may have!). He has a moustache, thinning grey hair, a big wide, friendly smile, and eyes that twinkle like Santa’s. I know we will work well together. He listens, he smiles, he is resourceful, punctual, works hard, is a skilled and masterful driver: I always felt safe in his presence. We create an awesome team. Ron is a star at crowd control. He greets everybody, and I smile when he says “Evening Men!” as we pass by, like he was inspecting the troops. He is a great ambassador for our country. Ron imbues me with magical qualities that I can talk my way in and out of anything anywhere, get things done, given, or managed, with my “skill, looks and uniform”. Our boss says he is the envy of the rest of the IOC delegation – he has us, “The Elite Team”!
Ron was stopped one day when he got into town by a Japanese family who took his hand, and said “You must be a very proud Australian” – and bowed low several times. He bowed in return, and thanked them. He said later, he was surprised to find he had tears in his eyes. This big, burly, ex-cop.
The Olympics did that to people.
MEETING “MY” ITALIANS!
I go to the Regent to meet Signor. He has assured me we do not need to meet at a designated spot in the lobby, he has seen my photo, he will recognise me. And he does. I am surprised to discover I feel nervous. Me! Who has led programm es to thousands of people from the front of the room. Signor smiles, introduces himself, and there is an awkward moment as he goes to shake my hand. I have a flashback of my training “Do not Touch!” – immediately put it aside, and hand him the Australian waratah flower and card. His eyes light up. We make a small connection. I know we will work well together. They are an attractive couple: she: slim, elegant, exquisitely groomed, pretty. He is handsome and charming.
SYDNEY SYDNEY SYDNEY
I like to think of Sydney as a bride. All polished, pretty, painted and wearing her very best petticoats. Even the jasmine, the rhodedendrons and azaleas have come out early! And we have summer in spring. Our visitors are captivated and seduced by this beautiful, beautiful place. We do not tell them the weather is not like this every day. Snr. tells me “You should pay to live in this beautiful city!” The Olympics brings out all that is very best in Australians, and for the first time in the 27 years I have lived here, I am present to a powerful national pride, which frequently moves me to tears. A journalist in the States says “the best attraction of Sydney is her people!” At this time – we are! – and I am proud.
THE OLLY VOLLY EXPERIENCE
I have been a volunteer in one way or another since I was 4 years old. I have a very happy marriage, a wonderful family, two lovely homes, an above average income, and a demanding job. I do not volunteer because I have nothing “better” to do with my time. I work dozens of hours a week, every week, as a volunteer. I volunteer because I love what it creates for people – and for me. I am leaving in 3 weeks time to take a group of Australian teenagers to Nepal for two months with World Youth International on a cultural exchange programme. I have worked with hundreds of volunteers in many different organisations over the last 45 years – and have never experienced the sense of pride, belonging, and an extraordinary willingness to support and assist each other with absolutely everything. There is a mixture of pride, respect and curiosity from the public about our uniforms and our jobs – and everyone is ready to chat and laugh with us in the street. I have friends who tell me later “I feel so envious of you. I WISH I had been a volunteer! How did you get the job?”
I feel sorry for all the people who are not volunteers. The community spirit amongst us volunteers is palpable: we are smiling, laughing, supporting, and sharing with each other. Could we have life in Australia like this all the time? – this is so much FUN!!! I feel so proud to be Australian.
There are periods of frenetic activity, punctuated by hours of waiting. I sit at the Menzies (our break out staff area) and listen to everybody’s opinions about the Olympics, the inside gossip, and observe some jockeying for “power” and “position” and “pecking order”. Even us volunteers have a structure. It is amusing to see, and sometimes irritating: I remind myself that people who have low self esteem need to prop themselves up ….. and given a uniform, it doubles their power! This is a minor irritation however, and as always, am blown away by the kindess and generosity of these people, my colleagues and who they are in their lives. The Moms and Dads with kids and businesses and jobs and aging, ailing parents. These are not people sitting around looking for something to occupy their time. They have busy lives and have given themselves to the Games freely.
DID WE SEE ANYTHING?
When Ian Thorpe left to ready himself for the 200m, the protocol assistants rushed to fill every corner of the area around the seating (strictly forbidden, but nobody was watching us, all eyes on the pool.) Through a tiny corner, if I crouched down, and looked through the tangle of cables for the cameras, and the legs of people, I could see a tiny section of the pool, through which swam Ian Thorpe on occasion! I cannot describe the roar of the crows, the monumental, Australia wide support that was there for our swimmers, the mighty roar of the crowd shook the walls. I found myself crying – a mixture of pride, relief, and a clarity that I had watched history unfold.
The men’s 100 m medley: there was more at stake than just swimming, this was about AUSTRALIA, this was about OUR country, OUR pool, OUR team, OUR games. Was there ever a more exciting race than this one, which the Americans have held tightly forever? – and following on the heels of the comment by an American swimmer last week that they would “smash the Australian swimmers like guitars”. When this incredible race was done, our men got out of the pool, and in typical Australian larrikin manner, all mimed guitar playing. The crowd loved it! The Protocol Assistants were high-fiving each other as if WE had just won the race!
