by Andy Andrews
“Had the South been victorious at Gettysburg, historians agree that the entire conflict would have been over by the end of the summer. The Confederate States of America were one victory away from winning the war. But they didn’t win.
“The schoolteacher from Maine was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor for his decision at Little Round Top. His commanding officers determined that the actions of this one man saved the Union army from being destroyed—this one man turned the tide of the battle. Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain turned the tide of the war.
“Do you understand what this means? If the South had won the war, there would be no America as we know it now. There would be at least two, possibly three countries existing in our place. The world would not have a country big enough and strong enough to feed the other nations of this planet. There would not be a superpower available to defend weaker societies against those that would limit their freedom. But because one ordinary man made a decision to move forward, this is a very different world we live in today.
“When Hitler swept across Europe, when Hirohito systematically invaded the islands of the Pacific, when Saddam Hussein rolled his armies into Kuwait, there existed a United States of America to stand in the breach. And we were there because of one man with his back to the wall. A man who, on that hot day in July, was in fear for his very life. A man whose only option seemed to be retreat. Ladies and gentlemen, the world as it exists today is largely the result of a decision to charge—one decision made by a schoolteacher more than a hundred years ago!
“Don’t you ever think that you can’t change things! You can! You can! One decision, that you make, can change the world!”
Once more the entire arena was on its feet. David was stunned. As he clapped, he couldn’t get over the incredible chain of events that had been set in motion by one man. What had happened to Chamberlain? he wondered. As the crowd quieted and resettled, the speaker continued, and David found out.
“It is a fact that people follow a man who simply says, ‘Follow me.’ By taking leadership, ironically, a person deserves leadership. As you lead others to success and a life of their dreams, the life you seek and deserve will be revealed unto you.
“Joshua Chamberlain made a decision that changed our world, yes, but his decision also held personal rewards. He led successful campaigns until the end of the war. He was cited by our government four separate times for bravery in action and was promoted to brigadier general for heroism at Petersburg, this by special order of Ulysses S. Grant. Then, only a few months later, for heroism at Five Forks, he was promoted to major general.
“Among all Union officers, President Abraham Lincoln chose Chamberlain to have the honor of accepting the Confederate surrender at Appomattox. There, he stunned the world with a show of forgiveness and respect as he ordered his troops to attention, saluting General Robert E. Lee and the defeated South.
“Back home, in Maine, Chamberlain was elected governor in what is, to this day, the largest majority in the history of the state. He was reelected three times until finally, he stepped down and accepted a role of leadership at his alma mater, as president of Bowdoin College.
“Incidentally, an interesting benefit of a person’s decision to charge, one that has been somewhat overlooked by scholars and historians, is the presence of a hedge of thorns. Mentioned first in the Bible, a hedge of thorns is the divine protection placed upon a person who is destined to make a difference. Until you have accomplished what you were put here to do, you will not—you cannot— be harmed. Joshua Chamberlain, on that hill in Pennsylvania, with his decision to charge not yet made and all his victories before him, was wrapped in the protection of a hedge of thorns.”
The dark-haired speaker reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and brought out a small piece of paper. Holding it up for everyone to see, he said, “I have here a copy of a letter addressed to the Honorable Governor Joshua L. Chamberlain. It arrived at the statehouse several years after the war.” He unfolded the page, smoothed it out on top of the podium, and read,
“Dear Sir: I want to tell you of a little passage in the Battle of Round Top, Gettysburg, concerning you and me, which I am now glad of. Twice in that fight I had your life in my hands. I got a safe place between two rocks, and drew bead fair and square on you. You were standing in the open behind the center of your line, full exposed. I knew your rank by your uniform and actions, and I thought it a mighty good thing to put you out of the way. I rested my gun on the rock and took steady aim. I started to pull the trigger, but some queer notion stopped me. Then I got ashamed of my weakness and went through the same motions again. I had you, perfectly certain. But that same queer something shut right down on me. I couldn’t pull the trigger, and, gave it up—that is, your life. I am glad of it now, and hope you are. Yours truly, A Member of the Fifteenth Alabama.”
