Plunging For Dollars
In Which I Get In Way Over My Head -- but for a Good Cause!
There I stood, on the beach in Santa Cruz, California, the early March wind whipping around me as I faced the pounding surf. To my immediate left was a leprechaun. And to my right, holding hands, stood Elvis Presley and Marilyn Monroe. The countdown began: “3...2…1…Go!” and the four of us raced down the sand and into the roiling waters.
Entering at a full gallop, I dove headfirst into an oncoming wave, stood up and turned to share the feeling of exhilaration with Elvis, Marilyn and my leprechaun friend. Except they weren’t there. Dismayed, I glanced back toward the beach to discover all three had stopped when the water reached knee-level and let me proceed into the deeper waters on my own.
It probably sounds like I’m recounting a recent dream, or possibly an acid flashback. Or maybe I just need to get a new prescription for my glasses, but no, this actually happened just as I’ve described it. Well, mostly. The leprechaun was, in fact, my son Dashiell, dressed as a leprechaun. And Elvis and Marilyn were two costumed volunteers participating in the Special Olympics of Northern California’s annual Polar Plunge event.
The Polar Plunge is a fundraiser that solicits charitable donations in exchange for participants pledging to dress up in costume and dive into the icy Pacific waters. Or, as in the case of Dashiell, Marilyn and Elvis, to briefly wade into the icy waters and then immediately retreat to the beach.
Give Till It Hurts… Someone Else
This is, of course, one of the key ways we do charity fundraising in the U.S. — persuade friends and family to donate to a good cause, assuring them that you will make it worth their while by subjecting yourself to some form of physical pain or humiliation, at least temporarily.
In a few months we’ll celebrate the ten year anniversary of the most successful such campaign in history, the famous “Ice Bucket Challenge.” You no doubt recall this cultural timepiece, which raised funds and promoted awareness for ALS, aka Lou Gehrig’s Disease, through widely shared videos of individuals pouring frigid water over their heads.
What turned the Ice Bucket Challenge into a viral phenomenon, however, was that at the end of each video, participants would name others they “challenged” to perform a dousing of their own. This brought the key element of shame into play, compelling one’s friends, relatives, coworkers, clergy, bail bondsmen, etc. to either dump cold water on their own heads, or publicly out themselves as selfish jerks who couldn’t care less about people suffering with ALS.
Lights… Camera… Auction!
It turns out that my discomfort with immersing myself in the frigid Pacific waters was nothing compared to my wife’s discomfort later on during the event’s silent auction. This came as a surprise because silent auctions are typically simple, low-drama affairs — potential bidders casually review items lined up on a long table and then write down their bids until the auction closes at a prearranged time.
I actually prefer the tension and excitement of non-silent auctions. Mostly I enjoy the auctioneers, whether because I admire the calm reserve of a Sotheby’s tout suggestively encouraging attendees to bid ever more millions of dollars on pieces of fine art or because I’m bewildered by the rapid-fire singsong unintelligibility of a livestock auctioneer.
I would love to discover that the two occasionally change places — because who wouldn’t want to watch a museum-worthy masterpiece sold off like it was a prize heifer by an auctioneer with a thick southern drawl?
“Howdy there folks, now what’s my first bid on this here picture by Picasso with the title “Femme aux Bras Croisés?” Can I get 100 million dollars now bid now 110 million dollar 110 on the left — translated into English that’s “Woman with Folded Arms” — 120 bid 120 now bid 130 million dollar bid hey there bid now to the right there and can I get 140 — a fine example from the artist’s famous “Blue” period — 140 million dollar bid dollar hey bid now who’s next I got 140 do I have 150 — says here the painting’s ‘austere and monochromatic colors reinforce the artist’s sense of isolation and despair’ — I got 150 million bid here I’m at 150 million bid who can give 160…”
By contrast, what I love about fine art auctions is the way the well dressed and sophisticated-looking attendees raise paddles to place bids. It certainly adds an air of gentility to the proceedings, but watching I can’t help but imagine these folks are only attending the auction as a break before going back to an adjoining room where they’re playing in some sort of high society ping pong tournament.
Don’t Poke The Bear
But getting back to the Polar Plunge silent auction, my wife’s troubles arose when she discovered the batch of hoodies and other Special Olympics-branded gear she’d been eyeing were also coveted by a fellow attendee – one who had cunningly disguised her identity by donning a full-body polar bear costume.
I enjoyed watching the bidding war ensue between them as my wife would surreptitiously sidle up to the auction table, quickly scribble in a new bid and scurry away. But she didn’t move quickly enough to escape notice of her ursine nemesis, who was apparently keeping that giant novelty head on a swivel. After each of my wife’s bids the polar bear would subtly waive a paw, silently directing a nearby accomplice to hotfoot it over to the table to pen in a higher bid.
After a few rounds of this back and forth, my wife decided that since her costumed nemesis was actually one of the event organizers, she should probably bow out of the competition. I agreed, pointing out that this was not only gracious, but also smart since it’s never a good idea to anger a polar bear.
And I’m pleased to report that even though we were defeated in our pursuit of the highly sought after hoodies and hats, we still had a great time and the Polar Plunge was a success every bit as roaring as the Santa Cruz surf.
Although it may be a while before I feel like I can trust Elvis, Marilyn or leprechauns again.
