Choices, Chances, and Change

The night is cold and bitter as Phil’s beat-up old ’53 Chevy coupe limps into the gas station with the fuel gauge well below empty. As he pulls up to the pump the tires roll over the long hose that announces our presence with the sharp clanging of a bell. Freddie and I hand Phil five dollars, all the money we have – and payday still days away.

Phil opens his door and faces the harsh cold wind. He removes the gas hose and begins filling the car with something besides fumes. I turn to look out the back window and see his hair blowing in all directions as he turns up his coat collar against the cold. Freddie and I enjoy the warmth and comfort inside the car. He’s in the middle of the wide front seat. I’m next to him, on the passenger side.

There’s a stack of firewood in the back. Last night we removed Phil’s backseat to make room for it when we found it neatly stacked beside someone’s home. We intended to remove the wood before now, but found more interesting things to do. This evening we test-marketed some girls, and consumed vast quantities of adult beverages, until a lack of funds forced us to suspend activity.

Phil stomps his feet, trying to keep warm. He’s probably talking to the gas, coaxing it to move on into the tank a little faster. I light up a smoke, glad to be sitting inside on this cold November night in 1964. I know the odds are high that we’ll soon be enjoying a nice fire. We just have to make it home and find the energy to unload our “borrowed” wood.

Freddie and I are somewhat melancholy with the fact that our last five dollars is going into the gas tank. It will likely be several days before we can resume our usual social routine. Freddie, about three sheets in the wind, pokes me in the ribs and slurs, “I know where we can get some cash.”

The expression on his face screams intoxication. I suppress a laugh and blow smoke in his face. “Well,” I say, “let’s get it, old buddy.”

He moves toward the driver’s side door. I grab him by the arm and say, “Where you going?”

He mumbles, “To get the money.”

I hold his arm and say, “What are you talking about?”

He turns awkwardly and pulls up his car coat to show me a revolver stuck in his belt. “I’m going inside and get some money from that old fart.”

I glance around and note that the place looks deserted, as it should at two in the morning. Phil has gone inside to pay the guy our last five dollars. It occurs to me that Freddie is really drunk. He wants to rob the gas station!

I say, “Bullshit, Freddie. We ain’t gonna rob anybody.”

He starts sliding over to the driver’s door again. This time I grab him more forcefully and pull him back as he struggles to free himself. The situation is escalating rapidly. It’s the gun I’m concerned about. I can’t allow him to get out of the car or reach for his gun. I see Phil heading back to the car as Freddie struggles to get loose from the full nelson I’m holding tightly. It looks to me like Phil is walking in slow motion as the wrestling match continues. My heart beat is way up as I picture all the bad things that can happen if Freddie gets loose.

Finally Phil opens the door and looks at us with some confusion. I tell him to get the gun from Freddie’s belt. Phil spots the gun and grabs it. I yell at him to get the hell out of here.

When we exit the gas station on Poole Road I release Freddie, who calls me a chicken shit and falls immediately into an alcohol-induced coma.

If money shortage had not limited my ability to drink as freely as I would have otherwise, I would have been as drunk as Freddie – and maybe wouldn’t have even cared that he wanted to pull a robbery. I could have ended up doing ten to twenty in a prison cell.

I had made many bad choices in my short life and would make many more, but that night I made a good choice. A very good choice!

Thirty-six years after the aborted robbery I retired from one of the world’s largest and most prominent financial institutions and was recognized as one of their most successful managing partners. My company presented me with an inscribed award that reads, “For Strength in times of challenge, for Courage in the face of adversity, for Integrity that never faltered, with Respect and Affection.”

As our CEO made his remarks to the large audience my prior life virtually passed before my eyes. I always feared that one day my company would learn of that life and fire me on the spot. I had put the past behind me and completed a remarkable journey.

The CEO concluded his remarks. I humbly and gratefully accepted the Tiffany silver plate and his kind words as well as the generous applause from my peers. In that instant I felt overwhelmed with gratitude for all the people who had given me the guidance I so desperately needed.

Now, in retirement, the time is right. I will tell the story of how I almost did not get on the path to success.

I will show how I went from a life of underachievement (and almost becoming a criminal) to achieving the respect of my peers, the confidence of thousands, and the financial and emotional rewards that come with years of sustained and productive hard work. I will offer proof that change is possible.

I believe all of us reach critical points in our lives when we are called upon to make significant choices. We are alone with our choices, yet we must make choices and must live with the inevitable consequences. We are, I believe, in control of our destiny.

I will tell this story through the shadows of my memory (which must be prodded often), making every effort to be completely truthful and as accurate as possible. I will try to avoid embellishment or the omission of any necessary information. I will fight hard not to fall victim to that old saying, ‘The older I get, the better I used to be.’

I will succeed in the telling if on the final page of the book my readers agree with me on one point.

It isn’t how we start the race – it’s how we finish!