by Luke Lively
“No one is immune to pain. Most people view themselves as immortal. I was no different. I felt in control of my life. That was the problem. I had put so much attention on things that would happen in the future I had forgotten to live in the now. When Ben was taken away, instead of dealing with the pain, I masked it with revenge. Blame and self-pity took over my thoughts. I fueled it. You can’t control what others do, but you can choose how you respond. That day at the lake house, I realized I need to change.”
I thought about what he was saying. “In my entire life, I have never admitted so many failures and faults to anyone. I always believed that telling someone else about a weakness made you weaker, vulnerable to attack. That person would then have power over you—something they could use if they wished. But I trust you, Benny,” I said. “Honestly—I don’t understand why I’m being so open.”
Suddenly, I felt a strong jerk against my arm. “I think I’ve got a bite!” I said to Benny with the glee of a child. Benny coached me on how to reel the fish in. Once it was beside the boat, Benny reached down with a large net and lifted the fish upward. “That’s a great catch, Jack,” he said.
We fished and talked for several more hours, catching four more keepers, as Benny called them. As the day wound down, I noticed a sensation on the back of my neck and arms that I could not remember having for years. I had a sunburn—a really bad one.
“Jack, I think you got a little too much sun,” he said. “We have some ointment in the cabin. You need to put some on when we get back.”
“I should have listened,” I said, acknowledging my stubbornness. “I didn’t think I was getting that much sun.”
“It’s a little different here compared to Philadelphia,” he said, guiding the boat through the cove leading to the dock. “Tomorrow we’ll be in the woods. All you have to do is watch for snakes and make sure you don’t fall off a cliff.”
I laughed. Despite the sunburn, I had enjoyed the fishing. “I’ll try to avoid snakes, and I’m sure I’ll avoid any and all cliffs—I’m afraid of heights.”
“You’ll overcome that fear,” he said, laughing. “The view is incredible—from the edge.”
We made our way back to the cabin.
To be is the power to live freely—to make the right choice.
—BENJAMIN FRANKLIN PRICE
29. To Be or Not to Be?
“TO BE OR NOT TO BE?” Benny said as he sat down in the living room. “That is the question.” After pausing for a moment, he smiled, patting his stomach, and said, “Or is the question, ‘Dessert or no dessert?’ One thing is for sure, I ate too much. That’s one of my bad habits.”
We had returned to the cabin with the fish we had pulled from the waters of Smith Mountain Lake. It was almost dark as we entered the cabin. Benny started a fire in the huge stone fireplace while I got out the containers from the refrigerator to start preparing dinner. Benny took the time to show me the fine art of cleaning fish. He then used a batter Ann had premixed to coat the fish fillets before frying them. “Everything’s fried in the South, Jack,” he said, using what appeared to be a very old iron skillet to cook the fish.
While he was busy with the fish, I methodically pieced together the rest of the dinner following the directions Ann had taped to each Tupperware container, on how to use the microwave. We devoured the catch with Ann’s mashed potatoes, creamy corn, green beans, and homemade rolls. And, of course, my new favorite drink, clove tea. I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten a home-cooked meal.
After dinner, we put the food away and loaded the dishwasher. “I think the dishwasher is probably one of the great achievements of mankind,” Benny said. “Dishwashers have probably saved many a marriage! More than all of the marriage counselors, self-help books, and advice columns combined.”
I wanted to say that the dishwasher hadn’t helped my marriage. Of course, in my case I had simply ignored the dishes after a meal. “I have some work to do,” was familiar after-dinner talk I shared with Tina. Or in the later years, I remembered, I wasn’t even home for dinner. I was hiding out at Cassie’s. It was no wonder Tina did not want to be with me. I was a fool to live so selfishly, I thought, as we finished our chores.
Now finished with the kitchen cleanup, we ate Ann’s delicious peach cobbler. Wanting to pull the conversation back to an area in which I felt more certainty, I brought up an issue we hadn’t discussed all day—Benny’s bank. I was here about a job, I thought, so maybe now was the time to discuss it. I had hundreds of questions for this self-professed questioner. I thought I had the silver bullet to shoot down his simplistic approach to life, and I was prepared to fire off a round to bring him back to reality. “You said that you were upset that your bank had been bought and your job changed years ago. Is that when you formed Citizens Bank?” I asked. “Surely that was a time that put work before home.”
“After Ben passed and I needed to find balance in my life, I focused on answering the question, who do I want to be? Knowing I would spend a large part of my life at work, I wanted to find the right livelihood that didn’t conflict with the person I wanted to be and the life I wanted to live. I found that I no longer had a desire for money, titles, and power. The loss of Ben changed me. My intention had changed. The question boiled down to simply, what can I do to help others? The new organization wasn’t right for me. So, with the help of a small group of people, we began a new bank, Citizens Bank of Virginia, the same bank I work for now.”
“But wasn’t the purpose of the bank to make money?” I asked.
“If you’re attentive to what you’re supposed to do, what you intend to do, everything else takes care of itself, including profits.”
“That sounds too simplistic for a start-up business,” I said.
