One night, at 11:30 pm, an older African-American woman was standing on the side of a Alabama highway trying to endure a lashing rain storm. Her car had broken down and she desperately needed a ride. Soaking wet, she decided to flag down the next car. A young white man stopped to help her-generally unheard of in those conflict-filled 1960s. The man took her to safety, helped her get assistance and put her into a taxi cab. She seemed to be in a big hurry! She wrote down his address, thanked him and drove away. 

Seven days went by and a knock came on the man's door. To his surprise, a giant combination console color TV and stereo record player were delivered to his home. A special note was attached. The note read: Dear Mr. James: Thank you so much for assisting me on the highway the other night. The rain drenched not only my clothes but my spirits. Then you came along. Because of you, I was able to make it to my dying husband's bedside just before he passed away. God bless you for helping me and unselfishly serving others. Sincerely, Mrs. Nat King Cole 

The Prettiest Angel 

For the past 20 years I have spoken to all kinds of audiences in the character of Benjamin Franklin, complete with costume. One day after a school assembly, I was visiting a fifth-grade classroom to answer 
 questions. One student raised his hand and said, "I thought you died."  This was not an unusual question and I answered it by saying, "Well, I did  die on April 17, 1790, when I was 84 years old, but I didn't like it and  I'm never going to do it again." 

I immediately asked for any other questions and called on a boy at the back of the room who raised his hand. He asked, "When you were in Heaven, did you see my mother there?" My heart stopped. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me. My only thought was, don't blow this! I realized for an 11-year-old  boy to ask that question in front of all of his classmates, it had to  either be a very recent occurrence or of utmost concern. I also knew I had to say something. 

 Then I heard my voice say: "I'm not sure if she is the one I think she was, but if she is, she was the prettiest angel there." The smile on his face told me that it was the right answer. I'm not  sure where it came from, but I think I just may have had a little help  from the prettiest angel there. 

Risking 

Two seeds lay side by side in the fertile spring soil. The first seed said, "I want to grow! I want to send my roots deep into the soil beneath me, and thrust my sprouts through the earth's crust above me . . . I want to unfurl my tender buds like banners to announce the arrival of spring . . . I want to feel the warmth of the sun on my face and the blessing of the morning dew on my petals!" And so she grew. 

The second seed said, "I am afraid. If I send my roots into the  ground below, I don't know what I will encounter in the dark. If I push my  way through the hard soil above me I may damage my delicate sprouts . . . what if I let my buds open and a snail tries to eat them? And if I were to open my blossoms, a small child may pull me from the ground. No, it is  much better for me to wait until it is safe."  And so she waited.  A yard hen scratching around in the early spring ground for food  found the waiting seed and promptly ate it. 

 Moral Of The Story 
Those of us who refuse to risk and grow get swallowed up by life. 

The Legacy 

When my husband, Bob, died very suddenly in January 1944, I received  condolences from people I hadn't heard from in years: letters, cards, flowers, calls, visits. I was overwhelmed with grief, yet uplifted by this outpouring of love from family, friends and even mere acquaintances. One message touched me profoundly. I received a letter from my best friend from sixth grade through high school. We had drifted somewhat since graduation in 1949, as she stayed in our home town and I had not. But it  was the kind of friendship that could quickly resume even if we lost touch  for five or ten years. 

Her husband, Pete, had died perhaps 20 years ago at a young age, leaving her with deep sorrow and heavy responsibilities: finding a job and  raising three young children. She and Pete, like Bob and I, had shared one of those rare, close, "love-of-your-life-you-can-never-forget"  relationships. 

In her letter she shared an anecdote about my mother (now long  deceased). She wrote, "When Pete died, your dear mother hugged me and said, 'Trudy, I don't know what to say . . so I'll just say I love you.'" She closed her letter to me repeating my mother's words of so long  ago, "Bonnie, I don't know what to say . . . so I'll just say I love you." 

I felt I could almost hear my mother speaking to me now. What a powerful message of sympathy! How dear of my friend to cherish it all those years and then pass it on to me. I love you. 
Perfect words. A gift.  A legacy. 

