No One is Promised Tomorrow

Jack Buck’s reminder on living a vibrant life.

Long before Steve Jobs put a device in our hands that lets us mindlessly tap away – giving the illusion of purpose while we wait and a tool to avoid any interaction whatsoever with strangers – I found myself seated alone at a lunch counter awkwardly waiting for my burger, fries and root beer.

While watching the cook throw burgers on the grill, I heard behind me the unmistakable and unparalleled voice of Jack Buck belt out: “I didn’t know you had such a refined palate.”

Jack was a Hall of Fame broadcaster, the voice of the St. Louis Cardinals and the biggest celebrity in our city. Additionally, he was a significant reason I survived a fire as a child, had been incredibly generous to me in the years since it and undoubtedly had altered the entire course of my life.

He walked over, patted me on the back, asked if the stool next to me was taken and sat down.

And so began this unexpected lunch with my hero.

We talked about the poem he had recited weeks earlier at Busch Stadium after the attacks of September 11^th.  We talked about his Parkinson’s disease progression. And he joked that he had given the Cardinals the best years of his life, so he now planned on giving them the worst years of his life, too. Mostly, though, he kept turning the conversation back to me.  He asked about my life post-college. Asked about where I was living. Asked how my parents were doing. And he asked a lot about a girl named Beth that I was dating.

We were interrupted several times as fellow diners would thank Jack for his impact in the community and how integral his voice was to their lives. (Retrospectively, it was a masterclass in what happens when a person invests a lifetime consistently serving their community with humility and excellence.)

At the end of lunch, Jack grabbed the bill, tipped generously and thanked the cook by name. He joked that he had better get going before Carol made him sleep on the couch again for being late. We shook hands and agreed that next time I’d buy the lunch.

But there was no next time.

That was not only my last lunch with Jack Buck, but the last time I’d ever see him.

I recalled this special lunch recently while picking up burgers at the same place we met decades earlier. There’s a picture of Jack hanging on their wall. It’s an old beer commercial that features him in the broadcast booth, on a hot summer day, bare feet submerged in a bucket of ice, towel around his neck and a cold beer in his hand. It’s vintage Jack Buck.

And in seeing the photo, it reminded me of all the times I had thought of reaching out to Jack for that next lunch date, of thanking him for all he had done for me, of letting him know my life was what it was because of his goodness. Words I wanted to share with him but never did because I wanted to wait for just the right time.

My friends, tomorrow is not promised to any of us. It’s also not promised to those we love.

Waiting for later leads to living with regrets.

So, when someone comes to mind that you are grateful for, tell them. When you think about taking an old friend for lunch, do it. When you have the opportunity to share with someone that you love them and are grateful for them, don’t wait.

And next time you’re in St. Louis, visit Carl’s Drive-In. Tell them a friend of Jack sent you.

Today is your day. Live Inspired.