American Spirit

by Taya Kyle

  Overall, while not exactly a pleasant experience, their days waiting out the storm and its aftermath were far better than what many in the lower-lying areas nearby suffered. The coastal area was even more heavily damaged. All told, the hurricane killed at least 106 people and caused some $125 billion of damage in the U.S.

  Freed from her house, Melanie wanted to do something for others still suffering. She and her husband partnered with a local radio host to set up a clothing drive. They put out the message on social media, thinking maybe ten or a dozen people would show up at the local park with clothes, which could then be handed off to needy families. Instead, three or four hundred donors came out; so many clothes were collected that some were later shipped to Florida and Puerto Rico following hurricanes there.

  Melanie was still marveling at the size of the response when she got a text from her teenage son, who was out with some other high school students helping recovery efforts. The kids had found a ninety-nine-year-old World War II veteran whose house had been devastated by flood waters. The man didn’t want to leave his house. He’d built it with his wife as their retirement home more than three decades before, and as she had recently passed away, the home represented pretty much his life.

  And his independence. To his way of thinking, if he gave up the house, he’d spend the rest of his days in a nursing home among strangers or be passed around to relatives’ spare bedrooms. Either way, he’d be a prisoner in a gilded cage.

  The man’s name was Bill Fly; he’d served in the Army–Air Force during World War II. When Melanie met him, he was understandably distressed; the sodden weight of the world was pressing down on his shoulders. But his nature was anything but depressed; he was sharp and witty and above all humble.

  Maybe a little stubborn as well. He hadn’t left his home until the water was over the toilets, and even then he had to be coaxed out by neighbors from a boat at the door.

  Now, facing the ruined and saturated remains of his house, he told Melanie that he wanted to rebuild but had no savings to do so.

  “I don’t want to give up my independence,” he insisted when asked what alternatives he had.

  “You fought for our freedom,” Melanie told him after discussing the situation with Marcus. “We’ll fight for yours.”

  And with that sentence, the battle was on.

  Melanie called an uncle to ask for advice on dealing with flooded homes. The key, he said, was to get everything out and dry the structure ASAP. Otherwise, mold could wipe out any hope of using the original structure. The next morning, a family friend who owned a company specializing in industrial cleanups pledged to help dry the house.

  “How quickly does it have to be done?” he asked.

  Melanie thought about it for a moment. Mr. Fly—that’s what everyone calls him—had told her his one hundredth birthday was November 11.

  November 11 became the deadline—not just for drying out the house but for completely rebuilding it.

  There may have been some eye rolling and smacked foreheads, but that’s how Melanie does life. She follows her heart; most often, as with the clothing drive, she achieves more than she sets out to. We’ve come to accept that not only is the impossible possible when she’s involved, but it’s also highly likely. So, the overwhelming response when Melanie started talking up the idea was, “Let’s do it!”

  As word of the project spread, volunteers rolled in. Plumbers, electricians, other craftsmen volunteered their and their company’s time to help rebuild Mr. Fly’s house. An appeal on the UCare website raised money for materials—roughly $100,000, five times the original goal. A heating/air-conditioning system was donated by a local company.

  “I think people all over Houston and the country wanted to help because he reminded them of their dad or grandfather,” says Melanie. “Plus, he was so grateful. You can see it in his eyes.”

  A video posted on the web helped bring attention to the project. In the end, Mr. Fly celebrated his one hundredth birthday in his new old home. On one of the walls was a favorite picture of his wife that was rescued from the flood and painstakingly dried out by Melanie.

  “Helping others is the most important thing you can do,” says Melanie. Whether it’s one on one, or one on many, the critical thing is to act when you can.

  “The ripple effect will always spread,” she says, using one of my favorite phrases. “No matter whom you’re helping—a veteran, an orphan—goodness is contagious.”

  Where did her spirit of giving come from? Melanie supposes watching her father. Raising Melanie on a tight budget as a young single father, he took in a blind man who was hard on his luck. They would talk about the Bible as her father helped him get to the next phase in his life. Her father never asked for credit or made a big deal about it. It was just something he did, the sort of thing he continues to do with no fanfare. The ripple effect of his generous American Spirit continues on through Melanie and inevitably many of those she helps and inspires.

  Mr. Fly himself is like the proverbial pebble in a pond that starts the ripple. The first time I met him, he was wearing a thousand-watt smile. We were on Patriot Tour, in the middle of a long day after just getting into New York City. There were so many reasons for him to be tired or even a little down, but instead he was the opposite—brimming with energy and infecting everyone around him with a magic adrenaline. He reminded me of my own grandfather, who had a way of living every moment to the fullest. Mr. Fly has felt the pain of life, but he knows the value of joy, and wasn’t about to miss any moment of it by being less than energetic and happy. His appreciation of even the little things prompted us to share his happiness and gratitude.

  The joyfulness about them reminded me of a passage in James reminding us that being joyful in spite of trials can lead to wisdom. My grandfather and Mr. Fly endured despite their troubles, and their perseverance led to pure joy for the good things in life.