Rescued 

A little girl whose parents had died lived with her grandmother and slept in an upstairs bedroom. One night there was a fire in the house and the grandmother perished  while trying to rescue the child. The fire spread quickly, and the first  floor of the house was soon engulfed in flames. 

Neighbors called the fire department, then stood helplessly by, unable to enter the house because flames blocked all the entrances. The  little girl appeared at an upstairs window, crying for help, just as word  spread among the crowd that firefighters would be delayed a few minutes because they were all at another fire. 

Suddenly, a man appeared with a ladder, put it up against the side  of the house and disappeared inside. When he reappeared, he had the little  girl in his arms. He delivered the child to the waiting arms below, then  disappeared into the night. An investigation revealed that the child had no living relatives, and weeks later a meeting was held in the town hall to determine who would  take the child into their home and bring her up. 

 A teacher said she would like to raise the child. She pointed out  that she could ensure her a good education. A farmer offered her an upbringing on his farm. He pointed out that living on a farm was healthy and satisfying. Others spoke, giving their reasons why it was to the  child's advantage to live with them. 

Finally, the town's richest resident arose and said, "I can give  this child all the advantages that you have mentioned here, plus money and everything that money can buy." Throughout all this, the child remained silent, her eyes on the floor. "Does anyone else want to speak?" asked the meeting chairman. A man came forward from the back of the hall. His gait was slow and he seemed in pain. When he got to the front of the room, he stood directly before the  little girl and held out his arms. The crowd gasped. His hand and arms were terribly scarred. The child cried out, "This is the man who rescued me!" With a leap she threw her arms around the man's neck, holding on for dear life, just  as she had that fateful night. She buried her face on his shoulder and sobbed for a few moments. Then she looked up and smiled at him.  "This meeting is adjourned," said the chairman. 

By from Leadership . . . with a human touch 

Blind Ambition 

Charlie Boswell has always been one of my heroes. He has inspired me  and thousands of others to rise above circumstances and live our true   passion. Charlie was blinded during World War II while rescuing his friend from a tank that was under fire. He was a great athlete before his accident and in a testimony to his talent and determination he decided to try a brand new sport, a sport he never imagined playing, even with his eyesight . . . golf! 

Through determination and a deep love for the game he became the National Blind Golf Champion! He won that honor 13 times. One of his  heroes was the great golfer Ben Hogan, so it truly was an honor for  Charlie to win the Ben Hogan Award in 1958.  Upon meeting Ben Hogan, Charlie was awestruck and stated that he had  one wish and it was to have one round of golf with the great Ben Hogan. Mr. Hogan agreed that playing a round together would be an honor for him as well, as he had heard about all of Charlie's accomplishments and truly admired his skills. 

"Would you like to play for money, Mr. Hogan?" blurted out Charlie. 
"I can't play you for money, it wouldn't be fair!" said Mr. Hogan. 
"Aw, come on, Mr. Hogan $1,000 per hole!" 
"I can't, what would people think of me, taking advantage of you and  your circumstance," replied the sighted golfer. 
"Chicken, Mr. Hogan?" 
"Okay," blurted a frustrated Hogan, "but I am going to play my best!" 
"I wouldn't expect anything else," said the confident Boswell. 
"You're on Mr. Boswell, you name the time and the place!" 
 A very self-assured Boswell responded "10 o'clock . . . tonight!" 

Heaven and Hell - The Real Difference 

A man spoke with the Lord about heaven and hell. The Lord said to the man, "Come, I will show you hell." They entered a  room where a group of people sat around a huge pot of stew.  Everyone was famished, desperate and starving. Each held a spoon that reached the pot, but each spoon had a handle so much longer  than their own arm that it could not be used to get the stew into  their own mouths. The suffering was terrible. 

"Come, now I will show you heaven," the Lord said after a while. They entered another room, identical to the first - the  pot of stew, the group of people, the same long-handled spoons.  But there everyone was happy and well-nourished. "I don't understand," said the man. "Why are they happy here  when they were miserable in the other room and everything was the  same?" 
The Lord smiled, "Ah, it is simple," he said. "here they have learned to feed each other." 

