Post 38: A Conversation of a Lifetime

INTEGRITY

That's what it comes down to.

It's where the rubber meets the road.

It is the cornerstone of character.

The crown jewel of honor.

It is something with which I struggle and wrestle,

Something I'm learning to understandm, desire, and hold close:

INTEGRITY.

And it was the subject of one of the most important conversations I've had in my life...

Close to 5 years ago, this was the subject of a good long talk between me and one of my coworkers, Richard.

He was a caucasian man, close to 70 years old, I believe. A good-natured man with a head full of white hair. Very sprite, full of energy. If he had a beard, he'd make a perfect Santa Claus. He was always joking about something, loved playing little practical jokes on us (like leaving a fake roach on your desk).

He kept us laughing.

I would walk up on him while he was in the lab sometimes. And he would be taking that time alone to pray.

*Lee slowly backing out the room so that Richard could have his prayer time*

We even talked about it. I loved his method of prayer, and even use it as my own. And still do to this day.

Richard told of stories of how he and his brothers and sisters were all birthed on the family dining room table. He told us of the Christmas gifts he received as a child: 2 oranges and if they were lucky, some nuts and peppermint candies.

(Oh, we laughed a bit TOO hard at him. Thought he was joking. Could you imagine giving today's children some fruit and nuts? And that's ALL they get? LOL!)

He always threw Bible trivia at us. And we would scramble to try to answer his question concerning it all.

He talked of having grandchildren of all races and colors. "I have half black grandkids, vietnemese, white, and the like," he'd say with a grin. "I love them all. I look at them, and they're my babies, I love all of them!"

Yes, he loved his grandkids.

And he would keep me in check.

And you gotta be a tough son of a gun to keep me on lock.

I remember one time we had a work group meeting, and my boss was TRIPPIN'. I was disgusted, as I felt we were being talked down to. Another meeting was called a couple of days later, and I decided that I was not going (my own personal boycott of 1).

Richard came in the lab to let me know to come on and get ready for the meeting.

"Man, **** that! I ain't going to no d*** meeting. I get sick of being treated like sh**!!"

(Yeah, I was mad that day. That was before my 72 hour anger management rule was in affect. Book of Cuss was open wide, pages flipping uncontrollably!)

He wasn't bothered by that. He knew I was hotheaded. He listened to me snap. Calmed me down. Said a few words ("Well, you can't worry about that, LadyLee. We're going to go to this meeting, and we will get a little something from it.)

I followed him on down the hall. Grumbling, but I went on to the meeting. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I made sure to let Richard know that. I thanked him for being patient with me and helping me along.

We always had convos like that. He knew how to encourage me, reel me back to reality. He knew how to encourage us all.

I liked how he didn't judge me.

But Richard and I had plenty of convos... along with one I'd forever think of as one of the most important of my life.

We were back in the lab together alone, working on various samples. Most of our coworkers were off downtown somewhere involved in some training. I'm not sure how I got out of it (I am notorious for trying to steer clear of any training where I have to do extra work related stuff involving travelling around town or out of state, even).

There were some postings for supervisor in our building. Management is not well liked by us commoners, and I asked Richard about this.

"Richard, why don't you apply? You'd make a great supervisor!"
He shook his head, poured some petroleuem ether into his sample flask. "No, not my thing."
"Why not?" I asked. "Everybody likes you. You know your stuff. You should apply. We need some decency up in this camp. 'Cuz they all got problems."
"Nope. Can't do it."
"Why?"

He was concerned about his hearing, for one thing. He'd been a Lieutenant in the Army, commanding tanks. The explosions from other tanks shooting at them, and their own gunfire had diminished his hearing. So he didn't want to deal with that strain to hear people.

The other thing that concerned him was integrity.

"To be in management, you have to put aside your integrity."
"So," I said. "It's a raise. More money."
"Not worth my integrity. My integrity is everything."

I was lost at that. Integrity? Whatever. We just needed someone with a lick of sense in management. We needed real leadership, and not the joy luck club that was running the spot.

"You have to recognize, LadyLee," he said. "You have to be able to backstab people, do ugly things to people, bring them down, do all kinds of things."

"You got that right," I said. I always joked that management had a picture of me as a part of their glorious managing class packets. "This is who you mess with right here: the smiling LadyLee!" LOL

"I can't do those things, LadyLee. It's called compromising your integrity, and I'm just not that type of person. It's not worth it."

We talked more about that as we worked side by side, working up our experiments. It was a good talk. A great one, considering that we could talk freely without any interruptions. No one was around.

Around that time, I was dealing with an all important question:

At the end of my life, do I want to say, Yeah... look at all I did in life: I got to the top by stabbing this one in the back, brownnosing that one, working that angle, undercutting that person, etc...

Or do I want to be able to say Yeah, I worked hard. I prayed hard. I operated honestly, with good character, and integrity.

One is an easier road than the other.

But I learned from Richard that day to take the road less traveled: the road of hard work, prayer, honesty, good character, and integrity.

It's a rocky road. Mostly uphill. Treacherous. Lonely. But it's the right road.

I felt a little peace in my heart that afternoon after talking with Richard.

We went on to finish up our work. I yelled goodbye to him as he donned his sunglasses, grabbed his satchel, and walked down the hall towards the exit.

I felt alright about life that afternoon. I understood that it was okay to not compromise who I was and who I was striving to be: a good, honest person with integrity. I had a long way to go, but at least I had an understanding of it all.

Little did I know that that would be the last time I saw Richard.

He was killed in a car accident the next morning, while on his way to work.

A drunk driver had crossed the median on the expressway and hit that car. Richard hit that car. Richard and the other driver got out of the car to look at the damage. Another car came around the corner on the freeway and ran into them. Richard didn't make it.

I remember looking for him that morning, as he always got in around 5 or 6 a.m. Around 10, someone said something.

That was a sad sad day.

And one that made me shake in my shoes.

Through my tears, I thank God that day, for allowing me to have that one last all important talk with Richard.

I'll never forget that talk on the subject of integrity, while we worked up samples.

I thought of that as we all traveled to his funeral, and gazed upon the collages, pictures of a storied life: life as a track star, life in the military, a life as a loving husband, father and grandfather.

I thought of a great man, and how he took the time to school me on this thing called

INTEGRITY.

I've had to have talks of integrity with others over the years... pouring into people the knowledge that Richard poured into me.

Had one just last month.

It is something I yearn for, something I want anchored in my heart. Just like with my vision statement, I ain't there yet.

But my eye is on the prize.

And oh what a prize it is...

This thing called integrity.

I miss Richard. I miss his humor, his stories, his instruction.

I miss his integrity.

But I have his words and thoughts on integrity... tucked away in my heart.

Forever.