No Thanks

by Gene Shelburne

Why are we so slow to learn that some things are worth more than money? Any amount of money.

Until we tumble to this truth, we will miss out on the most satisfying experiences life can offer us.

Bryan Johnson has a firm hold on this conviction.

On Wednesday, September 6, 1995, Bryan went to the ballgame in Baltimore. It was a big night for the Orioles, the night when Cal Ripken was expected to match Lou Gehrig’s phenomenal record for most consecutive professional baseball games played.

Bryan Johnson wasn’t in the best of shape that night. Several days before the game he had fractured a thumb, and it still bothered him. Anyone who has worn a plaster cast in hot, humid weather knows how comfortable Bryan was not that night.

But Bryan forgot all about his cast and his pain and his busted digit when Cal Ripken’s fourth-inning homer sailed over the left-field fence that night, and homed in on Bryan as if Cal had aimed at the seat he sat in. Bryan shagged it like a pro.

Immediately he was besieged by people who wanted to buy the ball. He couldn’t believe his ears.

“Here’s three thousand bucks,” one fan offered.

“I’ll give you four,” another countered.

When the flurry of impromptu bidding hit $5,000, one avid bidder blew the lid off. “I’ll give you whatever you want,” he shouted.

What would you have done? Which offer would you have taken?

In that pressured moment Bryan Johnson proved himself to be an extraordinary fellow with exceptional values. “This is Cal’s moment,” he told Orioles officials. “I want him to have the ball.” All Bryan asked was a chance to give it to Cal personally.

That night at 2 a.m. Cal and his family met with Bryan, and Bryan gave him that coveted home run ball. That’s right. I said “gave.” Not “sold.”

In return Cal Ripken gave Bryan a bat on which he had written, “Bryan, Thank you very much for the ball. It means a lot to me. We both share the same memory. Home run on 9-6-95. Cal.”

When Bryan Johnson finally went to sleep that night, he had a warm feeling inside that no amount of money on God’s earth could buy. A feeling that belongs to people whose goodness is not for sale.