Today, I said farewell to one of my influential people: Mr.
Hugh Ambrose.
I came to meet Hugh in a most awkward and random way. But our
chance meeting proved to be one of the most influential moments of my life.
In the Fall of 2009, I was fresh out of college and floating
aimlessly about with what seemed like an utterly worthless English writing
degree. I had dreams of becoming a writer but knew how dismal my chances were at
ever succeeding in that endeavor. So I started applying for job after job—practically
anywhere. None of the jobs excited me but I knew they would at least afford me
a paycheck. But to my dismay, I still couldn’t land any of them.
One hot day towards the end of that first summer after
graduation, I found myself sitting out on my parents’ deck under the shade of
an umbrella. My forehead looked blistered with beads of sweat as it hung over
the yellow pages of the phone book. I furiously paged through it to see if any
businesses or names jumped out as prospective employers. The more pages I
flipped through, the more hopeless I became. “What if I never find a job
anywhere?” I wondered. “What if I’ve just wasted four years of my life in
school only to wind up broke and living with my parents forever?”
Then I came to the “T” section of the yellow pages. I slowly
drug my index finger down the left page and then the right. That’s when I saw
it. A single listing under the heading “Technical Writer.” The name Ambrose
Inc. with a phone number next to it was all that was listed. Something inside
told me this just might be it.
I picked up the phone and hesitantly dialed the number. Of
course, no one answered. A brief greeting followed the unanswered rings and
then that prompting beep to leave a voicemail. I paused for a moment not
knowing what to say or if I should say anything. I had dialed the number so
quickly I hadn’t though at all about what I would say if someone answered. But
I was desperate. So is started talking. What followed was thee most random
message I have ever left anyone in my life. I don’t recall my exact words, but
they were something to the effect of, “Hi. This is Lacey Middlestead. I just
graduated from Carroll College with a degree in English Writing. I want to be a
writer. And I need a job. Any job. I’m a hard worker and I’m willing to do
anything.”
And that was pretty much it.
I hung up the phone feeling like a complete idiot. I was
certain that not only would he not call me back but that he would spend the
rest of the week replaying my message as a source of entertainment. A few days
later though, I received a most unexpected phone call as I was pulling onto my
parents’ street.
The man on the other end of the phone said he was Hugh
Ambrose and that he’d been very impressed with the tenacity of my voicemail. I
was speechless. He told me he was working on finishing a book about World War
II and had a bunch of taped interviewed with veterans that he needed
transcribed in a hurry. He asked me if I was interested.
“Oh absolutely!” I said.
“Can you type well?” he asked.
“I can type like the wind,” I answered. “In college all I
did was type essays so the faster I typed, the sooner I got to go to bed,” I
joked.
In that moment, that amount of money sounded like a million
dollars to me. But he could’ve paid me in pennies and I would’ve said yes.
And that is how I landed my first job out of college.
A few days later I met with Hugh at his house and he handed
me two boxes filled with cassette tapes to transcribe. It was a daunting task
and my deadline was only about a month away. I scurried home that day to get
started immediately. I had a meltdown within a few hours because it was such
slow, tedious work. I didn’t see how I’d ever get done. But I’d made a promise
to a man who took a chance on me. Who believed in me. I couldn’t let him down.
For 8 hours a day, nearly 7 days a week over the next month
I sat upstairs in one of my parents’ spare bedrooms with big headphone clamped
on my ears and my fingers clicking away on my keyboard. Word by word I worked
my way through the interviews….often laughing out loud at some of the veteran’s
stories and lightheartedness. I learned a lot about World War II that month and
was enlightened to how war effected each of the veterans differently.
Even though it had seemed impossible in the beginning, I
finally reached the end of my final tape and hit the stop button on my cassette
player. I had finished.
I emailed the transcriptions to Hugh, sent him my hours and
boxed the tapes back up. A few days later I returned the tapes to Hugh. I don’t
remember hardly anything that we talked about. But I remember meeting his wife
and daughter. I repeatedly offered him my gratitude before leaving his house.
And thinking back, I can’t help but remember feeling like my work with him
wasn’t entirely finished.
In 2010, Hugh’s book,
“The Pacific” was released in print. It immediately crept up the New York Times
bestsellers list to #7. I couldn’t get my hands on a copy soon enough. I
remember picking up a copy of it at Hastings and thumbing through the first few
pages. And there, in the acknowledgements, was my name listed. Even though I
hadn’t written a single page of that book, I felt honored beyond words to be
included.
I learned he was doing a reading and book signing at Lewis
and Clark Library and my mom said she’d go with me. I remember sitting in the
back of a small room at the library a few days later next to a reporter
scribbling notes onto a tiny notebook. My mom and I listened to him read for a
while and then everyone lined up to get their book copies signed. When my mom
and I finally made our way up to him he recognized me immediately. I
congratulated him and then introduced him to my mom. I remember him looking at
her and smiling saying, “Your daughter is going to go on and do great things. I
knew that the moment I heard her voicemail. It takes a lot to put yourself out
there like that,” he said. Then I handed him my book to sign and shook his
hand.
That was the last time I saw Hugh.
Two days ago I learned of Hugh’s passing and was completely
stunned. I hadn’t known him hardly at all but I knew instantly I had to attend
his funeral. He was one of the first people to believe in me. He made me believe
there was untapped greatness in me just waiting to come out. I had never
forgotten him or the confidence he instilled in me.
Hugh’s service was held at my own church—the church I was
baptized into just over a year ago. I found it all rather ironic. I sat alone
at the service watching people around me dab at their eyes with tissues. It
seemed silly to me to tear up seeing as I’d barely known the man. But I did
shed a few tears.
The world lost a great man this week. I didn’t feel the loss
as much as many of the other people in the church did, but I felt a great deal
of other things. Our priest often reminds us at church about how we pass by the
baptismal font every time we come to Mass to remind us of our shared eternal
life with Christ and the forgiveness of sins we receive through our own baptisms.
We pass by the font again when we leave as a reminder of how our baptism sends
us out into the world to continue God’s work. When I blessed myself with holy
water in leaving Hugh’s service today, I prayed for peace for Hugh and his
family. And I prayed for God’s peace for myself, as I go back out in the world
to continue the work I have been called to---my writing. The written word is
something Hugh and I will forever share. And without his belief in me all those
years ago…without him taking a chance on me when no one else would…I may not
have found the courage to continue pursuing my dream.
Peace be with you always Hugh…Thank You…and God speed.
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