My Time in Community Service
Article by Mayim Bialik: do-gooder? or juvenile delinquent?

I have to be honest: I was never into the whole "save the world" thing. I am fully aware that I can't change the situation in Rwanda or even the gargantuan problems on thestreets of our cities-at least not directly. I do donate clothes to the Salvation Army, and I give leftovers from restaurants to the homeless. For the past four years, I have run a fairly successful food drive on the lot where I work. I guess I'm just an average teenager trying to make sense out of the problems facing our future.

As the years have passed, the general deterioration of my grandparents' health has affected me. Their medical problems increase year after year, and their state of mental happiness decreases. Watching my own parents go from sprightly 35-year-olds to sprightly 50-year-olds has also caused me to think about the aging process. The prospect of death seems to be getting closer, and it's kept me up nights. This is the only reason I can see for my looking twice at the Hollywood Senior Multipurpose Center.

The building itself happens to be situated on one of the main streets I use to get across town every day. It always caught my attention whenever I passed it: a new hospital-type building, quite sterile looking against the bleak gray apartment complexes surrounding it. On my way to work one day, I left home about 15 minutes early and went 5 minutes out of my way to stop at a supermarket. I bought $20 worth of potted African violets, and off I went to the senior center.

Once, in fifth grade, our temple rabbi gave several students $5. Our task was to go out and perform a mitzvah (a good deed), buy a senior citizen flowers. I did so and recallhow nervous I was to meet strangers and be kind to them. That same nervousness came back as I entered the strange building. I found the main office and told about seven diferent staff members what I was there for. They all seemed really surprised that I was giving the center flowers for the seniors to enjoy. I met the sort of unofficial person in charge and she accepted the flowers and took down my name. I think shekind of expected television cameras to burst In to film "Blossom" doing a good deed, but I just stood there taking the prices off the plants. One secretary asked me for an autograph for her kid. (I don't mean to talk about me and signing autographs, but I don't know; when I was there I sort of "forgot", as I tend to do, that I'm on television.) Anyway, I left the center and went to work. I felt good.

I received a thank you In the mail a week ater from the vice-somebody or other. The letter offered that there are many volunteer programs my friends and I would enjoy. And I was thinking, Yeah, right. Who needs a movie and a coffeehouse when you've got a senior center! Nonetheless, I figured I'd call and see what she had in mind. She said they could use any help I could offer and suggested I help serve meals. I told her I also love to clean. She couldn't believe it. "You don't want to clean!" she said. But Idid. I do. So I went.

That very Saturday I got up and put on more formal clothing than I am accustomed to wearing: khakis, loafers and a T-shirt, as opposed to jeans, loafers and a T-shirt. I made a conscious effort to look respectable and reliable, and for probablythe first time in my 19 years, I had to think of appearance in a different way than I am used to in terms of getting a job. I'm used to auditioning, and looking dependable doesn't really come into play when you're trying to act on a television show. I made sure to look tidy and responsible, and I put on my Star of David. Never hurts.

I arrived at the center at 11:15, 15 minutes early. I asked around for Jack and found him. Jack's about 65, Russian immigrant who is the site manager at the center. Heseemed surprised that I wanted to volunteer and was sort of scatterbrained in a sweet grandfatherly kind of way. He couldn't find the volunteer form for me to fill out. Within our first 5 minutes of conversation, he told me a lot about his children, and grandchildren. He showed me pictures and pointed out how beautiful they all are. It's funny how all or most grandparents are essentially alike. They're so cute and love to seep naches, or are really proud of their offspring,

Jack was busy otherwise sorting through papers and accepting this week s delivery of hot food. Larry then waltzed into the kitchen. He is a darling Asian man of about 60 who volunteers weekly and is Jack's right-hand man. Larry's the sort who finds it absolutely hilarious to psych me out as I go to give him a high five. He was at home in the kitchen and was almost In uniform: black slacks, black Converse, a red and white gingham short sleeved shirt and a paper chefs hat with a blue stripe that I would love to don one day.

The other volunteer is Elyssa. She's 70 and from Cuba. She has the grandparent thing down to a science. She showed me photos of her clan, complete with her grandchildren's alma maters and present occupations.

Jack led me to the room adjacent to the kitchen, a fairly small cafeteria with 10 or so tables and a 12-inch mounted television. Then he showed me a pile of old looking donuts and told me to stand behind the table they sat on. The donuts, Elyssa explained, are a day old. They are donated to the center. Why, I thought to myself, would anyone want day-old donuts? I looked around at the people there and it hit me. It hit me as Jack told me that the donuts are one for a dime, three for a dime after lunch. There are plenty of healthy appetites there.

Seniors donate $1.50 for lunch, but it's kind of optional; no senior is turned away. Coffee is 25 cents. I already explained the donut situation. I waited to sell a donutand tried to make them look fresh. I turned the upside-down ones right-side-up. The seniors gathered at the tables in their respective cliques. Some laughed and some looked rather lonely. Men sat with men, women with women. There were a few man-woman couples. It struck me how much this resembled high school: The loner in the red pants pulled up entirely too high. The clown of the bunch. The group who laugh at and tease each other. They all looked at me at one point or another and they smiled. Me In my plastic apron and plastic gloves. I stared back and studied the faces. I was afraid to peer too far into my future.