Slowly, the speaker refolded the paper as chills ran through the audience. He tucked it back into his jacket pocket and moved to the very edge of the stage. David felt the man look directly at him as he said softly, “You, too, at this very moment are living under the protection of a hedge of thorns. You might feel fear, but it is an illusion. Until you have accomplished what you were put on this earth to do, you will not—you cannot—be harmed.”
Then he held his arms up in a broad gesture to the crowd. “My friends, it all comes down to this. Your story, your circumstances, your timing may not be as dramatic as those of Joshua Chamberlain, but the stakes are exactly the same. There comes a time in every person’s life when a decision is required. And that decision, should you make it, will have a far-reaching effect on generations yet unborn. There is a thin thread that weaves from only you to hundreds of thousands of lives. Your example, your actions, and yes, even one decision that you make will literally change the world.
“A decision . . . to charge.” He paused. “So do it. Change your life. Change your family’s future. Change the world. Charge.” The audience didn’t breathe. The tall man held them with his eyes. In a softer voice, he said, “Charge.” Again a pause, then a whisper, “Charge.”
For what seemed an eternity, but in reality must have been only several seconds, no one moved. Then in an explosion of sound both sudden and deafening, thousands rose as one, not only cheering this man who had brought a message of hope and instruction, but also celebrating their future. The applause continued on and on until the speaker, whom David had watched disappear into the tunnel entrance, returned to the stage. He waved, acknowledging their appreciation. David smiled as the man’s eyebrows raised in apparent surprise at the intensity of the ovation. He waved again, turning in all directions, and then quickly was gone.
There were a few brief announcements over the public address system, but the evening, apparently, was over. David stood to the side as the lines of men and women filed out. He looked carefully at their faces and saw determination, tears of understanding and relief, and a peace that can come only from certainty.
In less than thirty minutes, the arena was empty. After one last look, David entered the tunnel, found an exit, and walked out into the frigid night.
Walking aimlessly along the sidewalk, David watched the red taillights of cars as they jockeyed for space exiting the parking lot. He looked again at the skyline of the city, so familiar and yet so different. It occurred to David as he strolled along that he didn’t have any idea as to his next move. Am I supposed to meet someone else? he wondered. Look for something? Go somewhere?
Without any conscious purpose, David veered off the sidewalk and into the parking lot. The night air was clear, and though he was cold, he felt well physically. In fact, David thought, I’ve never felt better. He surveyed the huge empty space; black asphalt and white lines seemed to continue forever.
It had been well over an hour since the event had ended, and all the cars were gone—except one. There, straight in front of him sixty or seventy yards away, in the shadows of a tree, sat one car. David shook his head and walked directly to it. It was
one very familiar car. Small, mostly faded silver except for the right fender, which was black. It was his two-door Dodge Colt. “Uh-huh,” David said aloud as he approached. “And I’ll bet the heater and brake lights still don’t work.”
The car was open, and not surprisingly, the keys swung from the ignition. David squeezed himself into the tiny car, noticing the black windbreaker he’d thrown into the backseat . . . when? This morning? It was too confusing to think about. He turned the key, and the little engine sputtered to life. David reached above the sun visor, and yes, there was his watch with its cheap gold band stretched around his wallet. “Wow!” he said and smiled as he put the watch on his wrist and placed the wallet in the passenger seat beside him.
So where to? he thought as the car idled loudly. Looking around, he saw that the beautiful white skyscraper he’d noticed earlier was framed perfectly in the right rear window. “Okay,” David said softly as he put the Colt into gear.
He made a series of turns out of the parking lot and soon was headed in the general direction of the white tower. Every now and then, David could see it appear between other buildings and through trees. It was easy to locate. After all, it was the tallest building in the city.