Bidding From The Heart 

Jayne Fisher watched anxiously as her 17-year-old daughter Katie pulled her unruly lamb into the arena of the Madison County Junior Livestock sale. With luck, Katie wouldn’t collapse, as she had during a livestock show the day before.  Katie was battling cancer. This was her first chance in  months to be outdoors having fun, away from hospitals and chemotherapy treatments, and she had come with high hopes for earning some sizable spending money. She had wavered a little on  her decision to part with the lamb, but with lamb averaging two dollars a pound, Katie was looking forward to a lot more than pin  money. So she centered the lamb for viewing, and the bidding began. 

That’s when Roger Wilson, the auctioneer, had a sudden inspiration that brought some unexpected results. "We sort of let  folks know that Katie had a situation that wasn’t too pleasant,"  is how he tells it. He hoped that his introduction would push the bidding up, at least a little bit. Well, the lamb sold for $11.50 a pound, but things didn’t stop there. The buyer paid up, then decided to give the lamb back so that it could be sold again.  That started a chain reaction, with families buying the  animal and giving it back, over and over again. When local businesses started buying and returning, the earnings really began to pile up. The first sale is the only one Katie’s mom remembers. After that, she was crying too hard as the crowd kept  shouting, "Resell!Resell!" Katie’s lamb was sold 36 times that day, and the last buyer gave it back for good. Katie ended up with more than $16,000 for a fund to pay her medical expenses - and she still got to keep her famous lamb. 

All I Remember 

 One day, while I was lying on a massage table in a dark,  quiet room waiting for an appointment, a wave of longing swept over me. I checked to make sure I was awake and not dreaming, and I saw that I was as far removed from a dreamy state as one could possibly be. Each thought I had was like a drop of water disturbing a still pond, and I marveled at the peacefulness of each passing moment. 

Suddenly my mother’s face appeared - my mother, as she had been before Alzheimer’s disease had stripped her of her mind, her humanity, and 50 pounds. Her magnificent silver hair crowned her sweet face. She was so real and so close I felt I could reach out  and touch her. I even smelled the fragrance of Joy, her favorite perfume. She seemed to be waiting and did not speak. I said, "Oh, Mother, I’m so sorry that you had to suffer with that horrible disease." 

She tipped her head slightly to one side, as though to acknowledge what I had said about her suffering. Then she smiled  - a beautiful smile - and said very distinctly, "But all I  remember is love." And she disappeared.  I began to shiver in a room gone suddenly cold, and I knew  in my bones that the love we give and receive is all that matters  and is all that is remembered. Suffering disappears; love  remains.  Her words are the most important I have ever heard, and that  moment is forever engraved on my heart. 

Important Work 

 The last to board the plane from Seattle to Dallas were a  woman and three children. "Oh please don’t sit next to me," I thought. "I’ve got so much work to do." But a moment later an eleven-year-old girl and her nine-year-old brother were climbing  over me while the woman and a four-year-old boy sat behind.  Almost immediately the older children started bickering while the  child behind intermittently kicked my seat. Every few minutes the  boy would ask his sister, "Where are we now?" "Shut up!" she’d  snap and a new round of squirming and whining would ensue. 

 "Kids have no concept of important work," I thought, quietly resenting my predicament. Then in my mind a voice as clear as a  song simply said, Love them. "These kids are brats, and I’ve got  important work to do," I countered to myself. My inner voice  simply replied, Love them as if they were your children. Having heard the "Where-are-we-now?" question repeatedly, I  turned to the in-flight magazine map, in spite of my important work. 

I explained our flight path, dividing it into quarter-hour  flight increments and estimated when we would land in Dallas.  Soon they were telling me about their trip to Seattle to see  their father who was in the hospital. As we talked they asked about flying, navigation, science and grown-ups’ views about life. The time passed quickly and my "important" work was left  undone.

As we were preparing to land, I asked how their father was doing now. They grew quiet and the boy simply said, "He died.". "Oh, I’m so sorry.". "Yeah, me too. But it’s my little brother I’m most worried about. He’s taking it real hard." 