At several events, I am taken by the venue supervisor to watch a game when there are empty seats. This is particularly exciting when Italy is playing someone, and it gives me lots to talk about with “my” Italians. Snra waves the Italian flag I have given her. She tells me later, it is magic – Italy wins when she waves it. (Another mythical quality Sydney is imbued with!
However, there is a measure of discontent as some female pa’s complaining about how come they cannot see some events, even if there are empty seats! I tell them, we were told when we signed up, we would NOT see anything! I distance myself from this complaining group. Volunteers who inisist they SEE games are beyond the pale. I do not understand this attitude. When and if I am fortunate enough to see some sport, I am thrilled beyond belief, and certainly do not consider this a perk of my job, and am always clear that if the place fills up, I will have to leave.
HOW MUCH WORK DID THEY DO?
Everywhere we go, Snr. C is feted and fawned upon, and called Mr. President. (He is a Member of the IOC for Italy, President of the International Skaters Union, and Chairman of the NOC for Italy – a busy, and important – and powerful! – man). He is at pains to explain to us in the car going home, after I have told Ron that I heard him called “Mr. President” – he says, embarrassed, “Sandra! Please, you know the kind of people we are! – that is NOT how I want to be called!” He tells me, somewhat apologetically, and yet seeking my approval in some way I think – that the treatment, and the assistance he gets is not big headed, but deserved – for the effort they put in. He too, is a volunteer! - I like that! - and every four years they get a 16 day trip to the Olympics. I agree – I do not see any evidence of a gravy train for this man. He works hard – he works the crowd hard, and is always on duty. His wife is the silent, strength beside him. Today, when he was chatting too long with anyone she whispers in his ear, and he gets back to the job at hand. A woman who supports her husband, knows him well, and knows the routine. Another “unseen” volunteer for the Olympics?
THE FAMOUS PEOPLE!
I am standing ten feet away from The American Basketball Team!!! I cannot believe this! My son would be breathless with joy to witness this! I am so excited, that I fumble so much that before I can get a film in my camera they are on the court, and we can hear the game, feel the atmosphere, but not see it …. I have missed the photo opportunity, but I am happy. We are underneath the game!
At the tennis, I watch the practise courts and saw Mark Phillipousos playing, plus both the Woodies – and the coach, Tony Roach. There are a host of international tennis players warming up, and I stand, still and silent, hoping not to draw attention to myself whilst I surreptiously watch the Masters at work. What a thrill!
Our Prime Minister was at the Rowing one Sunday, and Janet Howard and a team of security men dashed by, looking looking for someone. I heard someone say the “The PM is lost”, and a flurrity of activity ensured. Then John Howard walked right up in front of me, smiling and saying “Good Afternoon! “ I was so stunned. Me, who can speak with a mouth full of marbles under water, for once I had no words except “Good Afternoon!” in return. The Prime Minister of Australia!
Standing outside in the shae one day, and Chelsea Clinton strolled by. Confident, and skilful, shaking hands, working the crowd, smiling, and talking. “This is the President of the United States of America’s daughter” I was thinking! She headed straight towards us as if to speak, and then she noticed Michael Chang the tennis player, standing right next to me. She stopped and had an animated and extended conversation with him, ending in a kiss and a hug. Michael Chang looked stunned.
I helped the ex Minister of Sport John Brown and his wife find the Olympic lounge.
Ordinary, pleasant Australians, who smile and say thank you.
We are taken from the Olympic family lounge to the Vice President of the Modern Pentathlon’s suite. Thomas Bach (The Vice president of the IOC) and his wife are there, and so is Prince Alberto of Monaco. “My” Italian lady sits next to Juan Antonio Samaranch. I see famous and important people everywhere, and am only sorry that I cannot recall who they all are!
WHAT HAPPENS AT HOME
It is 11.30 pm most nights when I get home. I leave around 7.30 am. Every night I type up my diary of the day, wash the shirt I wore today, and iron the shirt I washed yesterday so I can wear it tomorrow. (Only two shirts). My beloved husband and son are not holding the house together as much as I had hoped. The dishes pile up in the sink. The carpets remain un-vaccuumed, the fridge remains empty, the laundry overflows, and the garbage spills over. Thankfully, my Mom arrives on a white charger, and unpacked the shopping I had ordered form Coles on line, oversees the window cleaning man, the house cleaners, makes dog food, washes the sheets and does the ironing. Nobody can do a great job without somebody behind them assisting with the details. My Mom and Dad are my support team, and they are diong their bit for the Olympics by helping me. My Dad has been really sick with bronchitis and I feel somewhat guilty that I have not been able to visit him. I am very tired when I get into bed, but am so exited about all that has happened in the day, I do not sleep for ages.
