Sunday, August 1, 2010

The 33 Year Old Intern

Dateline: 1993
Location: Fountain Hills, Arizona

33 year old intern, huh? Yes, I reinvented myself at 33. I find it interesting today, when I'm interviewing someone for a position in my company, FlexibilityPRO, that when I mention that a 30-60 day internship may be required of them, they look at me like I'm from another planet. Some have even asked "sooo....let me get this right, I'm gonna work for you, and you're not gonna pay me?" And I explain to them "nooo, I'm going to teach you something that you couldn't possibly learn anywhere else...and I'm not going to charge you". Which brings us to ... the 33 year old Intern.

In 1993, I was a fireman in Fountain Hills, Arizona. In December of that year, I was involved in one of a fireman's greatest fears going to a call. The infant code. Unfortunately, the infant code was at my house. After unsuccessful CPR, we lost our daughter Taylor. After a short leave, I returned to the firehouse. It just was not the same anymore. My heart jumped every time our tone went off. I found myself laying in my bunk at night, staring at the red light bulb on the wall that would activate when we got a call. I was a mess. This went on for several months and I finally realized I had to go. It was time to find a new career.

I wasn't sure what I wanted to do but I had this very strong, overwhelming feeling that I really wanted to help people. While working my shift one day, I saw an ad in the paper for a Massage Therapy School in Scottsdale, AZ. After several weeks of looking at the same ad, I finally decided to make the call. Please understand, this was not an easy thing for me to do. I came from a tough neighborhood in Brooklyn. Most of my family and friends were either cops or fireman - there were no Massage Therapists. I have always been a bit different, my teen years were consumed with body building. I was pounding protein shakes while my buddies were chugging beers. "Willy's a good guy, just a bit different" they would say. I ignored all of the "yo, what are you friggin' nuts??" and other comments that wouldn't exactly be politically correct these days. I enrolled! Naturally, I didn't exactly BLEND in Massage Therapy School either. "Who's the rough edged Brooklyn dude with the buzz cut?" I could hear them thinking. I fought to stay there even though, while driving there many times I was dying to turn around. I thought to myself "how can I do this?" Find a niche, I thought to myself. This came easily to me as my nickname back home was "OP" (Own Program). If nine people walked to the left, I would most certainly walk to the right. This was no different. During a "moment" after class one day, we all sat on the floor and held hands in a circle. The instructor asked us to let our emotions out and describe what we got out of the class that evening. I was horrified. Disoriented by the smell of patchouli and blinded by the tie dyed shirts and Birkenstocks, I blurted out "I want to be a Therapist in Major League Baseball". Now these people, well-mannered as they were, couldn't help but snicker. I would think about that sometimes while standing in the outfield in Yankee Stadium.

Upon completing Massage Therapy School, I thought to myself "I must get this to athletes." Now keep in mind, this is 1993, there was no such thing as muscle therapy in Major League Baseball. "I WILL BE THE FIRST" I decided. By this time my family and buddies in Brooklyn were scheduling an Intervention, I'm certain! Only by the unwavering support from my wonderful wife Barbara, was I able to continue. "Follow your dream Billy" she would say.

I walked into the Tempe McClintock High School Training room unannounced and ask to speak to the Head Trainer. Out walks Paul Bradley, an affable man. "How can I help you" he asks. "I'd like to apply for an Internship" I mutter. After a moment, he scans my weathered face and asks "How old are you?" "33" I respond. "You're older than me dude" he replies. I start to think this isn't going so well. He asks "How can you help us?" I think to myself "I got nothin here". I nervously scan the room and notice an ice machine. "I can make ice bags" I blurt out. I notice several Gatorade coolers on the floor. "I can make Gatorade coolers and run them out to the players." He remains quiet for a few moments then sternly says "I can't pay you, ya know". "I don't want any money" I said excitedly "I just want to LEARN." "Be here at 7 tomorrow morning" he says wondering what just happened. I broke my ass there for 3 months, cleaning whirlpools, mopping floors, and yes toilets. I wasn't sure where I was going with all this, but I plodded on. Then one day Paul Bradley introduced me to a gentleman "This is Jim Merrick, Pitching Coach for the Milwaukee Brewers Rookie ball team." My stomach churned, "no way", I thought. So this is why I'm here. Turns out Jim Merrick had a painful hip. "What do you do" asked Jim. Before I could respond, the trainer blurts out "he's a rub guy." I got Jim on the table and treated him for about 30 minutes. It was at this moment that I knew I wasn't just a rub guy. I wasn't going to massage him, I was going to release his hip muscles. He gets off the table and walks across the Training Room to test out his "new hip". He turns around, looks at me and says "Would you mind working on some of our players?"

Somehow, all those snickers faded away...

So when a prospective employee sits in my office, questioning a short internship, it just makes me smile. I spent 14 months in the Minor Leagues, working for no pay. When times were good I would be rewarded with soggy Subway sandwiches and team T-shirts. I knew I was destroying my family's financial stability, but I simply could not stop now. My wife would ask "Any chance of a paycheck soon?" my answer... "Soon I think." I drove up to Helena Montana on my own dime and spent the summer in a damp basement of a host family while my bank account drained. It didn't matter though, I was learning. I shadowed the Trainers incessantly, almost stalking them. I became a human sponge, I soaked up every bit of information I possibly could and kissed everyone's ass - from the groundskeeper to the scoreboard guy. You can do anything you want to me right now, it doesn't matter. I'm gonna be in the Big Leagues one day.

It's never too late to start over...... said the 33 year old Intern.

1 comment:

  1. Excellent read Bill. A true testimonial that hard work pays off. It's not always fun but is often required to each our dreams and goals. An amazing accomplishment to start over at age 33. I admire you for following your aspirations. Im sorry about the loss of your daughter as no greater tragedy exists than the loss of your child. Your accomplishment is a tremendous tribute to your daughter. I understand in a similar way as my father's death triggered my own wake up call. Thanks for sharing.

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