The following articles are inspired by Mark Sanborn's bestselling book, "The Fred Factor," wherein he explains that a "Fred" (named after his mailman) is someone who has demonstrated a passion in their work and life that can turn even the most ordinary of things into something extraordinary. All articles are reprinted from Hartmann Financial Advisory's monthly newsletter, "The Beacon," and were written or edited by Don Hartmann, President of Hartmann Financial Advisors.

Final Journey Home

From an airline captain:

He writes: My lead flight attendant came to me and said, "We have an H.R. on this flight." (H.R. stands for human remains.) "Are they military?" I asked. “Yes,” she said. “Is there an escort?” I asked. “Yes, I already assigned him a seat.” “Would you please tell him to come to the flight deck? You can board him early," I said.   
 
A short while later, a young army sergeant entered the flight deck. He was the image of the  perfectly dressed soldier. He introduced himself and I asked him about his soldier. The escorts of these fallen soldiers talk about them as if they are still alive and still with us. “My soldier is on his way back to Virginia,” he said. He proceeded to answer my questions, but offered no other words.

I asked him if there was anything I could do for him and he said no. I told him that he had the toughest job in the military and  that I appreciated the work that he does for the families of our fallen soldiers. The first officer and I got up out of our seats to shake his hand. He left the flight deck to find his seat. 
 
About 30 minutes into our flight I received a call from the lead flight attendant in the cabin. “I just found out the family of the soldier we are carrying, is on board,” she said. She then proceeded to tell me that the father, mother, wife, and two-year-old daughter were escorting their son, husband, and father home. The family was upset because they were unable to see the container that the soldier was in before we left. We were on our way to a major hub at which the family was going to wait four hours for the connecting flight home to Virginia. 
 
The father of the soldier told the flight attendant that knowing his son was below him in the cargo compartment and being unable to see him was too much for him and the family to bear. He had asked the flight attendant if there was anything that could be done to allow them to see him upon our arrival. The family wanted to be outside by the cargo door to watch the soldier being taken off the airplane. I could hear the desperation in the flight attendant’s voice when she asked me if there was anything I could do. “I'm on it,” I said. I told her that I would get back to her.   
 
I decided to contact my flight dispatcher directly on a secondary radio. I explained the situation I had on board with the family and what it was the family wanted. He said he understood and that he would get back to me. Two hours later I received the following text message:  
 
“Upon your arrival a dedicated escort team will meet the aircraft. The team will escort the family to the ramp and plane side. A van will be used to load the remains with a secondary van for the family. The family will be taken to their departure area and escorted into the terminal, where the remains can be seen on the ramp. It is a private area for the family only. When the connecting aircraft arrives, the family will be escorted onto the ramp and plane side to watch the remains being loaded for the final leg home. Captain, most of us here in flight control are veterans. Please give our condolences to the family. Thanks.”
 
I printed out the message and gave it to the lead flight attendant to pass on to the father. The lead flight attendant was very thankful and told me, “You have no idea how much this will mean to them.” 
 
After landing, we cleared the runway and taxied to the ramp area. The ramp is huge, with15 gates on either side of the alleyway. It is always a busy area with aircraft maneuvering every which way to enter and exit. When we entered the ramp and checked in with the ramp controller, we were told that all traffic was being held for us.   
 
“There is a team in place to meet the aircraft,” we were told. It looked like it was all coming together, then I realized that once we turned the seat belt sign off, everyone would stand up at once and delay the family from getting off the airplane. As we approached our gate, I asked the copilot to tell the ramp controller we were going to stop short of the gate to make an announcement to the passengers. He did that and the ramp controller said, “Take your time.”
 
I stopped the aircraft and set the parking brake. I pushed the public address button and said, “Ladies and gentleman, this is your captain speaking. I have stopped short of our gate to make a special announcement. We have a passenger on board who deserves our honor and respect. His Name is Private XXXXXX, a soldier who recently lost his life. He is in the cargo hold. Escorting him today is Army Sergeant XXXXXXX. Also, on board are his father, mother, wife, and daughter. Your entire flight crew is asking for all passengers to remain in their seats to allow the family to exit the aircraft first. Thank you.”   
 
We continued the turn to the gate, came to a stop and started our shutdown procedures. A couple of minutes later I opened the cockpit door. I found the two forward flight attendants crying—something you just do not see. I was told that after we came to a stop, every passenger on the aircraft stayed in their seats, waiting for the family to exit the aircraft. 
 
When the family got up and gathered their things, a passenger slowly started to clap his hands. Moments later, more passengers joined in and soon the entire aircraft was clapping. Words of “God bless you,” “I'm sorry,” “thank you,” “be proud,” and other kind words were uttered to the family as they made their way down the aisle and out of the airplane. They were escorted down to the ramp to finally be with their loved one.   
 
Many of the passengers disembarking thanked me for the announcement I had made. They were just words, I told them. I could say them over and over again, but nothing I say will bring back that brave soldier.   
 
I respectfully ask that all of you reflect on this event and the sacrifices that millions of our men and women have made to ensure our freedom and safety in these United States of America.  

 

A lesson that should be taught in all schools ... and colleges.

 

Back in September 2005, on the first day of school, Martha Cothren, a social studies school teacher at Robinson High School in Little Rock, Arkansas, did something not to be forgotten. On the first day of school, with the permission of the school superintendent, the principal, and the building supervisor, she removed all of the desks out of her classroom.

 

When the first-period kids entered the room, they discovered that there were no desks.

 

“Ms. Cothren, where are our desks?”

 

She replied, “You can't have a desk until you tell me how you earn the right to sit at a desk.”

 

They thought, “Well, maybe it's our grades.”

 

 “No,” she said.

 

“Maybe it's our behavior?”

 

She told them, “No, it's not even your behavior.”

 

And so, they came and went, the first period, second period, and third period. Still no desks in the classroom. By early afternoon, television news crews had started gathering in Ms. Cothren's classroom to report about this crazy teacher who had taken all the desks out of her room.

 

The final period of the day came, and as the puzzled students found seats on the floor of the deskless classroom, Martha Cothren said, “Throughout the day no one has been able to tell me just what he/she has done to earn the right to sit at the desks that are ordinarily found in this classroom. Now I am going to tell you.”

 

At this point, Martha Cothren went over to the door of her classroom and opened it. Twenty-seven war veterans, all in uniforms, walked into that classroom, each one carrying a school desk.

 

The Vets began placing the school desks in rows, and then they would walk over and stand alongside the wall. By the time the last soldier had set the final desk in place, those kids started to understand, perhaps for the first time in their lives, just how the right to sit at those desks had been earned.

 

Martha said, “You didn't earn the right to sit at these desks. These heroes did it for you. They placed the desks here for you. Now, it's up to you to sit in them. It is your responsibility to learn, to be good students, to be good citizens. They paid the price so that you could have the freedom to get an education. Don't ever forget it.”

 

This is a true story. Martha Cothren was more than a teacher, she was a Fred. She cleverly devised a lesson plan that taught the meaning of freedom to her students. Of all the lessons those students learned at Robinson High School that year, this is the one they will remember for the rest of their lives.