WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN

Lately, I have experienced a recurring thought involving, for lack of a better phrase, “What might have been.”


Perhaps my first “for instance” involves what had the potential to be a rather lucrative sports profession. But, allow me to digress a bit.


As a 14 or 15 year old, I would grab my trusty skateboard, and transistor radio, and “sidewalk surf” my way along a four lane highway, a distance of about a mile and a half, to the only bowling alley within twenty miles in any direction. Since it has been almost sixty years since that little season of my life, it is impossible to be sure if what I am describing took place strictly on Saturdays, or whether my mother allowed me to bowl after the bus dropped me off in the afternoon.


Whatever the case, I seemed to have a natural gift for the sport. For you see, in fairly short order, I was bowling 170 and 180 virtually every time I ‘cued up’ behind that old wooden alley, and sometimes I attained an even better score. And to be sure, I always bowled alone. I remember one day and one game in which I bowled an astounding 280. Afterwards, the bowling alley manager, Ron, bought me a congratulatory lemonade. It was the first and only time I was that close to bowling a perfect game.


I have often thought that, had I chosen to pursue the professional bowling circuit, I might easily have done so. I mean, I was that good at a precocious young age. And yet, for whatever reason, it never occurred to me to so much as inquire about it, much less roll a single ball in competition with another human being; professional or otherwise.


No doubt, I might have earned a sizable amount of money. However, at the grand old age of 70, that season of my life has long since eluded me; since I am lucky to bowl a 100 today. 


Whoever dreamed up the phrase, “If you don’t use it, you lose it” knew what they were talking about.”


Pt. 2


Another example in which my life might have taken a different turn occurred in the mid-70’s. I was freshly out of the Air Force, and I and my wife, (at the time) had moved from Tampa, Florida to the little town of Stafford, Virginia. I had meandered from menial job to menial job, and one day I happened to see an advertisement on the Woolco bulletin board for a shoe department manager trainee.


Well, I can tell you that this opportunity looked a whole lot better to me than the prestigious, well-paying (not) position I worked at the time. You see, I stood in front of a shredded paper blower for eight hours a day, and at said location I filled up paper bag after paper bag with the dusty stuff. When the bag was full, I ran the top of it across a sewing machine head. After my initial training, (which consisted of approximately 53 seconds), I had it down pat.


Needless to say, after working in this environment for several weeks, and walking out to my car every afternoon, looking like a zombie which had crawled out of the grave, I was ready for something, anything different.

I made the call, and spoke to the manager of the Kinney Shoe Corporation lease unit, Tom Hollister. I explained that I worked a pretty nasty, menial job, and that at the end of the work day I drove a half hour to my home in Stafford. Having gotten a grasp of my academics, military history, and supposed intelligence, the fellow on the other end of the line suggested I stop by, and speak to him on the way home. 


Of course, I reminded him how filthy, and ‘fragrant’ I was by this time of day, but he insisted, and I assured him I would stop by that very afternoon. It was obvious that he had little or no regard for formalities, and that he possessed the wherewithal to look beyond the outward appearance.

I met Mr. Hollister in the Woolco snack bar, and he lost little time in relieving me of my onerous duties at “Ajax Insulation Company.” 

As I prepared to take my leave, I remember my new employer quipped,

“Just make sure you take a shower before you come in tomorrow, and put on a shirt and tie!”


Pt. 3


I served as Tom’s assistant manager for about a year, and, ultimately, I was offered an opportunity I could not refuse, and I accepted my own managerial position with the Woolco shoe department in Gadsden, Alabama.


Apparently, Mr. Hollister had trained me well since the first year I was there, I was recognized as “Rookie of the Year” for my district. After serving at this location for a couple of years, I was promoted again. Now I accepted a Woolco shoe department in North Wales, Pennsylvania.


Ultimately, I went on to bigger and better things. Well, for a period of time, simply other things. However, after I overcame my immaturity, I enrolled in a teacher’s training program at a local university. As I was nearing the completion of my undergraduate degree, I received a call from the vice president of the lease division of Kinney Shoe Corporation. The conversation went very much like the following.


