Chuck was an alcoholic. I met him while hiring a production director for the radio stations. Chuck applied. The first thing he said to me when we sat down for the interview was, “I’m an alcoholic and only three weeks sober.” An unusual way to begin a job interview, I thought!
As we talked, I knew immediately he was perfect for the job. He was smart, creative, and had a wonderful voice.
“Chuck, I want to hire you,” I said. “How can I be assured you will stay sober?”
“Here is the deal I’ll make you, he responded. “The minute you see or hear about me having a drink, you can fire me on the spot.”
I hired him on the spot, and worked together, off and on, until he passed away. In over 25 years, he never once took another drink.
Over those years, we became close friends. We worked together, were competitors, and worked together again. Chuck had taken a break from his broadcasting career to write four books. He was a brilliant writer and shared his vast knowledge with me as I started my own writing journey.
In our jobs, we met every afternoon at 3 pm. We talked business first, but quickly turned to writing. I learned so much from him.
Years later, one day Chuck got dizzy and had to sit for a while. We didn’t think much of it until it began to happen frequently. His trip to the doctor verified our worst fears. Chuck had brain cancer. Glioblastoma is its name.
He would need brain surgery to remove the tumor. The night before his surgery, while we were talking on the phone, I asked if I could pray for him.
Chuck wasn’t religious, but replied, “It can’t hurt?”
As I began to pray for a successful surgery, the sun was setting. Across from my chair was an antique desk. On the desk was a statue of Our Lady of Medjugorje. It was a gift from a friend who had made a pilgrimage to Bosnia and Herzegovina. The statue was bought there. Above the Blessed Virgin’s head was a crown with seven stars. The angle of the sun coming through the window lit up the stars as if it were noon on the sunniest Day of the year.
As I explained to him what had happened, I told him I thought it was a sign the surgery would be successful. It seemed to boost his confidence.
The next morning, to my surprise, he called me, not long after the surgery. I couldn’t believe it.
“Chuck, you had surgery; how did you get a phone to call me?” I inquired.
“I snuck it into the recovery room,” He replied. “The doctor said it went great and they got good margins on the tumor.”
“I’m so happy for you! It’s a miracle,” I offered, stumbling for words.
His reply took my breath away.
“Our Lady must have been working overtime. Where did you say she appeared?” He inquired.
“Medjugorje,” I replied. In Bosnia-Herzegovina.”
A few months later, the cancer was back. More surgery, more treatments, more drugs, and finally the verdict that his condition was terminal.
I visited Chuck often. On the final visit before he died, my wife Diane took his wife, Monika, into the living room. They left Chuck and me alone at his bedside.
“Chuck, can I pray for you?” I asked.
He had the same reply as before, “It can’t hurt.”
With a finger rosary in my right hand and holding his hand with my left, I prayed the Chaplet of Divine Mercy over him.
For those of you who haven’t heard of the chaplet. In the Catholic tradition, Jesus made 14 powerful promises to Saint Faustina in her apparition. One of the promises is that when the chaplet is said in the presence of the dying, Jesus stands between the Father and the person as a Merciful Savior rather than a just Judge.
I can’t think of a better way to say goodbye to a dear friend.