Why Me? Never

In the beginning, The Fourth Quarter sort of had a cute ring to it–catchy, breezy, and with an athletic bent.  I still feel that way, BUT as time passes I realize that this writer is finding himself deeper into that last quarter of my life. That, in and of itself doesn’t bother me much as these are just descriptive words. What does concern me and from which there is no escape are the physical manifestations of the aging process. We all have them to one degree or another and I hope that for a good deal of time moving forward, they remain just that, a nuisance.  

We all have family, friends, and acquaintances with whom we share life’s journey and over time more folks are exiting our proverbial train of life then getting on board. Today, as the Amtrak train sped through Macomb, I got to watch it pass by as the gates went down and I thought it prudent to put the car in park as it did so. And then I thought for a moment about a good friend who had exited my train many years ago, long before he reached The Fourth Quarter. And then again, by his standards, Harry Gianneschi had crammed more living into his 65 years than some folks do in 100.

His story exemplifies the old adage that “It’s not how long we live, but how we live, that matters.” Like me, Harry was a graduate of Western Illinois University and a year older than me. He went to York High School; I went to Hinsdale.  Both schools were members of the West- Suburban Conference, so we always jousted about which school was best. I pretty much owned him on that one. We both ended up teaching at WIU, he in the Speech Department and yours truly in Management. We played sports together on the same teams in the local community and made quite a pair. In basketball, neither of us ever wanted to take the ball out to the other as certainly you would never get it back as whoever took the in-bound pass would surely shoot it.  Harry was cool; he knew it. He was a handsome man, a cross between the swimmer Mark Spitz and the actor Omar Shariff.  He never let on but had a sense of presence that made him comfortable in any situation. Harry was the first person I knew who wore white baseball shoes instead of the traditional black. He said they made him a better player. He was wrong.  However, they looked good on Harry. 

Harry got his Bachelors and Masters at Western and a PhD at Bowling Green. He became Alumni Director at Western before me then had a stellar career that took him to the University of Nevada at Reno, Winona State University, the State University of New York at New Palz and finally California State University at Fullerton. He was a gifted and beloved leader at each school and at Fullerton, the Gianneschi Center for Non-Profit Research was named in his honor when he retired in 2001.

It was Harry who encouraged me to finish my PhD if I intended to stay in higher education which turned out to be extremely good advice on multiple dimensions. We kept in touch over the years and on one of the rare days when I found myself sitting at my desk in the office the phone rang. Trusty receptionist Erma Cook used our finely tuned intercom system, meaning she hollered out from downstairs to up, “Gordy, there’s some guy from California on the phone who for some reason wants to talk to you.”  That’s how we did things in those days. It was Harry. He said, “Thought I should tell you before anyone else does, I just got diagnosed with ALS or in the vernacular, Lou Gehrig’s Disease.” We mumbled back and forth to each other and then hung up. This could not be happening to Harry Gianneschi—stellar athlete and marathon runner. 

Harry was diagnosed in the winter 2000 and left Fullerton with Pat, his wife, quietly in 2001. He thought it best for everyone to leave that way. That’s class, that’s the kind of person he was, that’s Harry Gianneschi.  Pat and Harry moved to Ormond Beach, Florida. I decided to fly down to see them.  Best buddy Bill O’Toole who was an RA with me in Seal Hall picked me up at the airport and we were off to Ormond Beach.  We met for lunch and the hours flew by as Harry shared his life lessons with us as well as some inaccurate stories about games in which he remembers scoring more points than me.  Again, his memory was not very accurate. To me, the measure of a person is not found on their resume but rather in the manner in which they lead their lives. Harry gets an A+ here. 

He talked about the people who influenced his life like the brilliant speech professor Jerry Banninga and Macomb natives Bill and Pat Heap who took the Gianneschis under their wings and provided support in the early years. He was a man clearly comfortable when the joke was on him like the night he had University President Leslie Malpass fly to an alumni event in Michigan, only to find out the dinner was the next night.  At some point I could tell my good friend was tired and the small talk was over and it was time to move on to more serious topics.  Dr. Gianneschi was about to drop some bombshells.

Sitting next to me was a 59 year-old man in the battle of his life about to tell me how lucky he was. Imagine that! I asked about the disease and Harry smiled. “Gordy, in a fashion, this disease has been a blessing. Had it never happened, I would never have pulled the career plug, never taken time to smell the roses. I’ve spent more time with Pat in the last year than in the previous ten combined. I now spend quality time with the people I love. Before, I never had time to read anything besides the newspaper; now I read books. I now pay attention to what really matters in life more than I ever did before.”  

I had a couple more questions that needed answering. I asked, “Do you ever wake up and ask why me?” He was quick to respond, “Never.” He elaborated. ” I never said ‘why me’ when I met and married Patricia Winter (as he held her hand as best he could) or ‘why me’ when our sons Brad and Matt were born , or when I became a vice president, or when I was having fun running marathons. I have had so many memorable experiences in my life and just this one bad break. I have no complaints.”  My jaw dropped as I looked at a man for whom I could have no greater respect. 

Time for that last question. “Harry, so you have any regrets?” He didn’t bat any eye; he didn’t hesitate. The answer was pure Harry. “Why, of course, I gave up that cushy alumni job at Western that you now have.”  And that was that.  Finally the time to say goodbye had arrived. We all hugged and then Bill and I were on our way. O’Toole and Taylor had both had an extraordinary day and learned what it means to lead a noble, transformational, and exceptional life.  The lesson from Harry is that you don’t have to live for 75 years to make it to The Fourth Quarter as long as the years you do live, are worth living.

OK, maybe there was one, but just one game when he scored more points than me.