“It may sound simplistic, but that’s why we’ve been successful, Jack. We kept it simple, on purpose. We formed the bank with the intent of supplying the necessary banking services to clients who were left without banks in many small communities. This market niche was available to us. When the big banks bought the smaller banks, they generally closed and consolidated offices, especially in small towns. That’s where we stepped in to fill the void.”
“You formed a community bank,” I said.
“Most people would call it a community bank, but we viewed it as a service organization. We were a group of people with a common goal: We existed to serve. We started off small and kept growing, finding communities with needs we could fill. We never bought another bank. We never tried to go toe to toe with the large banks on their turf. We served the small businesses and average-size client accounts they discarded. The profits were a natural result of our purpose. We have minimal fees—most of our services don’t even have charges associated with them. We have low loan rates because our expenses are minimal. We don’t spend money trying to get business we can’t afford. We’ve been successful, and I know it’s because of our intention—to serve.”
“I’ve gone over the financial results of your bank, and they are incredible. You keep growing, despite more competition.”
“That’s the secret to our success, if you can call it a secret,” Benny said. “We’re not competing with anyone—just doing the best we can to serve our clients.”
“How does that translate into growth?”
“The best advertisement is a happy client. Word of mouth serves as the best way to market our service,” he said.
“Then why are you being pressured to sell?”
“We had never discussed selling the bank, until recently. We have a few of our board of directors who forgot our purpose and are a little greedy. That is why I need some assistance. I need a successor. I’m getting old, Jack.”
I knew the bank’s successes. Benny was a near-legend in banking circles. But was this his swan song? Had greed finally got the best of his organization? “What do you think is going to happen?” I asked.
“I would have never spent the time and energy to start Citizens Bank if I planned to sell it. I’m going to do
my best to ensure that the bank is still there serving clients long after I leave the planet.”
“My bank was bought,” I said, entering into a territory I felt more comfort discussing. “We’re similar in that respect—I don’t like what happened after we sold to Merchants. A bank like Merchants does many of the same things you mentioned. They gut it and turn it into a profit center. Everything changed after we sold to them.” I was hoping my comments would allow an opening to explore the idea that Merchants was one of the suitors vying to buy Benny’s bank. The ploy didn’t work.
“Who the buyer ultimately may be is not the issue,” he said. “If the bank is sold, its purpose will change. I haven’t seen another owner who could do better than what we’re already doing. If there were such a bank, I wouldn’t have a problem selling to them. But I don’t see such a bank on the horizon—anywhere.”
“I understand,” I said. “I’m shocked your board wants to sell.”
“Never be shocked by what greed can do, Jack.”
“No, I understand greed,” I said.
“Citizens Bank is more than just a job to me. It’s part of my purpose, my giving. It has helped thousands of people. I don’t want that to die after I leave. I’ve examined my intention. I’m not motivated by selfishness, pride, or greed. I’m not motivated by trying to avoid change. Our success was the result of change!” Benny rose up in his chair. Leaning forward and folding his hands together, he said, “I would have never formed Citizens Bank if it wasn’t for Ben. It’s one of the ways I’ve honored his life. That is why I called on you. To see if you want to be part of helping all of the people we touch with our organization—helping the bank change and improve what we do. To live on—to be.”
After sharing some stories about our friend John Helms and my ignorance of all things South, Benny said we needed to get an early start the next morning. “This is a late night for me,” Benny said. It was just about 10:30. “I’m usually asleep for almost two hours by now. See what happens to you when you get old, Jack.”
“I don’t sleep much,” I said, thinking about the sleepless nights I had for most of my life. “I wish I could figure out how to get a good night’s sleep.”
“It’s easy,” Benny said. “Let everything go—sleep will come naturally. I used to have the same problem. Thinking I was in control kept me up at night worrying about how I could hold it all together. When I let go, I slept much better.”
I thanked Benny for the fishing trip and the excellent dinner. While I had more questions than answers, I had enjoyed the day, something new for me.
“We have to get up pretty early tomorrow,” he said. “How does leaving around 5:30 sound to you?”
“That’s great,” I said. “I’m used to getting up early.”
“Good night, Jack. Sleep well,” Benny said as he stepped into his bedroom.
I couldn’t sleep. Benny’s ideas about balance were making me recall the countless moments I had been taking instead of giving.
The first person I thought about was Tina. She had trusted me, and I had let her down. I had ruined our marriage trying to enrich my ego instead of sharing my life. I wondered if I could ever find a way to make things work out. It’s too late, I thought, in the stillness of the cabin.
I then thought about my kids. The emotions I had felt from hearing about the tragedy of Benny losing his son were fueled by guilt for not being present while my children had grown up. Some of the very things I blamed on my old man I had done to my children. What did they think of me?
Finally, my thoughts turned to my father. I had assumed Benny was like him. As an assembly line of thoughts carried my exhausted mind to sleep, I knew that my assumption was wrong.
Benny wasn’t like my father.
I was.
You need to know where you are before you choose where you want to go.
—BENJAMIN FRANKLIN PRICE
30. How Did I Get Here?
“HOW DID I GET HERE?”
