by Luke Lively
But now I had hope.
I dialed Benny’s direct line and reached him on the first ring. “Good afternoon, this is Benny Price. How can I help you?”
“Benny, this is Jack Oliver,” I said, trying to cover any discomfort I was having sitting in the bed. I hoped he wouldn’t hear the monitors or ask where I was. “I’ve thought about your very gracious offer to visit you in Virginia, and I accept. I still have a lot of doubt anything will come of it, but I would like to talk with you more if you’re willing to spend the time and expense to get together.”
“I’m glad you decided to visit. It won’t be a waste of your time or mine. You can bank on it! We’ll arrange the travel itinerary for you. I don’t have a private jet like your employer, but we’ll get you here comfortably. Roanoke is not too far out of the mainstream.”
“I appreciate your consideration,” I said, and without thinking I closed with saying, “I’m looking forward to visiting.” I was telling the truth.
“It will be a pleasure for us to have you visit. I’m looking forward to meeting you in person. Take care of yourself, Jack. If you don’t, no one else will.”
While I realized he was not able to peer through the phone line and see me lying in the hospital, it felt as though Benny somehow sensed that I needed to hear those words and to heed that message.
I believed him.
After a day in the hospital I felt as though I had had every crevice of my anatomy scoped and poked. As a rule I believed being in a health care facility was not good for your health. But I found myself more than relieved that I had a full physical at Jefferson. I felt that my time at the hospital had done me good.
I knew it was his job, but I gained a great appreciation of José’s work. He had been superb both as a nurse and a positive influence, not only to me but also to the other patients. You could see and hear him talking with passion and care about each of his patients. It was unmistakable. He loved what he was doing.
“You do a great job, José,” I said as he prepped me for leaving the hospital. “Don’t you ever leave here? It seems like you’ve been here the entire time I’ve been here.”
“We have the option to work twelve-hour shifts—basically three days on and four days off. That way I can spend more time with my family. I’m also taking two college classes, so finding the time to keep my grades up is a challenge.”
It sounded like José was like me in a lot of ways. “Are you looking at moving up here in the hospital?”
“When you say ‘moving up’ do you mean like a promotion?” he responded.
“Yeah, it sounds like you’re working hard to get ahead,” I said.
“Actually I’m not really concerned about getting ahead of anyone—just being the best I can be,” he said. “I love my job, but it’s not perfect. I work long hours. The hospital has cut back their staff, which made things a lot tougher the past few years. I could leave and get more money at University of Pennsylvania Hospital—probably not work as hard. But I fit here. I look at my job as the way I can be part of the world. Maybe make the world a better place. If I can bring smile to a person who is in pain I’m doing my job. If I can help a person gain confidence that they will be healthy again, I feel like I have done my part. When I’m having a bad day I tell myself, ‘José, you are here for the patient, they aren’t here for you.’ That makes the difference. I’m here to serve and to help others.”
It was a new way to look at things for me. I asked, “Don’t you have plans to move into a supervisor’s position? You’re the best I’ve seen here at the hospital, or any hospital for that matter.”
“I’m really not here to get ahead,” he said. “Most of the supervisors here never spend time with patients. All they do is paperwork. Those people seem like they aren’t very happy with their lives. I have a job I love to do. I enjoy being with patients, not papers.”
José’s sincerity in his own unscripted purpose statement stunned me. I finally understood what he was saying. “I’m here for the patient.” And I believed him. He definitely wasn’t like me. His family came first. He worked for others—not for himself. What had happened to me? If I had prioritized my life around the core values José had chosen would I be here now? José brought the idea of service to others to life for me. If I had truly changed my values from my stay at Jefferson, the question “Why am I still at Merchants?” demanded an answer.
“I appreciate what you’ve done for me,” I said. “You’re a very unique person: someone who loves their job.”
“I don’t have many options. I can love it or hate it. Loving it is more fun!” he said and then laughed.
José took me in the wheelchair, hospital rules, to the main floor. Patting my shoulder as he glided me through the lobby, he said, “Jack, take care of yourself—if you don’t, nobody else will.”
Surprised by the almost exact quote of what I had heard from Benny, I turned and looked over my shoulder. I smiled and asked, “Have you been talking with Benny?”
“The only Benny I’ve ever heard of is the guy you were calling,” he said, laughing. After a pause he added, “The only other Benny I’ve heard of is the guy who has all the statues and his name on everything here,” he said, laughing. “But I don’t think Ben Franklin is around to talk to you.”
“Sometimes I wonder—they’re similar—the two Benny’s,” I said.
“Then you should listen to both of them,” José said, smiling. He pushed me through the automatic doors.
“Thanks,” I said as I got up from the wheelchair and turned to shake his hand. “You helped me.”
“That’s what I’m here for, Jack,” he said, returning to the fifth floor and the job he loved.
I left to go back to my apartment, alone.
Driving back to my apartment I called the office and told Carol I would be back in the office the next day, but to change any appointments for Friday. “I’m going to take a quick weekend trip to do some fishing,” I told her.
“Fishing? I never knew you liked to fish,” she said.