  Six

  Giving Back

  What Do We Owe?

  Once we have achieved something, do we have an obligation to give back?

  I think that goes without saying.

  Once our basic needs are met, once we’ve taken care of our immediate family, then surely it is our duty to help others in some fashion.

  I’m not a religious expert, but the idea seems to be basic to all religions, from Christianity to Buddhism. And if churches often provide an easy mechanism for doing this, the idea of helping others less fortunate than ourselves is not just a religious one. Many people who describe themselves as non-churchgoers can be found volunteering at community centers and ladling soup at nearby food banks.

  If you’re famous or wealthy, or both, do your contributions mean more than others?

  And even more critically, if you have had that sort of luck in life, what’s your motivation for giving back? Is it simply to have good stories in the news media about you? Selfies on social media about your alleged unselfishness?

  Most of us have probably seen gestures of charity that are clearly insincere. Of course, that doesn’t mean that the money or the effort doesn’t do some good. But it seems to me that the hollow core of such acts is more than just a fatal flaw. It’s a kind of hidden poison that can harm not just the individual but ultimately the recipients and society at large. Helping for the wrong purpose means the help is at best insincere and won’t last.

  So where does true motivation come from? Why do people who seem to have all the luck in life try to share it?

  One reason is that, on proper examination, it turns out that they haven’t truly had all the luck in life; many have struggled dearly, and that struggle convinced them to ease the trials of others when they could. In my estimation, compassion, endurance, and showing up for others is part of the beauty in the ashes of our own lives. For me, it is like a light in the darkness.

  Upbringing, too, plays a role. Whether you are famous or not so famous, family members and close friends set a critical example when you’re young. If you come from a generous
family, the odds are you’ll be generous, too. And for the right reasons.

  The NFL has been in the news so much lately and not always in a positive light. But, like with any group of people, they are not all bad and not all good, either as individuals or as a group. Some football players and other athletes have proven to be some of the most generous people I know. While he was alive, my husband, Chris, was an avid, even rabid, Cowboys fan; I’m sure he’s still cheering and groaning from above just as he did in life. It was always so exciting for him to go to games and meet players; he was like a kid at Christmas. Some of my favorite images of his smile are due, indirectly at least, to the Dallas Cowboys.

  And so my highlights of celebrities giving back will start not just with some NFL players but with a retired Cowboy who inspired Chris when he was growing up.

  Partying for Hope

  Jay and Amy Novacek

  Little things affect people’s lives in big ways. Small acts of charity and kindness can have a larger impact than we realize at the time.

  That’s been the case for Jay and Amy Novacek, who have hosted a Christmas party at their Texas ranch for the past several years.

  If you were a football fan in the 1980s or ’90s, you’ve undoubtedly heard of Jay, though your feelings toward him largely depended on how badly he embarrassed your team. Jay was a Pro Bowl tight end who made a habit of undermining defenses. With the Cardinals and especially with the Dallas Cowboys, he was a versatile offensive weapon, a specialist at getting open on crucial third downs.

  Retired from football, Jay lives and ranches in the Dallas area with his wife, Amy, a dog breeder specializing in labradoodles. A high percentage of her dogs are chosen as service dogs, especially as medical alert animals. Through training as well as instincts and natural ability, the dogs are able to detect certain medical conditions and alert their owners or handlers. Amy, who suffers from Addison’s disease, can personally attest to the dogs’ abilities—her trained canines have alerted her to low hormone levels in her body and helped make her ailment easier to manage.

  A few years back, Amy was recovering from a serious car accident, thinking about how grateful she was for the blessings in her life, including their large ranch. She wanted to do something for others, but she wasn’t sure what. A friend suggested a Christmas party for the kids at Hope Farm.

  Hope Farm is a faith-based after-school program that began with two men mentoring inner-city schoolchildren in 1989. Gary Randle and Noble Crawford had realized that many of the men in prison had grown up without fathers or other significant male guidance. They set out to combat that problem, first one on one, and then with a larger, more formal program. Today, Hope Farm has two different locations in the Fort Worth area of Texas. Boys without fathers in their lives are enrolled as young as five and stay with the program through high school graduation. They and their families are asked to agree to a set of strict behavioral rules; in return, the program provides everything from tutoring to recreation, free of charge.

  The Novaceks didn’t know exactly what to expect the first year they offered to host the party; they pretty much just winged it, setting up some carnival games on card tables, opening the gates to the farm and standing back. In retrospect, that was perfect: They had a ranch. Hope Farm had young boys bursting with energy. If ever there was a perfect match, that was it.

  When they arrived for the party, the boys charged off the bus. The younger ones headed for the “bounce house,” an inflatable, enclosed tent with a cushion floor designed for kids to bounce in. A friend of the Novaceks had donated it for the day.

  The older ones went out to meet the buffalo and longhorns and the other animals that call the property home.

  “It was controlled chaos,” says Jay approvingly.