Just like the previous twenty-four hours, waking up was different. Opening my eyes, I did not see an alarm clock. There was none in the room. I was momentarily confused.
As I adjusted my focus, I saw a photo of a very youthful Benny lifting his son on his shoulders, serving as a springboard for a dive into the lake. All it took was one moment to destroy Benny and Ann’s world. How different the world would be had he lived, I thought. The idea of a different world took hold. “How did I get here?” I asked again. Maybe the death of Benny’s son brought me here. How could the accidental death of a young man in Virginia, far from Philadelphia, many years ago with no apparent connection to me, now affect my life so dramatically and everyone linked to me? His death changed a lot of worlds.
Still focusing on the photo, I recalled Benny saying, “Everything’s connected.” Maybe he’s right . . . I let go of the thought, tired of trying to answer a question that appeared to have no finite answer.
Benny knocked on the door. “It’s your wake-up call, Mr. Oliver,” he said in his best impression of a British butler’s accent. After putting on what I thought would be the most functional clothes for hiking, I stepped out to the scents of a breakfast in the making. “How do you like your eggs cooked?” Benny asked.
“Uh, scrambled,” I said, walking into the kitchen. Benny had prepared bacon, home fries, and a large pot of coffee. “I think you could give Ann a run for her money as a cook.”
“You’ll need some nourishment today. The hike is a little challenging,” he said, smiling as he pulled a tray of biscuits from the oven. “What you’ll see today will impress you—even if you’re out of breath from the climb.”
We were going to travel on the Blue Ridge Parkway to a place called the Peaks. After finishing breakfast and cleaning up in the kitchen, we put the gear Benny had assembled for the hike in the well-worn Jeep and pulled out into a heavy fog. Sunrise was still an hour away, which made the drive even more harrowing. I was glad Benny was behind the wheel. I could not see ten feet in front of the vehicle for most of the hour-and-thirty-minute drive.
As we drove through the fog I began to think about Benny’s stint in the military. There was no mention of Benny’s military experiences in his book. He had barely mentioned it to me. I decided to ask him about it.
“You said you were in Vietnam,” I said. “I say this very respectfully, but you don’t seem like the military type.”
Benny laughed. “What type of person would you characterize me as, Jack?”
I had already thought about it. I said, “You’re a Peace Corps kind of guy. I could see you going to some remote village in South America and rebuilding huts, helping people who want help. It’s a compliment.”
“I’ll take it as one,” he said. He gave one of the heartiest laughs I had heard from him. “You don’t mind me telling Ann about that, do you? She would probably faint from laughing.”
“I’m not that far off, am I? I really can’t picture you in combat.”
“The experience changed me forever. I had graduated from Virginia Tech with a business degree. My father had already made up his mind about my future. He wanted me to be a lawyer. He pulled strings so I was accepted at the University of Virginia, one of the top law schools in the country. It looked like everything was set—my life was neatly laid out in front of me. There was one problem. I hated the idea of being a lawyer. I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to be, but it definitely wasn’t a lawyer.”
I understood his lack of desire for a legal profession. “I couldn’t see you as a lawyer,” I said.
“The summer after I graduated, I backpacked all across Europe by myself. I thought I would find my calling in life—my purpose. After three months of living by a thread, I returned home more confused than ever.”
“Traveling across Europe in the early 1960s—that must have been an experience,” I said. “Communism was at its peak. The war in Vietnam was building.”
“I assumed a lot before the trip. I pictured the world differently. My pe
rception at the time was wrong. I had an immature view of the world. We had helped Europe in World War II, not that long before my backpacking excursion. We had helped to rebuild much of the continent. I thought people would view Americans in a certain way. I thought I would be viewed differently. I was wrong, and it hurt.”
“They were ungrateful?” I asked.
“No, just not what I expected. Everyone had a different point of view. The Italians had a different viewpoint than the French. The French were much different than the Germans. But in each country, each region, each town, and even each neighborhood, they all had their own built-in prejudices and beliefs. I realized it was down to individual choices. After hiking across Europe, I realized everyone was different.
“When I returned home, I had a strong desire to do missionary work; I wanted to help people. I wasn’t a religious person. I never have been and doubt if I ever will be. But being a missionary was a way to help people. That was my idea as I made my way back to Virginia.”
“A missionary?” I asked.
“But on my first day back in the States, I was told my best friend from high school had been killed in Vietnam. While I was bumming my way around Europe trying to find myself, he was killed protecting others. I felt guilty. I had a lot of anger over his loss. But I also felt an obligation to serve my country. I had flown small planes since I was sixteen. It was one of the youthful passions I had. Flying was the only time my father and I ever spent together. The Navy wanted pilots. So, as part of my rebellion to break out from under the life my father had fashioned for me, I decided to join the Navy. It broke my father’s heart. After I told him I enlisted—well . . .” He paused. “My father was very strong willed—but so was I. My mother understood my rebellion but hated the idea of her son killing another human.”
I still could not picture Benny in the military. Benny appeared to be one of the kindest and gentlest people I had met in my life. “I can see you as a pilot, but I can’t see you as a military pilot,” I said. “You just don’t seem the type.”