“I didn’t—but it seems like a good time to start.”
“Are you sure you’re okay, Jack?” she asked.
“I will be,” I said. “And thanks for calling the hospital and getting me help.”
“I was scared to death,” she said. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?”
I wasn’t ready to confide in Carol, even though she had known me for twenty years. “Carol, I’m fine, I promise. They checked me out and I’ll have to wait and see what they say. But don’t worry.”
“Okay,” she said. “We’re worried about you.”
“I’m not sure many are worried about me there,” I said, unable to hide some of the pain. “But I understand—most people don’t like their supervisors.”
“I’ve known you since you started here. I’m very proud to work for you. I always knew you were going to be a success.”
“I don’t feel like much of a success since we were bought,” I said. Immediately I wanted to take back the words. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. I’m just tired from the last few days. I didn’t expect the changes with Merchants to be so tough.”
“I think you’ve changed—for the better—since Merchants took over,” she said. “Everyone’s noticed it. You listen better and have tried to help people get through it. I hope you don’t get mad at me for saying this, but you’re much more connected now than before.” After a pause, Carol said, “Honestly, I hate Merchants, but I’ll keep working here because of you. A lot of us feel that way.”
I didn’t know what to say. “Carol . . . that may have been one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me about what kind of job I’m doing. Thanks.”
“I mean it, Jack, now take care of yourself.”
“Everyone keeps telling me that,” I said.
“Maybe it’s time to listen,” she said.
After returning to my apartment, I knew I had to tell at least two people that I was go
ing to visit Benny about a job: Tina and Cassie.
I decided to call Tina first.
Following a brief summary of all of the tests I had at the hospital, I told her about my plans to visit Virginia—potentially moving there as Benny’s successor. Tina snarled over the phone. “So, that’s your solution? Run away—again!”
I tried to explain my garbled set of emotions. I couldn’t tell her about my conversation with José—it would have only validated her perspective of my life over the years. I told her a small portion of the conflict with Merchants Bank. Her response seemed driven by a sense of satisfaction, like a venomous I told you so.
“YOU SPENT ALL OF YOUR TIME AT WORK, AND NOW THEY DON’T NEED YOU AS BAD AS YOU NEED THEM. I DON’T REALLY FEEL SORRY FOR YOU, JACK. YOU REAP WHAT YOU SOW. SPEAKING OF SOWING, IS YOUR LITTLE FRIEND CASSIE GOING WITH YOU? OR IS THAT AGAINST THE LAW IN VIRGINIA?” SHE ASKED.
My mood of reconciliation had passed. I was angry.
“No, Cassie isn’t going—and if she did, so what? That’s none of your business. Besides, it’s obvious you don’t care anymore,” I said. “Someone has to work to pay for everything you and the kids buy,” I said. “You never helped bring any money in. But you sure helped to spend it. I didn’t see you worried about my health while I worked sixteen-hour days. You were out having fun, enjoying life.”
“I was enjoying life? You really think that’s what I did all day and most evenings while you were at work or with Cassie? Go ahead, Jack. Run away from it all, if that’s what you need. I really don’t care,” Tina said, cold and calloused. “Find a new place to work yourself to death. That sounds like something you would do.”
My next call wasn’t any easier.
My last conversation with Cassie had been a brief call from the hospital. I had told her not to visit me, fearing she might run into Tina or one of the kids. “I don’t need any more drama right now,” was what I had told her.
“I understand. The man I love is in the hospital, and he tells me to stay away because he’s afraid if I visit him I’ll stress him more,” she said before hanging up. That brief conversation set the stage for what I knew would be her explosion when I told her I was definitely going to travel to Virginia to check out the potential new job, a topic on which she had already made her opinion known.
I decided to call her to avoid a face-to-face confrontation. She barely talked. After telling her my rationale for the trip, she said, “I expected this. You don’t need to say anything else. I’ve told you how I feel. I love you, but that doesn’t seem to be enough. I don’t agree with what you’re doing. I think you’re running away from me as much as from your job. If you get on the plane—we’re over. I mean it.”
“I’m not running away.”
“It certainly looks like it. I would have never expected Jack Oliver to give up a pile of money, his reputation in Philadelphia, and dump me to go off to some place in the middle of nowhere,” Cassie said. I could hear she was crying. “You’ve never been honest before—why should I expect anything different now? Good-bye, Jack.”
She hung up before I could say another word. She was right; I was giving up a lot of money if I left Merchants. And I was tossing away our relationship. But was I really running away? I decided to call John. I needed to hear something positive.
It seemed as though I could do nothing right.
Sincerity does not always mean you’re right. You can be sincerely wrong.
—BENJAMIN FRANKLIN PRICE
21. What’s Right?
“WHAT’S RIGHT?” I asked John. “I need to know because I certainly have a strong command of what’s wrong.”
“Most of my exes would say the same thing about me,” he said. “I’ve got so right at being wrong, I figure I could write an advice column called, Don’t Do This—I Did and It Doesn’t Work.”
We both laughed. I had called John to let him know I was leaving the next day to visit his hiking partner. I could tell he was happy about it.