I suddenly realized what we’d really been talking about was  the most important work we ever face: living, loving and growing in spite of heartbreak. When we said good-bye in Dallas the boy shook my hand and thanked me for being his "airline teacher." And I thanked him for being mine. 

The Scar 

A little boy invited his mother to attend his elementary school's first teacher-parent conference. To the little boy's dismay, she said she would go. This would be the first time that his classmates and teacher met his mother and he was embarrassed  by her appearance. Although she was a beautiful woman, there was  a severe scar that covered nearly the entire right side of her face. The boy never wanted to talk about why or how she got the scar. 

At the conference, the people were impressed by the kindness  and natural beauty of his mother despite the scar, but the little  boy was still embarrassed and hid himself from everyone. He did,  however, get within earshot of a conversation between his mother  and his teacher, and heard them speaking.  "How did you get the scar on your face?" the teacher asked. 

The mother replied, "When my son was a baby, he was in a  room that caught on fire. Everyone was too afraid to go in  because the fire was out of control, so I went in. As I was running toward his crib, I saw a beam coming down and I placed myself over him trying to shield him. I was knocked unconscious  but fortunately, a fireman came in and saved both of us." She touched the burned side of her face. "This scar will be permanent, but to this day, I have never regretted doing what I did." 

At this point, the little boy came out running towards his  mother with tears in his eyes. He hugged her and felt an  overwhelming sense of the sacrifice that his mother had made for  him. He held her hand tightly for the rest of the day. 

His Life's Work 

 When his wife died, the baby was two. They had six other children - three boys and three girls, ranging in age from 4 to 16.  A few days after he became a widower, the man's parents and  his deceased wife's parents came to visit. 

"We've been talking," they said, "about how to make this work. There's no way you can take care of all these children and work to make a living. So, we've arranged for each child to be placed with a different uncle and aunt. We're making sure that all of your children will be living right here in the  neighborhood, so you can see them anytime..." 

 "You have no idea how much I appreciate your  thoughtfulness," the man responded. "But I want you to know," he smiled and continued, "If the children should interfere with my work, or if we should need any help, we'll let you know." Over the next few weeks the man worked with his children, assigning them chores and giving them responsibilities. The two  older girls, aged 12 and 10, began to cook and do the laundry and  household chores. The two older boys, 16 and 14, helped their  father with his farming. 

But then another blow. The man developed arthritis. His hands swelled, and he was unable to grip the handles of his farm tools. The children shouldered their loads well, but the man could see that he would not be able to continue in this vein. He sold his farming equipment, moved the family to a small town and opened a small business. 

The family was welcomed into the new neighborhood. The man's  business flourished. He derived pleasure from seeing people and  serving them. Word of his pleasant personality and excellent customer service began to spread. People came from far and wide  to do business with him. And the children helped both at home and at work. Their father's pleasure in his work brought satisfaction to them, and he drew pleasure from their successes. The children grew up and got married. Five of the seven went  off to college, most after they were married. Each one paid his  or her own way. The children's collegiate successes were a source of pride to the father. He had stopped at the sixth grade. 

Then came grandchildren. No one enjoyed grandchildren more than this man. As they became toddlers, he invited them to his  workplace and his small home. They brought each other great joy. Finally, the youngest daughter - the baby, who had been two  years old at her mother's death - got married. 
And the man, his life's work completed, died. This man's work had been the lonely but joyful task of  raising his family. This man was my father. I was the 16-year-old, the oldest of seven. 

Your Work Is Recognized! 

 It all began in Everett, Washington, where my project team was in the process of implementing one of our business  systems. One morning, as I walked through the parking lot with one of my employees, I found a penny and picked it up. Playfully, I presented the penny to the employee and said, "This is a  discretionary award for your efforts." He put the penny in his pocket. "Thank you," he said. 

About six months later, I was walking with the same employee, this time in Los Alamitos, California, when I again found a penny and gave it to him. Later, I had an occasion to go into his office and there, taped on a piece of paper, were the two pennies. He said he was displaying them as his recognition for a job well done. 

