Last Friday night I joined a crowd in Provincetown’s beautiful town hall to celebrate the life and career of Charles “Stormy” Mayo III. With all those who were there, I was paying homage to the man who has devoted his life to the cause of whale research and conservation.
But amid all the accolades being delivered onstage, my attention kept drifting back to the hundreds of people in the audience. I kept wondering, while I tried to listen to the toasts and roasts, why exactly all those people — including me — were there.
Certainly, we all care about the cause that has motivated Stormy — the health of our ocean ecosystem and the well-being of its inhabitants from the smallest zooplankton to massive whales.
But there was something else going on that night. Perhaps more than any other animal, we humans are attracted to success. We can and probably should debate what constitutes success, but a life seemingly well lived is obviously attractive. The successful among us garner attention and adulation. When we celebrate them, we are celebrating those qualities we hope to find in ourselves.
For most of us, the talents and habits that add up to a successful life are in short supply compared to what we think we see in our heroes. But the comparison can be instructive if not taken too far. It has been said that the only lasting good any of us do in our lives comes from the example we set. Many — not all — of us spend time thinking how a life should be lived. Some choose religion or political affiliation as a way to find meaning; self-help books abound. But the surest way to communicate that meaning is by example.
I am in no way qualified to analyze the secrets of Stormy’s success, and I doubt that anyone really is, least of all the man himself. I am happy that he is still with us; this was not a posthumous celebration as so many are. Still, he would not be available for comment on this topic, nor would I bother to ask him. (I am also happy that we are celebrating a scientist and not a business tycoon. Whom we celebrate says something about who we are.)
I have never worked directly with Stormy, but I have been his neighbor for over 50 years. My dog and I trespass on his property on a daily basis. I therefore have an almost infinite number of snapshots of the man in my mental files. The first thing that occurred to me as I watched him onstage last Friday, sitting inside an ersatz whale mouth listening to the tributes, was that it was the first time I have ever seen him sitting. He is always in motion.
I told him long ago that his tombstone, if he ever has one, should read “Always Doing Something.” I have never seen him reclining on a beach towel, although the beach is certainly at hand, and never seen him in an Adirondack chair. It is difficult to imagine Stormy sleeping, although I suppose he must do it, probably grudgingly. It is fair to say that he is driven, in whatever he does, from whale biology to growing dahlias. It has worked for him.
But there is more than one way to live a life and more than one way to be successful. You can even be an activist in more than one way. Laura Kelley, who champions a natural approach to maintaining our yards and gardens (see “Get Your Land Off Drugs” in the April 4 Independent), is in the Stormy mode, always proselytizing. Scott Landry, the director of the Marine Animal Entanglement Response program at the Center for Coastal Studies, has a quieter, steadier persona as he and his team pursue an almost impossible task.
Even heroism has as many forms as there are people pursuing it. A few years ago, I wrote a column (“The Heroes Among Us,” Nov. 14, 2019) about those who have pulled themselves away from alcohol addiction.
Not many of us will ever get the recognition we deserve. There is only one true judge of your life and that is the one who looks out at you from the mirror. It’s not a town hall full of people, but it’s just as real.