“You’ve done a lot right,” John said in a more serious tone. “Benny will help to bring the best out of you. I’m sure of that. I think fate is guiding you there.”
“You’re really high on Benny and me working together.”
“I believe—no—I’m for sure you’ll be great for each other,” John said. “Just remember who put you in the saddle there if I should fall on hard times here in the great state of Arkansas.”
“I thought you said ‘fate’ was guiding me there, not you,” I said, laughing. “Make up your mind, John.”
“No, it’s fate,” he said. “I’m just a small part of it. Benny helped me—I know he’ll help you.”
“What did Benny do for you that helped you so much?” I asked. It was a question I had asked several times, but I had never received a direct answer.
“I can’t explain it,” he said. “But I know you’ll be a changed person after spending a weekend with him.”
“You make it sound like it’s a psychotherapy retreat instead of a job interview,” I said. “Or one of those healing preachers—cast the demons out!” I said, trying my best to mock John’s imitations of Southern evangelists. We both laughed.
“Well, ole friend, I think it’s a little of both—I guess Benny helped me to focus on what’s real in life. I guess after spending time with Benny I have a greater appreciation for reality and what I can do now. Not tomorrow. I no longer worry about how I screwed up yesterday, or even a minute ago, but what I’m doing right now. That’s how he helped me.”
“Is he like one of those Southern Baptist ministers you imitate?”
“No, Benny is much more sincere than most of them. He’s into reality—they’re into your pocket most of the time. I’ve never heard of him passing the collection plate.”
“Well, if he does—I’m putting an IOU from John Helms in it,” I said. “I’ve got to finish packing. What should I take?”
“Let’s see, fishin’ and hiking, something you don’t do much—I would take what you’re comfortable in, Jack,” he said. “The only things I would guarantee you won’t need are a suit and tie. Men don’t wear ties at Benny’s bank. So leave your two-thousand-dollar suits behind.”
After hanging up, I looked at the dozen tailored suits I had in my closet, none costing less than a thousand dollars. No ties? I wondered. John must have been kidding me.
Focusing on what’s real in life? So that’s what made Benny so unique for John, I thought as I continued my packing, removing the best charcoal gray business suit from the travel bag and putting it back in the closet. For years I had believed in a view of the world that had little to do with the type of reality people like José and John were talking about. I was now getting a sense of my warped perspective of right and wrong. The rationalizations I had created to live with my lifestyle choices were a crutch. I used them to hobble through the moral dilemmas I faced at work and home. I fired people when told, telling myself I had no choice if I wanted a promotion. I had a life with Cassie, believing there was no way to repair my life with Tina. As I continued to sort through the clothes, I wondered if I could hide my moral ambiguity when I met Benny. I was afraid of what he would see—the real me—the conflicted me. I didn’t think I was ready for that.
He wrote a lot in his book about sincerity. I disdained hypocrites, but now understood that I had slipped into being one for the sake of my career. I was a hypocrite, as badly as I hated to admit it.
I did not want Benjamin Franklin Price to see me as an insincere or hypocritical person. Even if I chose to stay put in Philly, I wanted to impress him.
I finished packing my two bags with every kind of clothing I imagined I would need and sat down and opened up the now well-worn copy of Bank on It! I reread his thoughts on sincerity.
Sincerity is more than being honest with others. Sincerity is how you translate your true thoughts to others. Sincerity is born in our thoughts, before words and actions. Sincerity resides within your thoughts and will let you know what�
�s right and wrong, letting you hear your conscience when it speaks to you. When in doubt listen to your conscience. Sincerity resides there.
“My conscience,” I said aloud, shaking my head from side to side. “Where’s my conscience—I need to pack it for the trip.” I kept reading the section.
Being sincere does not always mean you’re right—you can be sincerely wrong. You may believe in what you’re doing and have confidence in your abilities, but you may be aimed wrong or fail in the execution of your actions. Always begin by questioning your thoughts and intentions. Being right begins inside.
When Benny talked about sincerity, I realized that I had failed to pass the “sincerity test” as he called it because what I wanted from life was not in harmony with what I said and did. Life was all about me. My intention was selfish. But I pretended otherwise.
I stood up and walked to the window and looked out at Philadelphia. I saw my reflection, staring back. The years had aged me. I remembered when I had worked as a teller and was shocked to see men who appeared seventy years old, but were actually in their early fifties. “Is that me?”
After finishing my packing, I sat down and poured a drink of bourbon. I wasn’t supposed to drink—doctor’s orders—but I felt the need to have something to calm my nerves. I picked up Benny’s book to look at one more section before I went to sleep. I opened it to the first section, outlining the four steps he had prescribed for “living a questionable life.” While I had never been a fan of leadership or self-help books, this book was different. It was really very simple, I thought, as I reread the opening of the book.
Everything was “questionable” according to him. That was something I could relate to, but his application of questioning was much different from my own. I had always viewed questions as attacks on others in order to get ahead or to look good in front of my superiors. But in his approach, questions were “beacons of light—guides to keep you on the right course in life.”
