Over the past year, we’ve covered some of the characters you’ll find at your club, from the jester to the killjoy to beyond. But there’s one that stands tall above all, and that is the good shepherd, the club shepherd: your club president.
Think of the relationship between the club president and the general manager as akin to the relationship between the American president and the administrative state. While the administrative state deals with the minutiae of policy, every-day decision-making, and the arcane details of maintenance and financials and management, the president sets direction and provides leadership, both to the club as a whole and to the administration that runs it.
Club presidents, unlike the American president, however, tend not to be democratically elected at most clubs. Most members might receive a ballot in the mail that is summarily ignored. When was the last time you went to your club’s Annual General Meeting or knew when the fiscal year ended for the club, or even bothered reading the bye-laws? The answer to that for most of us is, well, uh, duh, nuh-ever.
Most club presidents are un-compensated, and are elevated to the position after serving on the board for at least one term. Presidents tend to be divisive figures, like in our national politics; appeasement of all the factions is nigh impossible.
When the tennis group wants new outdoor lights, the paddle tennis clique demands better heating for winter woes, the pool regulars beg for the excommunication of beer and pool noodles, and the bar crowd wants expanded bar hours, it is ultimately the club president and the general manager who decides who gets what (if anything).
Discipline for hat-wearing, cell-phone-wielding, dress-code-violating members is presidential when egregious. But presidents have their hands tied, because they tend to be social, extroverted, and canny, and know that when their tenure of two or three years ends, they’re going to be just another member again, and every overstep will never be let down. This is the Aristotelian definition of citizenship: of ruling and being ruled in turn. Thus we find that clubs tend to have the mildest administrations of them all, but with an eye to the good of the club.
Clubs are not automatic institutions. They do not sprout out of the ground like weeds. A group, an association of individuals, came together to found a club, and now it is the responsibility of both members and the board, and particularly the president, to preserve it for all time. Clubs must be nurtured painstakingly, and hard decisions must be made. Decisions that are nerve-wracking, sublime, even.
Club presidents are good shepherds because they care for their flock. It is the supreme act of service to your club, to become part of the institutional fabric of the place you cherish as your second home, a place that is marked out for conviviality and sociability and leisure.
The Club president’s flock is the club, members, buildings, traditions, and everything else under the sun (and occasionally under it, as you’ll find out when the boiler bursts). But what makes it noble is that it is neither mandatory nor is it compensated. It is a final, ultimate act of love and devotion, of service, to the institution that you cherish the most, peeling back the curtains, seeing the good, the bad, and the ugly.
Take the time to get to know your club president. Write them; don’t burden them with unsolicited advice; appreciate the time they take away from their families and their professions to guide the place you treasure.