GENEROSITY
Ron has been on 2 days break, and “my” Italians are so happy to see Ron return. So am I. The relief driver was good, but definitely not Ron! They both say immediately “Welcome Back, Ron!!!” They hand him a gift, and say “Thank you, Ron!” They do the same for me. What a gift! I have a beautiful Georgio Armani scarf, the finest sheerest silk you can imagine, navy blue, in a cardbaord box, tied with a cotton loop. Ron has an excellent grey silk Versace tie, elegant and refined. Ron says he has never bought a suit that cost as much as this tie probably did.
On our last day, he tells me again what a wonderful thing we have done, Ron and I, and ALL of us volunteers. “We could not have the Games without you volunteers. You have done a wonderful thing for your country. You have personally assisted the Australian economy! I am very grateful to you. (Wow! I didn’t know we were doing that!!!) He says he has been the envy of all the other IOC members, having Ron and I as “his staff”.
Some late nights, Snr. would insist that Ron drive me home to Gordon from the city or SOP. This was strictly against the rules, but much appreciated by me after many long successive days. (Ron jokes he wasn’t willing to inflict me on other train passengers …. “Heaven knows WHAT she might do!”)
TIME OFF
We have been told to organise days off for ourselves when we need them. However,
I notice my reluctance to do so, and in leave “my” Italians in the care of someone else. I feel very proprietorial about them! I work 23 days straight, and never feel resentful. If only we could harness this quality and recreate it in our workplaces. I am enjoying myself so much! Our job ends on Sunday , 1st October, at noon. I am already clear I will be “taking care of them” until Tuesday evening, when I put them on the plane for Milano. After all, they are “mine”!!
TRAIN TRAVEL TO WORK
Every day I intend to read the paper on the train, as it is my only time to do so, but never can – everybody talks to me and I talk to everybody, and the spirit of community is very strong. We have a license to talk to anybody during the Olympics, and it is wonderful! People ask about my uniform, my job, where the tolilets are!, the medal tallies, etc. The public believes that a volunteer is imbued with extraordinary wisdom about a vast number of affairs! The trains are a happy place to be, run precisely on schedule, and are squeaky clean. One day I talk so much to one visitor that I miss my stop and have to double back. Travelling to work has never been so much fun!
SENORA CINQUANTA’S DAY OFF!
I carried strawberries, kiwi fruit, champagne in a cooler bag, a white damask cloth and napkins, and glass bowls and Tim Tams on the train – quite a feat, given the crowds – however, everybody is so cheerful and so happy. We are taking Snra. and her girlfriend, Snra. Magri, on a picnic today, and to see the sights. Ron has the car gleaming, and everything is packed in the boot. We drive over the Harbour Bridge to Mosman, through the shops, and down to the zoo, showing them the skyline – Sydney is seductive, at her best, showing off in the best possible way …. And then to Balmoral, which they adore. We walk down the promenade, they exclaim and take photos, and kind Aussies take photos of all of us – I am so proud to be Australian, the spirit is moving and I am in heaven. We drive to Manly, take them along the beach front, point out the Corso, and up to North Head, where the view is spectacular, and there are a crew of St. John’s Ambulance waiting there - in the heat – for what, I wonder?
From there we drive to Duffy’s Forest, to Waratah Park, the home of Skippy – and Snra. C. insists beforehand that she must pay. She says it is “my shot” (her “shout”) – (she is becoming Australian, using our colloquialisms!) and asks if I will take care of the finances, handing me $230 …. I go ahead and buy four tickets, and bags of food for the kangaroos, and in we go – they are in heaven, surrounded by cockatoos, cookaburras, dingos, aggressive emus, which Ron attempts to tame, wombats, and when we get to the koalas, the mother in them emerges, and they are all pouts and tut tuts, and murmuring soothing sounds. We take masses of photos, and are allowed to stroke them, and then we go to the kangaroos, who delight them as there are babies with legs and heads popping out of pouches.
We head to Palm Beach, and a lovely restaurant, and Snra. invites us to join them for lunch. Ron follows the lead of the ladies and orders salmon and asparagus – it arrives, very nouvelle, a tiny portion, I look at the size of Ron and the size of the meal, and ponder how much of his large tummy it will fill. However, he inisists that is all he will have. The meal arrives, and it is one of those delicate, daintily arranged small portion, the size of an entrée…. I look at Ron, but not a trace of a smirk mars his happy features …. I am trying not to giggle, it takes about 35 seconds to eat this dish. Ron must be starving. Snra. Presses him to eat more, he gracefully declines.
Back at the hotel, I give her the strawberries and kiwi fruit I have brought, and compliment her on her astute purchases of pashmina shawls today. She says “Sandra, I will KISS you before I leave! – you know us Italians!!” Snr. thanks us profusely for the wonderful day the women have had and for “keeping my wife busy” – he is smiling and obviously well pleased.
