The Get-Out-of-Hell-Free Card

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Don’t you just love second chances? Most people do. A good “do-over” lifts your soul and clears the conscience. Just look at sports.

Golf has the Mulligan. Basketball, the free-throw. Baseball, the foul ball. Soccer has the yellow card, while hockey has the penalty box. And in tennis you get two tries to serve the ball. In short, we humans are all about second chances.

My hope is that Saint Peter is, too.

You see, I believe that when a man dies he finds Saint Peter waiting for him at the pearly gates of Heaven. And as the chief bureaucrat in the universe, he’s of course waiting with paperwork. In this case it’s a lengthy and detailed checklist.

On this checklist are all the things by which men are judged. For instance, were you:

Respectful to your elders?  “Yes, sir.” Check.

Loving to your children? “Yes.” Check.

Kind to animals? “Oh yeah.” Check.

Did you love your wife? “You bet!” Check.

You’re scooting right along. “This is great! I’m almost home-free,” you think to yourself. Then Old Pete drops the hammer when he asks, “Scouting?”

Scouting? You furrow your brow and look at the floor like the little boy who got caught being naughty.

He stares at you. Stone-faced. You get the feeling this is the last guy you want to bluff in a poker game. He sees the sweat starting to build on your brow. He repeats the question.

“Were you a Boy Scout?”

Ah. The dreaded Boy Scout question. This is where it gets sticky.

Everybody knows that Scouting is on the side of the angels, and that while being a Boy Scout may not give you a free ticket into Heaven, it’ll surely help boost your score on Saint Peter’s test.

Then there’s me. I told you: this is where it gets sticky.

I wasn’t a Boy Scout. In fact, depending on who you talk to, the word on the street is that I got thrown out of Cubs Scouts. Twice. However, I maintain I got thrown out once and quit once. But let’s not split hairs. The truth is I didn’t even make it to Webelos.

Time for the “second-chance” strategy and a quick prayer.

My hope is that Saint Peter approaches his checklist much like states approach high-school diplomas.

While most people follow the tried-and-true traditional approach of attending high school and graduating with a diploma, that doesn’t work for everyone. That’s why there’s an alternative – the GED. The General Educational Development test allows someone who didn’t receive a high school diploma to take a test to prove they have the same knowledge and skills as a high-school graduate.

I’m betting (hoping and praying) that Saint Peter will follow a similar approach and allow me to bypass Boy Scouts and meet the requirement with an alternative I like to call the “Boy Scout Adult Leader Option.”

I spent 13 years as an adult Scout leader, following my son Sean from his first day as a young Tiger Cub, through his transition as a Tenderfoot into Boy Scouts, to that rare and happy day when he earned the coveted rank of Eagle Scout, and then his final transition into an adult leader.

Through that process I’ve lived through a dozen Pinewood Derbies and popcorn fundraisers, and spent countless nights camping in the rain, the mud and the snow. I’ve survived Murphy’s six-alarm chili, wild-game feasts and pancake dinners. I’ve camped where you can hear the bears in the underbrush, and I’ve snorkeled far too near passing sharks.

We adult Scout leaders have a code. Anytime the heat, the cold, the wet or bad attitudes would start to wear on us, we’d simply remind our compatriots that our service as adult leaders will earn us a punch on our “Get-Out-of-Hell-Free Card." It always made us laugh and lifted our spirits. It also helped us focus on why we were there. The boys.

Adult Scout leaders volunteer their time and talent to help young boys grow into young men with a solid sense of right and wrong, honor and purpose. Life is tough for kids these days. Divorce, drugs, the Internet, social media and peer pressure have made the normally complicated adolescent years something close to a nightmare for many kids. Happily, Scouting is a safe refuge.

So, no matter the final score on my checklist. I’m proud to say I was a Boy Scout adult leader. I know in my heart it was worth it. And I think Saint Peter will agree it was a “do-over” he can endorse – and give me that final punch on my “Get-Out-of-Hell-Free Card" and a check in the “Scouting” box on his checklist.

Thank God for “do-overs.” 

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It's A Small World After All

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(From the ‘I can’t make this stuff up’ file)

I’ve long maintained that there’s something special about Iowans. If you put two of us together within 10 minutes we’ll figure out that 1) We’re related; or 2) We’re not related, but we know at least one other Iowan in common.