When he found the last street that led to the object of his brief search, David stopped the car. He stared at the street sign but wasn’t sure he could believe his eyes. He glanced around. It was well past midnight. There were no other cars around just then, and so he opened his door and got out. He quickly walked to the corner and peered closely up at the sign. Silently, he turned around and walked back to the car. He eased it into gear, took a deep breath, and made a right onto David Ponder Boulevard.
There, directly in front of him, was the enormous white building. Oak trees lined the boulevard on either side, and as David got closer, he was awed by a majestic fountain spraying water high into the air near the main entrance. He found himself unable to take his eyes off the architectural masterpiece, and when he reached it, he simply stopped the car by the curb and got out.
David slowly wandered across an open expanse of gray rough-hewn marble. It covered an area of at least thirty yards from the street and was laid around the entire circumference of the structure. At night, because of the reflection of the building and its ambient light, the dark stone looked wet.
He walked to a series of five revolving doors at the main entrance. They were locked. Easing to the right, David put his face to the glass and looked inside, holding his hands around his eyes to shield the glare. The whole main floor seemed to be a reception area, a lobby, that was capped by its own dome at about the fifth level. Huge palms, at least twenty-five feet tall, were growing in colossal earthenware pots. They were arranged between the doors of six glass elevators, which were all poised at the bottom, waiting for their morning passengers.
Great tapestries hung on the walls from the ceiling to the lush carpet below. The centerpiece, in the middle of this spectacular main floor, was a waterfall cascading more than forty feet from a single granite boulder. It fell into a koi pond that wrapped around the elevator shaft and ended at the foot of a large stone concierge desk that looked as if it would require six to ten receptionists. Carved into the stone, on the front of the desk facing the entrance, were the words: PONDER INTERNATIONAL.
David moved away from the glass. He was not really surprised. Excited, yes, but not surprised. He was coming to grips with the reality of his successful future. There is a thin thread that weaves from only you to hundreds of thousands of lives, David remembered. Well, he thought, there are a few of those lives working in this building.
David moved back to his car, stopping briefly by the fountain. A sign there read: “Coins donated in this fountain are used in support of the Jenny Ponder Zoological Gardens, City of Dallas.” He smiled and went to the car.
For a while, David drove randomly and found the streets mostly empty and the city very quiet. Finding himself near the interstate, without really thinking about it, he turned onto the freeway. He drove for more than an hour to nowhere in particular. He spotted the Ellen Ponder Children’s Hospital from an overpass, exited, and sat in its parking lot for several minutes.
David drove past the empty and boarded-up building that had been Marshall’s Hardware. Apparently, it had been closed for years. As if on automatic pilot, he steered into his neighborhood and saw the name “McClain” on his old mailbox. The dogwoods he and Jenny had planted beside the house had grown as high as the roof.
He saw the church they attended, passed Jenny’s elementary school, and noted with a shake of his head that the chemical plant where he’d worked for so many years had changed ownership again.
Before long, with no specific intent, David found himself back on the interstate headed out of the city. He was, he knew, a very different man. When he took the Grayton exit, he was only vaguely aware that he’d been there before. His mind whirled with thoughts of Truman and his piercing, clear blue eyes. He glanced at the speedometer. It read seventy. He remembered Solomon’s throne and smiled faintly. The king had said it was only a chair!
There were no other vehicles in sight. The headlights of the little car burst through the darkness like cannon fire on a Pennsylvania hilltop. He pressed harder on the accelerator and saw certainty in a sea captain’s face as the man watched the horizon. Eighty . . . eighty-five. Anne. That dear, sweet little girl. “Papa says, ‘Fear is a poor chisel with which to carve out tomorrow.’ ”
As he flew over hills and around curves, David became oblivious to his speed. I spoke to Abraham Lincoln, he thought. He spoke to me. “The secret of forgiveness costs nothing and is worth millions.” David’s mind was racing at a furious pace. “You are the last traveler,” the angel said. “You have been given a gift that has the power to change your civilization. Everything from this moment on will key upon you.”