MEDAL PRESENTATIONS
He is presenting medals tonight, and I cannot believe how much I am clucking about this confident, wordly man as if he were a child of mine. I have given him a comb and a tiny spray bottle of facial water refresher, telling him he must be the most impeccable and handsome of the presenters of the medals on TV. He is tickled at this gesture, and says “My wife will carry it in her handbag …” I am as proud as a mother at the Christmas concert, and take a dozen photos of him presenting medals.
I preen and posture with pride.
THEIR EXPERIENCE OF AUSTRALIA (AND US)
Snr. jokes about how “tough” Australian women are, especially me! He confides to Ron in a loud voice, “Ron, if I require a special service, and they cannot help me, I will say “If you do not assist me, I will send Sandra Groom back here!” – then they will help me, yes!” Peals of laughter at this joke on me. Ron, the Aussie, and Ottavio, the Italian, are males, and united. Where we are born makes no difference. I love this laugher, this joking, this unspoken admiration of our toughness. It’s true. Australian women ARE tough! His wife too, likes this interpretation of women. She says it has little outlet in Italy!! Women too, are the same the world over, and Snra. and I are bonded by small smiles of encouragement and what we know about our place in the world. Our love for our husbands fuels our strength. We make jokes about males being the boss, but woman knowing they are.
Some days they say “Sandra, we never have to look for you – you are always there!” and tell Ron, “You are a computer! – a machine! – what you do with this motor car!” They tell the man in the mobile phone shop who has worked tirelessly with me for 3 hours to get his phone sorted out “You are a genius! Thank you!”
One night, Ron, God bless his big cotton socks, sits outside the restaurant until about 11.30 pm to wait for them to take them back to the hotel. A taxi ride would have sufficed, but no, says Ron, not for “our” Italians ….
LOSING “MY” ITALIANS
I am standing amongst world champion fencers, pouring out of a side door, security is holding back the crowds. Snr. has presented a medal, I am to meet them here, but its chaos! They cannot find me, I cannot see them, and my phone does not work in the bowels of the building. I feel sick. What a hopeless PA I must be! - I have lost them! Eventually I hear Snr. call “Sandra!” with such relief on his face. I fall upon them, like a Mother reunited with a lost child, almost sobbing with relief, and pat his face tenderly, hugging her arms to me. They accept this – they are Italians. Oure relationship has moved to another level.
TREKKING IN DARLING HARBOUR
One evening, about twelve of the Italian delegation are going to dinner at a place called Nicks Bar and Grill. Ron knows where it is, and drops us at Sega World at Darling Harbour, and we walk through the thousands, with the party following me like the Pied Piper. I have where I am going. Presenting a confident front, I keep walking, they keep following. We get to Nicks. The wrong Nicks, as it turns out, they have all entered the restaurant, talking and removing jackets and visiting the loo. I have to herd them out of the restaurant, (this feels like a cattle drive!) It is quite a task with 12 animated, noisy, gesticulating Italians, all offering different suggestions and opinions. I cannot speak Italian, and their English is limited. I keep walking, they keep following. It’s a long way to the second Nicks. Now I feel like the Keystone Cops. I meet an off duty volunteer, quickly explain my dilemma, and he runs ahead and comes back with the reassuring news, that yes, (the right!) Nicks is ahead. (This is how volunteers assisted each other during the Games – I don’t know who he is, but I want to say THANK YOU!) I, meanwhile, am trying to maintain my composure, waving my white hat in the darkness for the dozen Italians to follow, and keeping a cheerful expression, as if to say “I know EXACTLY what I am doing!” I was very relieved to get to the restaurant – a brand new one, which I had never heard of before – about a kilometre from the original one. These elegant Italian women in their high heels were teetering about in agony by the time we got there, and they were very pleased to sit down. Meanwhile, I have bluffed my way through another potentially explosive situation.
CATHY RUNS!
The stadium is packed with 115,000 people and it seems like 20,000 volunteers when Cathy Freeman walks out in her zoot suit. We, the Olly Vollies, and the crowd roar our approval. This young woman, beloved of all Australians, must feel the stress of winning this race so profoundly. She carries the hopes of the Aboriginal nation, and she stands for reconciliation between us.
I have a wonderful view along with hundreds of other volunteers all lined up and waving flags …. Until half way throughout the race, on the run home, the crowd as one, leaps to its feet, screaming and yelling, people are jumping and clutching their heads and their faces and hanging on to ech other, eyes popping ….I have never heard a sound like it …. The crowd are carrying her on their voices, she is running faster than she has ever run, leaving the English woman and the Nigerian (?) woman behind her …. As she loops the track, the flash bulbs follow her like a Mexican wave …. She comes home 2 m ahead of the others …. If possible the crowd roars ever louder!
“Our Cathy” has won …. The volunteers are hugging each other, some are crying, and jumping and we believe we have helped her win by our support. I feel exhausted, as if I have run with Cathy, my legs are trembling, my heart is pounding, I am weepy.
“We” won!