Other employees noticed the pennies proudly displayed and began asking why they hadn't received any. So I started handing out pennies, explaining that they were for recognition, not forreward. Soon, so many people wanted them that I designed a penny holder. The front features a place for a penny and beside it the  phrase, "Your work is recognized!" The back has slots for 30 more pennies and the phrase, "Your achievements count!"

One time, I spotted an employee doing something right and  wanted to recognize her, but I didn't have a penny, so I gave her a quarter. Later that same day she stopped by and returned 24  cents. That's how the "Prestigious Penny Award" was born. It's  become a significant source of recognition in our organization. 

The Hand 

 A Thanksgiving Day editorial in the newspaper told of a school teacher who asked her class of first-graders to draw a picture of something they were thankful for. She thought of how little these children from poor neighborhoods actually had to be thankful for. But she knew that most of them would draw pictures of turkeys or tables with food. The teacher was taken aback with  the picture Douglas handed in...a simple childishly drawn hand. 

But whose hand? The class was captivated by the abstract image. "I think it must be the hand of God that brings us food," said one child. "A farmer," said another, "because he grows the turkeys." Finally when the others were at work, the teacher bent over Douglas' desk and asked whose hand it was. "It's your hand,  Teacher," he mumbled. 

 She recalled that frequently at recess she had taken  Douglas, a scrubby forlorn child, by the hand. She often did that with the children. But it meant so much to Douglas. Perhaps this  was everyone's Thanksgiving, not for the material things given to us but for the chance, in whatever small way, to give to others. 

Special Orders 

Horror gripped the heart of the World War I soldier as he saw his lifelong friend fall in battle. Caught in a trench with continuous gunfire whizzing over his head, the soldier asked his  lieutenant if he might go out into the "No Man's Land" between  the trenches to bring his fallen comrade back. 

"You can go," said the Lieutenant, "but I don't think it will be worth it. Your friend is probably dead and you may throw your own life away." The Lieutenant's words didn't matter, and  the soldier went anyway. 

 Miraculously he managed to reach his friend, hoist him onto  his shoulder, and bring him back to their company's trench. As the two of them tumbled in together to the bottom of the trench, the officer checked the wounded soldier, then looked kindly at his friend. "I told you it wouldn't be worth it," he said. "Your  friend is dead, and you are mortally wounded." 

 "It was worth it, though, sir," the soldier said. 

"How do you mean, `worth it?' " responded the Lieutenant. "Your friend is dead!" 

"Yes sir," the private answered. "But it was worth it because when I got to him, he was still alive, and I had the  satisfaction of hearing him say, `Jim, I knew you'd come.' "

Great Expectations 

Pete Rose, the famous baseball player, and I have never met,  but he taught me something so valuable that it changed my life. Pete was being interviewed in spring training the year he was about to break Ty Cobb's all time hits record. One reporter  blurted out, "Pete, you only need 78 hits to break the record. 

How many at-bats do you think you'll need to get the 78 hits?" 

Without hesitation, Pete just stared at the reporter and very matter-of-factly said, "78." The reporter yelled back, "Ah,  come on Pete, you don't expect to get 78 hits in 78 at-bats do you?" 

Mr. Rose calmly shared his philosophy with the throngs of  reporters who were anxiously awaiting his reply to this seemingly boastful claim. "Every time I step up to the plate, I expect to get a hit! If I don't expect to get a hit, I have no right to  step in the batter's box in the first place!" 

 "If I go up hoping to get a hit," he continued, "then I probably don't have a prayer to get a hit. It is a positive expectation that has gotten me all of the hits in the first  place." 

When I thought about Pete Rose's philosophy and how it  applied to everyday life, I felt a little embarrassed. As a  business person, I was hoping to make my sales quotas. As a  father, I was hoping to be a good dad. As a married man, I was hoping to be a good husband. 

The truth was that I was an adequate salesperson, I was a not so bad father, and I was an okay husband. I immediately decided that being okay was not enough! I wanted to be a great salesperson, a great father and a great husband. I changed my attitude to one of positive expectation, and the results were amazing. I was fortunate enough to win a few sales trips, I won Coach of the Year in my son's baseball league and I share a  loving relationship with my wife, Karen, with whom I expect to be  married to for the rest of my life! Thanks, Mr. Rose!