Eleventh-Hour

ELEVENTH-HOUR

January 8, 2019

I was working at the time for a friend who owned a movie theater.  My wife worked there as well. We love movies and live theater, and this was a way to pick up some pocket money and get into the movies for free.  Our friend had spent a lot of time and money converting an old theater into a ultra modern multiplex.  When he found out I owned a tuxedo, he came up with the novel idea of having a doorman greet patrons and hold the door for them.  It was an easy yes for me.  I need about zero encouragement to talk to people and get to know them.  In addition, it was good exposure - the preacher who worked weekends as a fancy doorman at an equally fancy movie theater.  It also gave Rob (the owner) and me an opportunity to talk about movie business.

I never will forget the night I heard about Jimmy.  It was a beautiful Florida evening.  The setting of the sun had brought with it a cool breeze from the ocean.  It was pleasant enough to compensate for the vested Tuxedo, cummerbund and heavily starched dress shirt.  Frank and his new wife were last-minute arrivals to one of the films.  Frank was the brother to a friend and former coworker.  I joked and teased Frank and his wife for a few, and followed up with a casual, How's Jimmy doing?"  They painfully told me that Jimmy had gone to the hospital because of seemingly minor health issues.  He died shortly after entering the hospital.  Shocked by the news, I offered them my condolences and watched as they entered the theater.  I watched through tear-filled eyes.

The news about Jimmy took me back in time before full-time ministry, and to my days working for an electronics giant while I finished college.  Lots of memories of Jimmy resurfaced, but two in particular stood out.  The first was not a memory of  Jimmy, but a memory about Jimmy.  One of the vice presidents of the company was in the store.  He was yet an older friend.  He and I had worked together in yet another company.  After he, I'll call him "Tom," changed companies, he pursued me for the new change.  I followed, but with the promise I could work as a salesman only, not in management.  I had to graduate college and go into ministry.  Management would complicate that goal.  Both of us had worked with Jimmy, and knew him well.  Jimmy was one of the best technicians in the industry, but he came at a price - a quirky, Bronx bravado, and a boatload of alcoholism.  An incident had happened one day at the store while I was left in charge.  It involved Jimmy.  Due to the nature of what had happened, I believed few, very few, people knew what had happened.  In regards to the conversation Jimmy and I had that day, I believed only two people knew.  Tom boldly asks, "So, what's it like to save someone's life?"  I didn't feel what happened that day was anything on the level of saving a life.  Tom obviously thought so, and apparently - so did Jimmy.

That fateful day we had scheduled three salespeople on the floor, our stock manager, technician (Jimmy) and myself.  It was a Friday morning, in the off-season, and things should have been fairly routine.  The first hint of trouble came when Jimmy did not arrive at the proper time for work.  I called his home and cell phone several times and never got a response.  We texted too - texting was new technology in those days, but no response.  Finally, Jimmy's Cadillac pulled up into a distant spot in the parking lot, but he didn't get out.  I finally received a text from Jimmy asking me to come out to the car.  I leave to a cacophony of objections from the three salespeople.  Let's just say they were not our most level-headed employees.

When I slid into the passenger seat of the late model Cadillac it was obvious that Jimmy had been drinking throughout the night, and was still recovering from the effects of the night before.  There was a certain humor to the scene, with the car, Jimmy's accent and personality - I could have been in a scene from the movies as the wiseguy was picking me up to take me for a "ride."  However, this was no laughing matter.  Jimmy had run through his chances at work and was close to ending his career.  The corporation was large enough to send him for treatment, but only if he was willing.  Up to this point, he was not willing.

We talked, and we talked in the front seat of that car for nearly three hours.  The talk was brutally honest, and the words were brutal.  It appeared as if Jimmy had finally reached bottom.  This lonely, sad tough guy revealed a host of hurts, fears and inadequacies.  He agreed to do no harm to himself, "Promise me Jimmy, you are not going to harm yourself."  I finally had an opportunity to have a real conversation with my lapsed Catholic friend.  He made to promises regarding faith in Jesus, a great deal of curiosity, but nothing more.  I received a big dose of drama when I finally returned to the three drama queens on the sales floor.  They were big on receiving grace when they needed it, short on grace in handing it out.

So, the memories came flooding back after Frank's revelation.  Tom's question haunted me.  Sure, it could be argued I was there to intercede with a man contemplating taking his life.  But I never came to peace with Jimmy's final status of faith.  He eventually lost his job.  I graduated college, entered the ministry, but Jimmy and I never finished writing the chapter we started in his Cadillac.  So, I broke down in my tuxedo, on a beautiful Florida evening outside a fancy movie theater.  The memories still bring tears.  My pain is in the not knowing - I trust God for the rest. 

Jimmy's story and Tom's question does make me wonder...

What good is it to save a life, but lose a soul?  

Jimmy was 49 when he died.