A little later when I was in college, a group of us from theater would ironically go roller-skating a few towns away. (Had fun, though.) As I had also noticed in high school, each rink had its stars, its special couples, whether skaters or announcers. Others would bask in their reflected glow, if they could demonstrate an easy familiarity and friendship with one of these. "I'm usually the one who signals to Benelux when to Shoot The Duck," one odd gentleman confidently assured me.
Every little corner of the world has them, these giants in their respective arenas which seem unimportant - or at least arcane - to outsiders. The Saturday morning men's Bible study had several members who became enamored of the men's movement and Iron John, speaking in admiring tones about Robert Bly. This all grew into retreats and weekends over the next few years, with Bly becoming an important enough figure that participants would become bitterly disappointed if his presence could not be arranged.
Come to think of it, everything that goes into the weekends and retreats mode likely has its figures which inspire at least a little awe. Every hobby or area of study, every obscure sport or competition has names instantly recognised by the others, carrying with them an automatic prestige of association. There are women who speak at Christian conferences, whether humorous or as authors of serious studies (or both) who have regional, topic, or national prominence. Their names are not much recognised outside of evangelical circles, somewhat restricted in generation, and by males only vaguely or inaccurately.
I belong to a small but national denomination - we have our stars. I have seen a dozen sets of heroes and heroines come and go in mental health. Many of these figures deserve their minor fame, however unimportant or even ridiculous they may seem to outsiders.