It’s not a huge piece of magic when you consider there are only 3 million people in the whole state. To put it in perspective, there are counties in New Jersey with more people in them!

I also maintain that Iowans are born with some sort of special magnetic power that draws us together.

A case in point

The scene was Frankfurt, West Germany. It was a beautiful October day in 1985 and I was assigned to the sports office of the American Forces Network Europe. AFN was then, and still is, the largest military radio and TV network in the world. Back then its signals covered most of Western Europe, with stations in three countries, stretching from the North Sea to southern West Germany. 

Imagine watching WGN Chicago, but all the news anchors, sports anchors and meteorologists are wearing military uniforms. That was me.

It was mid-morning when the phone rang. I answered it as usual, “AFN sports, Airman O’Connor speaking.”

On the other end of the line I heard a young woman ask tentatively, “Is this Jim O’Connor from Osage, Iowa?”

The question threw me. I was half-way around the world from home. I confirmed who I was.

She paused, then dropped the hammer, “Jim, this is Carol Mayer.”

After a quick second of stunned silence I practically yelled into the phone, “Carol Mayer! Where are you? And how’d you find me?” Genius that I was, I forgot that our radio audience was more than a million people and it was the only English-language option in Germany.

Carol was my friend and high-school classmate. We grew up in Osage, a town with three traffic lights and approximately 3,500 inhabitants. Osage rocks. It was a great place to grow up. But back to my story.

Carol quickly explained how she had joined the Army after high school and had recently been stationed in Heidelberg – just 45 miles south of Frankfurt. Like most G.I.s she listened to AFN radio. To her surprise she heard a familiar voice that she swore was her classmate. Her Army buddies didn’t believe her, hence a bet and a quick phone call. That weekend I took the train to Heidelberg, met her buddies and settled the bet.

And then the world got smaller

It was early on a spring Sunday morning several months later. I walked out of the AFN compound in downtown Frankfurt on my way to Mass at St. Sebastian’s. To get there I had to make my way through the Army and Air Force Exchange Service (AAFES) complex directly across the street. The first thing you came to on the complex was the AAFES car dealership. From behind, I saw a young G.I.-looking kid checking out the cars.

He instinctively turned at the sound of my footsteps behind him. As our eyes met we realized we recognized each other.

“Jim?” he said with a quizzical look on his face. “Jim?” I replied.

Yep. It was Carol Mayer’s little brother, Jim. He too had joined the Army after high school. It turned out he was on leave for a couple of days and at that moment was killing time waiting to meet his travelling buddies.

I told him how I had run into his sister just a few months before. He told me he had heard the story but hadn’t believed it.

As we parted we laughed at how small the world really was – especially when two guys from a small town in northern Iowa could run into each other at 7 a.m. in a city as large as Frankfurt.

And then the world got even smaller

Fast forward three years to the summer of 1988. I was out of the Air Force and was living with my parents for a few months as I waited to return to college in the fall. I was working part-time at KGLO Radio in Mason City – the very same part-time job I’d left before joining the Air Force. Déjà vu all over again.

That summer Iowa was locked in the grip of the worst drought it had experienced in decades. It was mid-day on a wretchedly hot and dry Sunday when the phone rang. I answered it as usual, “KGLO, Jim O’Connor speaking.”

On the other end of the line I heard a young woman ask tentatively, “Is this Jim O’Connor from Osage, Iowa?”

The question threw me, again. I was half-way around the world from where I was when this same exchange last happened. I confirmed who I was.

She paused, then dropped the hammer, again. “Jim, this is Carol Mayer.”

After a quick second of stunned silence I practically yelled into the phone, “Carol Mayer! Where are you? And how’d you find me?”

Genius that I was, I forgot that KGLO was the second largest radio station in the state and if you listened to the radio in northern Iowa, you listed to KGLO.

Carol quickly explained how like me, she had left the service after her enlistment and was now home preparing for the next stage of her life. Her parents listened to KGLO and when she heard me on the radio she “just had to call and surprise me.” Again. And she succeeded. Again. 

I just can’t make this stuff up.

A small world? Yes, it is. Indeed. 

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