All It Takes Is A Sentence

In 1958, Hugh O'Brian was one of the most famous people in America, being the star of "The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp."  During the summer, he was getting some extra income touring with a circus which at the time was in Winnipeg, Manitoba.  While there, O'Brian received a telegram from Dr. Albert Schweitzer, saying he would be more than welcome to visit.  He had long admired the German doctor-missionary-theologian-musician, saying, "He was a great humanitarian who could have done anything he wanted in the world, and there he was in the middle of Africa taking care of people."  O'Brian was on his way, arriving by various forms of travel.

Dr. Albert Schweitzer

He spent nine days with the 83-year-old Schweitzer, the winner of the 1952 Nobel Peace Prize.  The doctor was concerned about world peace, stating the United States need to take a leadership role, or "we are a lost civilization."  As O'Brian was departing, Dr. Schweitzer asked him, "Hugh, what are you going to do with this?"  That simple questions struck Hugh O'Brian right between the eyes like a thunderbolt.

Two weeks later, O'Brian started the prototype for his first youth seminar and from 1958-1967, he held seminars for California youths.  His group was called the HOBY foundation.  By 1968 it had grown to the point youths from all over the nation and world were joining up.

HOBY's core values are Volunteerism, Integrity, Excellence, Diversity, and Community Partnership.  Their goals are service and leadership, and motivating youth to make a positive difference through understanding and action based on effective and compassionate leadership.

Today, more than 14,000 young men graduate from HOBY seminars annually.  They have graduated more than 350,000 in all.

And it all started with a simple sentence.

A perfect example of why we should never underestimate our words.  One never knows who is listening, or how they are going to be interpreted.  One sentence--one word--can set someone off on a journey, so let what comes out of our mouths be carefully planned.  Dr. Schweitzer knew exactly what he was saying, and not only changed the life of Hugh O'Brian, but more than 300,000 teenagers thus far.

Mizpah.

http://www.hoby.org/
http://www.hughobrian.me/

Lunch With Paul



Paul Hammond, Mickey Fisher, and Glen Kilgour

Note:  This is a revision of something many have read.  It will be an annual column on August 17 in memory of Paul Hammond.


Most of you didn't know Paul Hammond. 

You missed out.

He was my college roommate, and easily the most intelligent person I've ever met.  His brother Ted dubbed him "The Oracle," and the nickname fit.  Paul could give you an intelligent conversation regarding any topic you wanted to discuss, even it it was the behavior of the Zoroastrian religion in the Appalachian region during the Christmas season.  Trust me, Paul could have done it, and at the same time, was never condescending.  He was never that.  He also could talk about any sport from football to lacrosse, and I think he followed high school sports in every state - - - and all of this was pre-Internet.

We became friends due to a mutual love of Strat-O-Matic Baseball, and once we roomed together - - - when our finances would allow - - - we'd hit Little Caesar's on Sunday.  That was our spot.  We each had our particular brand of pizzas, and we got them every time.  I'd polish off a 2-liter of Mountain Dew, while Paul would do the same to a Dr. Pepper.

Sadly, we graduated, going our separate ways.  I returned home, Paul moving to Colorado.  He would visit his mother every Christmas, and would always find time for a Strat-O-Matic tournament - - - in which he would wax me - - - and of course, a trip to Little Caesar's.  Per the usual, we ordered the same pizzas and I'd have the 2-liters cold.

Over the years, I added one more topping, and Paul changed his pizza.  Finally, Paul's stomach wouldn't let him eat pizza anymore.  With the passing of time, we quit getting together for baseball, but met with Glen Kilgour, a friend from the dorm, and fellow member of our championship College Bowl team, Sammie's Scholars.  (Paul would have wanted that mentioned.  We earned that!)

One year, while we were still meeting for baseball, Paul didn't want to play.  He just wanted to talk, and that's all we did, long into the night.  You name it, we discussed it:  baseball, politics, life in general, our families and how they were doing, what we wanted out of the future, guys from the dorm, Room 226, and of course, God.  Of course, we talked from about 7 p.m. until 3 in the morning, so there were a lot of other topics.  With all the fun I had with Paul, that was the best time I ever had. 

Two years ago today, my aunt was visiting.  She wanted to buy lunch, so she sent me to Little Caesar's.  I hadn't been in one for about five years.  On the way home, my cell phone rang.  It was Ted, Paul's brother.  Paul had passed away, a half hour beforehand.  I knew then and there Paul had wanted everyone to know he was okay, so God sent me to Little Caesar's.  There was no other explanation for my aunt picking that particular week.

So today and every other August 17, I'm having lunch at Little Caesar's and cracking open a 2-liter.  It's not the best thing for the diet I'm on, but that's okay.  I'm going to order my combination, and hoist my 2-liter to Paul, whom I think of daily.  Even before he left us, I always thought of him when I drove by that restaurant, and I always will.  But today, I'm just going to enjoy my memories of a great friend.