(The following is adapted from a speech I gave at volunteer conference. It seemed fitting for the Christmas season)
They are good words to remember over the Christmas
holidays, when many of us are surrounded by friends and family. We need not
look very far to find someone who can use a little help.
Growing up in the Savage family, giving back was something we
learned organically. It was simply a
part of our family life.
My father used to remind us of one of his beliefs...."to
those to whom much is given, much is expected.” By accident of birth we were
born in a wealthy country to parents of reasonable means. Most are not so
lucky.
Many people remember my father John Savage as a politician,
first as a school board member, then as Mayor of Dartmouth and later the
Premier. But, the defining character of his life was the work he did as a
social trailblazer, most of it as a volunteer.
But it was my Mom, Margaret – much less of a public figure –
who made a huge impact on her seven children and on her community.
Together, Margaret and John Savage left a legacy with their seven
children, and many more grandchildren.
We came to Canada from the UK in 1966, my dad a young doctor
anxious to provide for his large – and growing – family. During his first year working in the
emergency department he was visited by a woman in great distress.
He asked where she lived, she replied North Preston. He asked
where that was, and why she wasn't going to a clinic in that area....there was no medical care in her community.
The next day he spoke to some of his colleagues about North
Preston and very few had ever been there. Dad went the next day, and dropped in
to see his patient. From there he began to work in the area and worked with
others to establish a medical clinic, child care services and other necessary
infrastructure.
A few years after that, he helped to build a ball field in
North Preston convincing his church parish council of St. Thomas Moore to
assist. Dad was persuasive, and so they volunteered their time and expertise
and built the field.
Many of my father’s volunteer initiatives were of a similar
nature....going places where others hadn’t, taking on things that others had shied
away from. He introduced sex education in the pre-marriage courses of the
Catholic diocese, worked with drug-addicted young people and alcoholic men, and
spearheaded social justice initiatives here and abroad.
When his public life ended, my father re-dedicated himself to
volunteering and made a difference here and on three other continents. In the last days of his life a hospital he
helped construct in Niger, Africa was named the John and Margaret Savage Health
Center.
My father was a passionate social reformer who rallied people
to a cause, and willed them to achieve collective goals. But, my mother gave
back in her own way, dedicating herself to work in her community, the schools
we attended, and her church.
In fact a year after my dad lost in his first political campaign,
my mother won a hotly contested election to the parish council....a fact she
gently reminded my father about on many occasions. She was always involved in
inter-denominational church activities on poverty and community building. My
mom delivered library books to shut-ins, and read them to those who couldn't
read on their own.
She did that for decades, continuing after dad became mayor,
and to the surprise of many, after he was premier.
Mom spent years working with Feed Others of Dartmouth (FOOD)
at their house on Ochterloney Street where people who need a hand still get a
decent meal and more.
We started an annual dinner at Christmas which quickly became
a Dartmouth tradition that continues to this day. Today the house is known as
Margaret’s House in honor of her contributions.
My parents made sure we understood the value of helping out. I
was about 12-years-old when dad put a few of us in his car on a house call. He
explained we would be visiting a woman named Lorraine who was dying....a
frightening prospect to us.
He explained that the woman’s husband left her when he found
out she was going to die, that she had nobody else and that she was scared.
After a visit we offered to shovel her snow, and came back to
keep her company until her death a few weeks later. We learned a lot about
dignity and faith from the experience.
Years later when Dad was himself close to death, I asked him
about Lorraine and why he took us to see her. In his customarily frank way, he said
that she needed help and that he knew we would step up if we met her.
It wasn’t until I was an adult that I came to fully
understand the gifts my parents gave. To this day, people still approach me
carefully, waiting until I am alone to tell me that my father saved their life
when they were addicted to drugs or alcohol. Some of them carry the verse known
as The Alcoholics Prayer, a crumbled memento from my father to keep with them.
In a previous job I once had the unpleasant task of firing a
man who had been drinking at work. His wife called me and said she needed financial
help to get home to family in another province who could help her through this
rough patch.
When the company made good and she got enough money to return
home, she told me that she knew I would help her because I was my mother’s son.
She told me that she met my mom a decade earlier when she was
struggling to provide for her children as Christmas approached.
My mom visited her and took her to the Dominion where she
bought her groceries for a Christmas meal. The next day she came back with
gifts for the kids.
A week before Christmas the next year my mother knocked on
her door to see how she was doing.
Things were no better, and my mom again took her shopping and bought
gifts. This woman called my mother an
angel - I think she was right.
The woman’s account was the first time I heard this story. It
was one of the greatest gifts I have ever received.
Merry Christmas everyone.