CAUSING A MIRACLE TO MARCH
Bob Carr is giving the volunteers ticker tape parade on Thursday 5/10/00. How wonderful! There is a party for Protocol the night before. However, I am flying to Adelaide to lead a 3 day training for World Youth International the same day at precisely the time the march starts. I work out: I could catch a later flight, and still be there in time for the training and I am committed to attending both the training and the parade. I call my director in Adelaide, and ask about the ticket, can it be changed? Unfortunately, it cannot , it is a 21 day advance purchase ticket, and electronic. Refusing to be thwarted, I go to the Ansett desk at the Regent, and tell her my story. I am (obviously) a volunteer, and want to be at the parade! I ask her to cause “A Miracle”. She taps away, makes a phone call and does! “No problem, all confirmed – your flight is now at 6 pm!” I kiss her, tell her she is a Champion, bequeath all my grandchildren to her, and leave, very excited. One more example of people’s willingness to “go the extra mile” during the Games.
ROMA IN THE REAR
We drive to the Superdome – there are three Italians in the back seat, all talking at once. It is comical. Nobody is listening to anybody else, and there are at least two mobile phones in active use, and extra curricular conversations occurring all at once. I glance at Ron, and we shake our heads imperceptibly in wonder at this marvel of communication. We are all happy.
He regales us with funny stories on many days, and we laugh until our jaws ache. Our drives are generally great fun. Sometimes they hold hands and talk very quietly in Italian to each other, and Ron and I fade into the background. Other times I “know” when I can be playful and bossy with them. I have brought Andrea Bocelli CD’s to play Italian music for them – they are delighted. We play these late at night, very softly, when they are tired, or when he has come from a stressful meeting. I am learning their facial expressions and how best to support them. With silence. Music. A joke. A request for a plan for tomorrow.
AUSTRALIA VS ITALY – NOW WHAT?
I have become Italian at all the events, waving our Italian flag, which we now call the International flag, as it is the red, white and green. Its spine broke during an enthusiastic moment, and has been repaired with Japanese chopsticks, by my husband, Gerald, with his African engineering, carried by Aussie me. Italy is playing Australia at the basketball. This will require all my protocol skills! Snr. says, with a sly smile, he does not need to carry the flag today, perhaps I will need it to wipe my tears when Italy beats Australia? I think he may be right, Italy is a powerful team, but I smile slyly back, and say “We shall see!”
I find an illegal spot from which to watch the match. The GAME IS FANTASTIC! – The team play a great game, and Andrew Gaze and Shane Heal play a mighty game. It is neck and neck, we are in the lead. At half time, they take the lead. This is nail biting and aggressive play. The crowd is going bonkers, people crying and singing and yelling and jumping out of their seats with excitement. I am shouting myself hoarse – and WE WIN!!!! 65 – 61, basketball history, we are through to the finals!!! I am jigging up and down and hugging strangers! When I collect “my” Italians, I say “Snr. perhaps you now will need my flag to wipe your tears on???” He laughs uproariously and they both place an affectionate arm arorund my shoulders. They congratulate us with generosity.
TEACHING “MY” ITALIANS TO USE THE SEAT BELTS
From the first day, I have had a strict rule. No seat belts on, no car movement. I can tell they are unused to being told what to do, and Snr. good naturedly tells me “In Italy, rules are made to be broken!” I say, “In Australia, we wear our seat belts.” I refuse to budge on this point. He likes to extract his “revenge” in a playful manner, and makes jokes about how bossy I am. It becomes a source of amusement to us all. One day I am slow to put mine on. He is quick to say “Sandra, please put your seat belt on”. I immediately respond: “It is the sign of a great teacher when the pupil begins to teach the teacher ….” He slaps his thigh and roars laughing, chucking his wife’s chin, and saying, “Maria Louisa! – did I not tell you, it will be 20 seconds before a response from Sandra – but no, it took her only 3 seconds!!!” He likes my cheek, and he enjoys “our games”. I suspect not many people challenge this man – and even fewer women – and he admires my boldness.
AM I THE DRIVER’S MUM?
It is 34 degrees and poor Ron has to wait outside in the car for us. I ask him again, has he got water? He always replies “Yes Mum!” to my questions. From the first day, when I placed his accreditation card tape under his collar, he responded with “Thanks Mum!” This is a relationship with a man I have not had before. Based on
a solid foundation of friendship and mutual respect for each other and our skills, a complete commitment to supporting each other, and an almost uncanny ability to “work magic” in difficult and seemingly unworkable situations. Time and time again, Ron and I come up trumps, with a precision and a dedication to alignment. We call these events “miracles” and congratulate each other. At the end of the Olympics, I am surprised to discover how much I miss this man, and our shared commitment to excellence. This is a man who I probably would never have met in ordinary circumstances, given where we live, and what we do, and yet we have created this extraordinary relationship.