At that instant, David Ponder’s destiny intersected with an icy bridge. Covering a small stream, the bridge was still no more than fifty feet long, and the same black ice sent the speeding car careening into a spin. Tires screeching, David’s car bounced off the guardrail as he crossed the short bridge and found that he remained on the highway.
Interestingly, David did not fight desperately for control as the car fishtailed from side to side and finally swerved off the road. He watched the scene unfold from inside the vehicle as if in slow motion. He wanted to remember everything, especially as the car careened helplessly toward a giant oak tree. With his remaining conscious thought, David gripped the steering wheel and closed his eyes. He heard the speaker in the arena say, “Until you have accomplished what you were put on this earth to do, you will not—you cannot—be harmed!”
And then . . . nothing.
ELEVEN
“HONEY? DAVID?” DAVID’S VISION WAS BLURRY AS he tried to focus on the person in front of him. “David, it’s Ellen. Can you hear me?”
He heard another voice, a man. “It may take some time, Mrs. Ponder.” Everyone sounded so far away.
“Daddy, I love you.” Jenny?
“David. This is Ellen. Sweetheart, I’m right here.”
David felt his wife’s hand on his face as his eyes cleared somewhat. He could see her hand now and her face. Her beautiful face. “Ellen,” he managed to rasp out. Oh, brother, he had a headache! “Ellen,” he said again and tried to reach for her.
“I’m here, honey,” she said as she pushed his arm down. “Please don’t move.” She had tears running down her face. “David, you’ve been in an accident. You’re in the hospital.”
“Don’t cry,” David said groggily. “We’re going to be okay.” He began to sit up.
Ellen gently forced him back. “Yes, honey,” she said. “You’re going to be fine, but you have a concussion. David, please be still.”
His vision and hearing seemed to come and go, closer and farther, softer and louder. “No,” he said with an effort. “I don’t mean me. I mean us. We’re going to be okay, our family. Where’s Jenny?”
“She’s right here.”
“I’m here, Daddy,” she said as she came to the bed. “I love you.”
“I love you too. How is your throat?”
“Hurts some, but not horrible.”
David reached up to touch her silky hair. “We will fix your throat, baby. I promise. Ellen?” He called his wife’s name more loudly than he’d intended, and it startled everyone in the room.
“I’m here, David. I’m right here.” She was still holding his hand and had not moved from his side.
“Ellen, we are going to be okay. I know things now. I went to places that . . .”
And suddenly, he woke up. In a matter of several seconds, David’s head cleared and his vision sharpened. He looked around and, seeing his wife, daughter, and a short man in a white coat huddled over him, asked, “Where am I?”
“You’re in the hospital, honey,” Ellen answered. “You were in an accident.”
“Am I . . . ?”
“You will recover, Mr. Ponder.” The short man moved forward. “I’m Doctor Green. You are a very lucky man, sir.”
“I hit a tree.”
“Yes, you did,” the doctor replied, “And actually, that is a very significant sign in our favor, the fact that you remember anything at all. You have suffered a severe concussion. Do you remember anything else?”
“I had been at the arena.”
Ellen furrowed her eyebrows. “No, honey,” she said. “You had been at work. David, why were you so far out of town?”
The doctor placed his hand on her shoulder. “Mrs. Ponder,” he interrupted, “there will be quite a few jumbled thoughts for a while. Confusing dreams, misplaced conversations.” He smiled at David and shrugged. “That is one nasty lick to the head you have, but all in all, I can honestly say, I’ve never seen anything like it. The skull is not fractured. The paramedics who brought you in said you’d been thrown from the car, and yet so far, except for the concussion, we haven’t found so much as one broken bone. Yes, sir. I’d say that you are one extremely lucky man.”