  The parties have become annual events at the ranch. They now include a wide array of gifts, most donated by local groups and individuals. There are inspirational speakers, including a few football friends of Jay’s, and the occasional “cool” display of things like fire trucks and police SWATmobiles.

  There’s also a friend of the family who comes and cooks some barbecue, taking time off from his five-star restaurant.

  Oh, and a jolly fellow with a white beard, huge belly, and red suit shows up to hand out goodies.

  But the real attractions are the open space and the animals. And while the kids are having a blast, the adults are getting a lot out of it, too. A dialogue happens, especially in the case of kids and adults who come from radically different backgrounds.

  “I realized the first time, this isn’t just a Christmas party,” says Jay, noting that they had invited a few friends from the local police force to interact with the kids as guests, not cops. “I saw some of the policemen doing some roping, showing the kids how to do it.” They were having fun—the cops doing something they hadn’t done in years, the kids trying something for the first time.

  But more than that: they were breaking down stereotypes they might form of each other.

  “If there was a situation in the future, where a policeman might face a young man,” says Jay, “if he looks into his eyes and remembers the kid he was roping with, maybe he’ll say to himself, I’m going to give this a chance to calm down.

  “And reverse that—the kid sees a guy in uniform and not run away, not think he’s the enemy.”

  I attended their first party and every one since, and I’ve been privileged to see this happen over and over. I never grow tired of seeing the kids pile onto Jay’s lap as he powers up the tractor and sets out with them across the field.

  There are definitely stereotypes to overcome. Amy’s heart nearly broke when one little boy at their first party asked if the bars on the stalls in the barn meant that was the jail. But each year the parties have helped break down at least a few barriers.

  Others around town have started helping in big and small ways. Coming out of a toy store last year, Jay ran into a man who asked what he was up to. When Jay told him he was helping Santa, the man volunteered to buy footballs for the kids as presents. Others learning about the party have made donations to cover various expenses or to add to the experience.

  “You don’t have to do something big,” says Amy. “Do what you can do.”

  Personally, I’ve been known to overplan for parties, but I’ve learned that the best parties are the ones where you make some plans, open your home and your heart, and have fun. Hope Farm Christmas parties are a perfect example of good people coming together with love and whatever else they can. The results are extraordinary.

  The Novaceks enlist the help of their kids and a couple of friends. All pitch in to help set up or make things right if needed. But take them all away, and the parties still would be a success, because the basic things the kids need—space to run around in, a pasture to do some roping or throw a football in—are already there.

  That’s not so much a metaphor as a reminder that what we do for others doesn’t have to be perfect or huge; it just has to be done.

  “Kindness is contagious,” says Amy. “It catches on like a wildfire and spreads in ways we can’t imagine.”

  MVP at Giving Dysphagia

  Randall Telfer

  There are crystalline moments of decision in every life—points at which we gain insight and make a decision that will propel us far into the future. Many of these opportunities to set our fate are lost, passed by at times out of cowardice but more often from simple ignorance of their significance. For they are easy to miss. They don’t come with flashing lights or boldfaced capital letters. Generally sirens aren’t blaring. They’re most often experienced as unexpected opportunities or tricky turns, random bits of a day that blur into the normal chaos of life. They may occur anywhere—a deli, a cathedral, the basement of a department store, the back alley of a city.

  Even a hospital room.

  It was in just such a room that Randall Telfer met a little girl we’ll call Emma back when the NFL tight end was in college.

  Randall’s coll
ege football team had been brought to the hospital to meet with patients. It was, to be honest, more photo op than charity, a chance to show that the college cared about the community. True, the players were cheering up many, especially the football fans. But it would be an exaggeration to say that they had a lasting impact on lives.

  Except . . .

  Randall stepped into one of the rooms and began talking to the girl about why she was there. It was a heartbreaking story. She’d been stricken with a severe case of scoliosis, a curvature of the spine that can be crippling. The cause was unknown.

  “Out of nowhere, her spine started curving,” recalls Randall, telling the story. “It made me look at things, at my own life, completely differently.”

  Randall ended up keeping in touch with the family as the girl underwent surgery and began to get her life back. When he got to the NFL—drafted by the Cleveland Browns—her inspiration pushed him to do more than just go on photo ops advertising what a kindhearted person he is.

  Don’t get me wrong. He is kindhearted. But he’s also a person who tries to make a real impact, one conversation or gesture at a time. In recognition of that, the Browns nominated him in 2017 for the Walter Payton NFL Man of the Year Award.

  Randall, who retired before the 2018 season, was never one of the big money players of the league, let alone someone who can donate half his salary and all his endorsement money and still be a multimillionaire. He gives something more valuable than money to the people he helps: his attention.

  He kept thinking about Emma: “I had injuries myself that set me back. Hers was greater than anything I’d ever had.”

  Other children touched him as well, like the kindergarteners he read to as part of Read Across America in 2015, just after he was drafted. He started realizing that taking the time to talk with someone, either to brighten their day or to hear their problems, could have an impact for more than just a few minutes.