PROMOTION FOR “MY” ITALIAN
Snr walks briskly towards me, sitting in the chair I have taken ownership of in the lobby. He is smiling, energised, ecstatic, and very emotional. “Today is a very important day for me, Sandra, today I have been elected to the Board of the IOC!!!” I am thrilled! I want to run around the lobby of the Regent and tell everybody. I congratulate him profoundly. I want to hug him, but feel this is not appropriate. I am so proud of “my” IOC Member and that he has chosen to tell me straight out of his meeting. People are coming up to him and shaking his hand. His eyes gleam with achievement.
RON SAYS GOODBYE
Ron says goodbye to “our” Italians. He has declined to come to the airport, saying he would be “a basket case”. This big, burly cop, moved to tears, by farewelling people we did not know 3 weeks ago. His face is red, he is having difficulty controlling his emotions, his Adam’s apple moves rapidly, he blinks, but is unable to stop the tears from spilling over. He extends his hand to Snr. who surprises us all by throwing his arms around Big Ron. Now my eyes fill with tears, I am transfixed by this scene. A small Italian man, and a big Australian man, bound by the Olympics. I am so moved I forget to take a photo of this happening! Ron gives them both an Honorary Police Pin. Snr. is absolutely delighted, he is an ex cop himself, and is as pleased as can be. Ron tells me later, “I couldn’t believe it! I actually kissed another man today!” A breakthrough for a big boofy bloke with a big boofy heart.
BONZER BUS RIDE
I have left them at the Closing Ceremony, and want to be home to see it myself on TV. Ron has taken the car out as the roads are closed. I walk for 40 minutes to get to the bus stop. The crowds are leaving, and people are tired and happy and smiling, even kids in pushchairs are in good spirits! The bus driver is a young, cheerful, Aussie guy, a young version of Crocodile Dundee. He is elling jokes, introducing people, laughing, teasing people, and I am delighted to be there, and note with much pride the response of our visitors. What an Ambassador for Australia this guy is! Can we bottle him?? This is a delightful way to end a tiring and emotional day. He tells us how to get off, he will stop pretty much anywhere for us. He is having the time of his life, tells me he has left his wife and children in the country to do this, and can’t wait to see them. But “Man! What a ball I’ve had!” Everybody on this bus are talking to each other and having a whale of a time …. I realise that this is the first time that I have been a part of the crowd! I have been insulated in my designated black Statesman with a designated Driver. I am thrilled to be a part of this crowd, and can see why Australia and Australians are being given such a great rap around the world! The driver seems to think I am an Official – and a paid one at that – and I am quick to let him know that no, I am a volunteer – and LOVING MY JOB! I feel very proud.
WHAT CAN WE LEARN?
A piece from Column Eight in the Sydney Morning Herald: Somewhere in Sydney, a long snaking queue in a bank, and no action. One of the customers says in a loud voice “What we need in here is a couple of Olympic Volunteers to get this handled!”. Laughter from the customers, stony stares from the staff.
LAST DAY ON THE JOB
Today is the last day of my duties, which officially ended on Sunday, but I figure these are “my” people and “my” responsibility until they are on the plane. I want to do this. I press my uniform, and carefully dress, always proud as ever, to wear it – and feeling sad, board the train for the city. The streets are being closed off for the Athletes Parade, and there are thousands of people milling about, and road blocks, and we cannot get to the mobile phone store to have his mobile restored to Italian mode.
I suggest we have lunch, and after lunch, get the phone sorted out. We find an Italian pizza place, and Snr. says, “So you wear your uniform to the end, huh?” We sit down, he orders wine and food. This is the first time that I have sat at a table with both of them and eaten a meal, and I feel a little strange. Snra. hands him a package, which he tactfully places under a napkin, whilst he acknowledges me generously. He then hands me his card, President of the International Skating Union …. and a fine gold chain, with a tiny gold and black medallion, with ‘ISU’ inscribed on it. He says: “This is your gold medal, for being the BEST!” My eyes fill with tears ….. So do his. And hers. We have completed something together, and I feel very happy, very proud, and a clarity that this can never be the same again. I say I will always remember them both when I wear this.
I give them the small gifts I have brought: A cup saying “Numero Uno” for him, which he loves, his male ego well pleased, and Snra. loves the tiny malachite face I have given her. We have developed an ease – not quite a friendship, given the status of our relationship – but an appreciation and a pleasure in each other’s company.
“KISS AND CRY” AT THE AIRPORT
The trip to the airport is uneventful, we are there in plenty of time. I have done this a thousand times myself, and know the ropes. We sail through, and then are greeted by a volunteer. She asks, “May I take your guests through Immigration?” I am stunned at the extent of our Australian hospitality to our guests. She chats and reassures them with grace. I feel a little jealous that she is taking my charges. Too soon, we are at the gate. My heart lurches, and my throat is suspiciously tight. We take photos. There is always the awkwardness when we say goodbye to people we care about. Cheekbones and noses bump, and bags get in the way. My eyes prickle dangerously, and then I am weeping openly. Snra. says “It is not long. Nine months until we meet again. Then, it will be my turn to call you ‘Snra’”. (Gerald and I have had plans for 2 years to visit Europe next year, and they have invited us to visit them). More kisses – they are gone.