“Hi Bill, this is Lamoine Adams. We met once, maybe six or eight years ago. I flew down to your store in Gadsden, Alabama, and Thomas Trnka, (the district manager) and I spent some time with you.”


To which I responded,


“Yes, Mr. Adams. Of course, I remember you.”


He continued.


“Bill, we were very impressed with your work ethic, and the way you increased the profitability of the two units you managed. I want to offer you a management position in the Woolco unit in Key West, Florida. You’re already living in Florida, and it just occurred to me that this might be a good fit for you and for us.”


There’s an old saying, “Once a shoe dog. Always a shoe dog.”


Well, I guess I must have been the exception to the rule since I provided Lamoine a slightly different response, than he might have preferred.


“Uhmmm, I appreciate your offer, Mr. Adams, but I just can’t. I’m nearing the completion of my bachelor’s degree in education, and, honestly, teaching is my priority right now. But thank you for thinking of me.”


And that was that.


Pt. 4


As I have previously inferred, my wife, family and I had moved to Virginia, where I worked a number of menial jobs, (including the prestigious paper-blower role) before applying for a Civil Service position at the Pentagon.


I will always recall stepping into the massive building, walking its hallways, marveling at the myriad of intersecting hallways, and contemplating the possibility that I would have the opportunity to contribute to the health and welfare of my great nation in such a prominent location.


As it fell together, I filled out the required paperwork, completed a typing test, was hired, and was scheduled to begin work at the most famous military building in this or any other universe. 


And while it seemed to be a good idea at the time, I, ultimately, declined the position. On a good day, my home in Stafford was an hour drive, and, of course, I would expend another hour in the afternoon returning from whence I came.


Of course, a quarter century later, on a bright and cloudless summer day, the focus of the entire world was on the two tallest buildings in America, and a lonely field in Pennsylvania, and on the most massive, most strategic military building on earth.


I have often mused that had I accepted the position, and remained at the Pentagon, I would have been nearing my retirement on 911. And who can say what might have been my fate had I reported for work on that singular day in our nation's history?


Afterward


The foregoing accounts of my vocational twists and turns are just the tip of the proverbial iceberg. It is easy to wonder where any of us might have been had we made a few slightly different choices during a crucial season of our lives. 


I have never made a great deal of money, but I have been blessed with friendships, and I have been gifted to impact those whom God foreordained that I would meet along the highways and byways of my life.


I like the parting scene in the movie, “Mr. Holland’s Opus,” in which the fictional character is retiring from a thirty year stint as a music teacher at a large high school. A middle-aged woman with flaming red hair, the governor of the state, steps to the microphone.


“Mr. Holland had a great influence on my life. On a lot of lives at Kennedy High School, I know. And I have the feeling that he considers a great deal of his life misspent. He wrote this symphony of his to be performed, possibly to make him rich or famous; probably both. Well, he isn’t rich or famous; except in this little town.

He might even consider his life a failure… but I think he has achieved a success which goes beyond mere riches or fame. Look around you, Mr. Holland. For there is not a life in this room that you have not touched. And each of us is a better person for meeting you, or for being your student. This is your symphony, Mr. Holland. We are the notes and melodies of your opus. 


…We are the music of your life.”


Over the past few decades, God has graciously provided me the opportunity to counsel thousands, teach hundreds, and mentor dozens. And I acknowledge not only that providential plan which allowed all of this to fall into place, but the gracious wherewithal He has bestowed upon me to make a difference in the lives of them whom He has set in my pathway.


And like Mr. Holland, I am neither rich nor famous; not even in my little town. But I like to think that with all my time and effort, I have irrevocably touched the lives which He has committed to my care. And they are the notes and melodies of my life.

My life hasn't always fallen together the way I pictured it, or the way in which it might have gone, but I am content that I am in the very center of God's plans for my life, and how could I ask or expect more than that?

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

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