Elyssa resurfaced and told me why she volunteers. I guessed it: She's a widow. Her husband passed away a year ago, and if she stays home, she cries. I'd known this woman all of 20 minutes, and already she was my grandmother, widowed and alone. I didn't really know what to say. So I told her that my grandpa died eight years ago and it's still hard on my grandma. I don't think that made Elyssa feel any better.

By 11:50,1 had started to get antsy. I had sold two donuts and one cup of coffee. I was finally steered toward the juice and cartons of milk. Neither Jack nor Larry spoke much. My whole day ran much lihe a silent film. If Jack wanted me to perform a task, he would sort of smile and point metoward my destination. After unloading the beverages, I laid out little white rolls on each of 60 plates, the kind that have separate compartments for different foods. I then placed a pat of margarine under each roll. I guess this was so the warm roll would soften the refrigerated spread, though it didn't really work that way. At 12, Jack flew into action. He unwrapped the foods. I scooped chocolate pudding onto the plates, using an ice cream scoop. Once that was finished, I was putting roast beef and three potatoes on each plate. Elyssa added stringbeans, and Jack and Larry deliveredthe plates.

I was giving fairly generous portions simply because it seemed the most logical thing to do. Jack gently told me that there was no second tray of roast beef. More gravy, less beef. As the trays flew past, I could only afford to put two potatoes on theplates. At one point, Jack rushed in to find a ladle as I heard a man shouting, "Gravy! Gravy!" I had worked up quite a sweat; this is fast and frantic work. As we got to the last trays, the meat was almost gone and we were rationing It carefully. We switchedcaterers the followlng week. They were a little more generous in the meat department.

Five plates were left after we served everybody. Larry and Elyssa sat down and went at theirs. Jack motioned for me to do the same. I refused out ofcourtesy, but he insisted and I accepted for the same reason. It was actually very satisfying. The talk at lunch turned to me and where I go to school. I said that I don't attend school; I work. "Where do I work?"... You get the idea. Elyssa wrote down my name and when to see me on television.

After the meal, I served seconds. No unauthorized people were allowed in the kitchen, so I took the chocolate pudding, stringbeans and potato halves into the cafeteria. The chocolate pudding was the most popular item, and for good reason. It was exceptionally good. I served thirds and fourths and even put the pudding in cups for takeout orders. I noticed something sort of interesting: Everyone ate every single thing on their plate.

Donut business picked up after lunch, as I figured it would. One man paid his dime and picked the three largest donuts he could find. A man who looked to be 40 came into thecafeteria, and he was obviously homeless because Jack told me not to charge him. Another homeless man asked for a meal and we gave him one of the extra trays.

After the donut business dwindled and people started to leave, I took an old wet rag and began to wipe up tables. One man I was cleaning around asked if I was Streisand'sdaughter. Very funny, sir. Another remarked, "You're fast! And gooood-lookin' too!" I came across a man no younger than 70 c!utching a cigarette. "Still smoking?" I asked. "Yeah. I'm waiting for the Mrs." She strutted over with bright red hair and plenty o' blue eyeshadow.

Elyssa and I cleaned the serving utensils and the kitchen. Larry was emptying ice and lifting heavy things. For me, the cleaning was a lot of fun. There's just something about seeing dirty stuff get clean. I'm easy to please.

I asked Jack what else I could do and he said I was done. I told him I'd, like to help out every Saturday. He shook my hand and said goodbye. Elyssa hugged me as a small child who latches onto a teacher would. This goodbye made me sad. I knew a lot about thls woman. She's sad without her mate and takes ballroom dancing at the center.

I threw away my gloves and my apron and I stared at my hands: tired, shriveled and old-looking from the water that managed to find my skin beneath those gloves. The building was fairly desolate. As I approached the exit doors, I spotted about seven seniors sitting on two benches on either side of the corridor. The homeless man wasthere. The man in the red pants. They all either had cups of coffee or the infamous plastic bags so many older people carry. T he plastic bags filled with something they need.

I loathe getting philosophical, but I'm going to go ahead anyway. What strikes me most and perhaps what I learned most from this excursion is that the seniors are actual human beings.

They all had parents. They all were naked, bald children a very long timeago. They all know the joys of chocolate milk, a rocking horse, not getting caught while playing tag, reading a good book, a great steak, falling desperatelyin love, and they all know about pain and tragedy and death.

Some of these people have children. They know about first words, first smiles, first steps. They have lives and friends and thoughts and a mailbox and a bathroom. They are people. People who have seen a lot more than I have. People who need people! (justkidding.) These are not just hungry old people. They are truly our most precious natural resource

I don't feel as if I've made a giant leap toward world peace or eliminating nuclear arms, but I do feel that or three hours a week or so, I can learn a lot more than I would at any movie or coffeehouse.

PS: By the time you read this, I'll have gone back to the center approximately 15 more times. When I was taking pictures, Jack really didn't understand what they were for and said, "If you need any pictures of young people, my grandson is 7. He's beautiful andloves to swim." Maybe next time.