The tears are rolling down my cheeks. I feel bereft. I walk to the trains, slowly. For the first time in weeks, there is no rush, I do not have to be anywhere at a certain time. I wish Ron was here. He would understand. I have nobody at this moment to take care of! No organisation or plans or phone calls to make. Our Olympic banners are flying, there are photographs all over the place of our Olympians, our airport shines, the staff are beaming. I feel a tremendous sense of satisfaction for a job well done, and yet feel curiously lost in my own city. Then a gleaming silver train arrives and I am headed home.
My husband, Gerald has organised for me to have a massage at home tonight. I take off my uniform slowly, as if to keep it on, will keep me connected. I shower, and enjoy the heat, and the relaxed pace of it …. And when Marty starts to massage me, I start to cry, and cry for about 30 minutes. He is anxious, “Are you OK? – are you in pain?” But no, it’s a release, it’s a relief, it’s knowing I’ve done my best, and done a great job.
My tears are about the spirit of the Olympics – me, who has never been particularly interestsed in sport at all! – and its the sense of community I’ve experienced. It’s the hundred small wins that Ron and I have had to make their stay memorable, and the laughter and the tension we have shared. Its for all the medals our athletes have won, and all the medals they have lost. Its about what its taken for every athlete to be here, and for every roar of applause we Australians gave the underdogs. Its about the people I have met, and the support we have given each other ….. what do you need, how can I help? Its about my family, missing them, and being in my home again, and allowing the guilt of not being there to care for my aging parents to emerge.
Its about being part of history, as Juan Antonio Samaranch says, “The Best Olympic Games Ever!” – and part of the biggest workforce in peace time, ever – 180,000 people - 47,000 of whom are volunteers. And I have been one of them. I’m proud, very proud, to be Australian. I know I’ve given my Personal Best.
I know I want to go to Athens!!
PROTOCOL ASSISTANTS PARTY AND MUSTANG SALLY LETS HER HAIR DOWN
The Menzies fills up fast, so many Protocol people! – the Italian team find each other, and stick together. Drinks are free. Food is scarce. We have speeches and games. And Karaoke. I get up with another PA, a man, and we do our rendition of “Mustang Sally”!! We get roars of approval from the crowd. I do the “shboom shboom” stuff, and let him do the front stuff, he has a good voice. What fun! We win the prize for the best act. I am told we were the topic of conversation going home in the train that night. “They were a great ACT! – this man and woman, must have been married, as they knew each other well, fantastic performers! - and were so well rehearsed!” I find myself paraded around the room on a man’s shoulders, a victory lap, and people are clapping! (I wonder if this is Strictly Protocol? – and what Margaret McLennan and Wendi Balbi would think if they could see me now!)
TICKER TAPE PARADE FOR THE VOLUNTEERS
The atmosphere on the train to the ticker tape is full on party! Are there any regular workers in Sydney? – as the train seems full of uniformed Olly Vollies, laughing, talking, swapping stories, and taking photos of each other …. Like family, we have been through an experience, (can I draw a comparison to a war? – you have to be in it to know it, you cannot have observed it from a distance). Now we are bonded, like family, we have permission to say and do things to each other, “Will you watch my handbag”, or ”I need to pee” and you know it will be safe with this total stranger who wears his uniform with the same pride I do. The laughter and the love on that train was palpable. Wynyard/Town Hall/and St James Station are bursting with blue and white uniforms. We meet people in black, who were the dressers of the Opening and Closing Ceremonies. People in costumes, and the Drizabone clad medal presenters. There are very few protocol people. I scan the news and the papers, and seldom does a protocol uniform feature. Festivities continue through every street, with Vollies blocking up entrances to the station, and station staff directing vollies, who just a couple of days ago, were directing others – more reason for laughter. We chat together, proudly, and take a zillion photos.
I miss Ron. My Olympic partner. We should be marching together. I know he cannot be here due to work commitments, and vow to march for us both. The Italian team are chatting and talking - we have an anxious moment. There are so many of us in HERE, what if there is nobody out THERE to cheer us on?? We march and turn into Park Street. Our jaws drop. There are literally THOUSANDS of people, ten deep, lining the streets, shouting, waving, blowing kisses, and calling “Thank you” over and over and over. We are completely unprepared for this, and many of us begin to cry. People are smiling and waving, and marching in time to the band behind us, singing “Waltzing Matilda” and “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary” – people are waving banners and flags and high-fiving us. Cries of “Aussie, Aussie, Aussie – Oi, Oi, Oi,, Oi!” are rampant. (The Italians once asked us, what does Aussie Aussie Aussie, Oink, Oink, Oink mean?”) People are holding their hands out, wanting to touch us, weeping and beaming, the pride on their faces in us is just the most touching experience, and I find I am frequently crying, marching along, enjoying being a “hero”.
Michael Knight is on the corner, signing autographs. There is a boo/hiss from the crowd. An Olly Volly holds up a sign and a group shouts “Sandy, Sandy, Sandy! – Oi, Oi, Oi!”
THANKS MOM AND DAD
My husband is in the crowd, beaming and waving a flag, so proud. I run and kiss him. I am so sad my Mom and Dad are not here ….. how they would have loved this pomp and circumstance of the parade! Dad is not well enough, he has 4 hairline fractures in his pelvis, and Mom is caring for him. I understand, and I miss them. I find a face of a man, about my Dad’s age, he is smiling at me with pride – I take his hand and say “My Dad cannot be here today, so I want to thank YOU for being here instead and for supporting me in this!” He is an old Digger, his eyes fill up, and he takes my hand in both of his, and says “Thank you darlin’!” There is a lady, my Mom’s age close by. I hold her hand and thank her too. Today, for me, she represents my Mom. She smiles broadly, holds my hand tight, and says “You did such a good job, thank you!!!” I feel satisfied, I have included my parents in this great day.
THE DOMAIN
We eventually get to the Domain, where crowds of people are streaming in …. There are colourful food booths dotted around, Thai, Indian, Vego, Hot Dogs, Dutch Koekies, Sushi, Pancakes, Corn on the Cob, and Ice Cream, truck loads of cokes and cold drinks, and the Olly Vollies are lined up – the q eventually extends half way across the park,and meet in the middle, given there are food booths on both sides. There are a hundred loos, and the stage is gearing up, music is playing, the sun is beaming down, and “party” is definitely the mood here. Us Italians have managed to stay together, which is quite a feat in this vast crowd. We eat standing up and talking, eventually winding our way through the crowds to the other side, where we find a spot of shade. People are q-ing up for free newspaper subscriptions for 2 weeks and a special edition, including every vollie’s name, bound books of results of the games, by colour and by game, and Bonds have t shirt stands. Juan Antonio Samaranch’s famous words are inscribed on the chest “The most dedicated and wonderful volunteers ever – 1st October, 2000”. I queue up twice – once for me, and once for Ron. Monica Trapaga is singing her heart out, in a great red dress, Bob Carr makes a truly wonderful speech, and like our Prime Minister earlier this week, is “crowd surfed” – John Williamson sings ….. and then Wendi Balbi, (our Protocol longest serving 4 years volunteer) and Lex Watson are given the keys to the city on behalf of the volunteers by our Lord Mayor, Frank Sartor. I am so proud of Wendi!
DID THE REST OF AUSTRALIA PARTICIPATE?
Reluctantly, I leave, I have a plane to catch to Adelaide. I have a Training Programme to run in Adelaide, and 20 people waiting for me. (It turns out to be the best training programme I have ever led (from feedback received). I am so inspired by what I have experienced, and my participants get the benefits!) I enjoy wearing my uniform on the plane, and am staggered to discover when I get to Adelaide, that none of the Olympic Spirit is there. There is no party atmosphere. People are lined up, resigned and tired. Nobody recognises the uniform. I’ve left the party of Sydney, and am so surprised at this lack of passion! People do not know what we have been up to! I take Olympic Pins for the kids (this is a blood sport in Sydney by now) – and they do not know what they are. People are non-plussed at my passion, my sharing, and my experiences.
Did the rest of Australia miss out on this amazing experience I wonder?
Luckily, I didn’t! The following week, when I get home, I write to Margaret McLennan, of IOC Protocol and Relations. I thank her for my Olympic Experience, and ask her, “Can I come to Athens? What do I need to do?”
Sandra Groom
A LETTER TO THE VOLUNTEERS IN THE ITALIAN TEAM OF PROTOCOL ASSISTANTS AFTER THE SYDNEY OLYMPICS
4th November, 2000
Hello my Olympic Friends!!
I know you will enjoy this photo and remember some of the fun times we shared together! How have you been? I think of you often.
It’s been a very busy time since then for me, as I flew straight to Adelaide after “our” Parade (wasn’t it wonderful?!) and led an intensive training programme with World Youth International for 3 days, confronting personal stuff and including rigorous outdoor stuff - rope work, flying fox over river, etc.!) and returned home exhilirated – and tired!!!
I am now preparing for Nepal, I leave on the 29th for two months: I am taking 6 Aussie teenagers on a cultural exchange programme and we will be working on our school which we have just built, working with the children, doing painting and landscaping and generally keeping them very busy! (Code for “out of trouble!) Also taking them for a two day white water rafting trip, and then a ten day trek in the Annapurna region. Think of me! – there will be no hot water or heating for the entire stay, and I get to share my bed with 2 or 3 Nepali children!!
May your Christmas be happy, spent with those you love, doing the things you love best …. I enjoyed meeting you, very much and sharing this Once in A Lifetime Experience. My love and gratitude and hugs to you
Sandra Groom