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 Hallmark Consulting Group's monthly newsletter,  Retirement Coach News, and were written by Don Hartmann, president of Hallmark Consulting Group.

Fred of the Month - July 2007

Since July is the month we celebrate our nation’s independence, it is also a good time to remember the remarkable young men and women who put their lives on the line every day to help secure that independence.  Not only did we send soldiers to Iraq and Afghanistan, we also sent a whole bunch of Freds.  Here are just two of the many Freds we have sent over there:

Air Force Chief Master Sergeant John Gebhardt is a Fred in Iraq.  His is a tough, but heart warming story , as related by his wife, Mindy.  The entire family of the little girl John is holding in this picture was executed. The insurgents intended to execute her also and shot her in the head but they failed to kill her. She was cared for by John's hospital unit and is healing up, but has been crying and moaning. The nurses said John is the only one who seems to calm her down, so John has spent the last four nights holding her while they both sleep in that chair. The girl is coming along with her healing.


Another little Iraqi girl owes her life to a group of Freds with the 24th Infantry (“Deuce Four”) stationed near Mosul, Iraq.  Her name is Rhma and when soldiers of Deuce Four found her in Mosul one night, she was in serious need of medical attention.  Rhma’s story is full of Freds, both in Iraq and here in the U.S. - soldiers, nurses, doctors and others who raised the funds necessary to bring Rhma to America for the special medical care she so desperately needed.  They could have simply taken her to a local hospital in Mosul, but these Freds knew she needed so much more than she could ever get in an Iraqi hospital, so they did the extraordinary, by making it possible for her to come to the U.S. and in so doing, saved her life.

There are many Freds among the men and women serving in Iraq and Afghanistan, as there have been in all of the wars fought by the brave men and women of the U. S. military.  This July’s Fred of the Month column is dedicated to each and every one of them - and to those of you who read this column every month and who served in the military to preserve our independence: Thank You for making it possible for all of us who live in this great nation to experience the freedom and independence that we have come to expect and all too often take for granted.    

Because of you, on this Independence Day we should all take a moment to count our blessings!

Fred of the Month - May 2007

This month’s Fred of the Month article was taken from Rick Riley’s column in the April 30th issue of Sports Illustrated.

I have this friend, an Iowa truck driver named Mark Lemke.  Last July he wrote to SI, nominating his 19 year old son, Cory, for Faces In The Crowd.  He said the kid set all kinds of golf records and he’d been meaning to write for a long time.  Said he was finally doing it now because Cory had just died in a motorcycle wreck.

Well, I wrote a column (Aug. 21, 2006) about how I got Mark on his cellphone as he was driving his tractor trailer on an Ohio highway and how he wept while talking about losing his best pal.  And I don’t know if it was from thinking of my own 19 year old son or what, but it’s the only time I ever cried while I wrote.  And then we made up a Faces In The Crowd box for Cory and stuck it in the bottom of the column.

Anyway, a couple of months go by, and then Mark gets this call: “Mr. Lemke?” the voice says.  “It’s Tony Dungy.”  Now, Lemke, 51, is just an ex-jock with a simple life that a motorcycle drove a hole through.  The most he hopes for when he gets off the road is his wife Maud’s sloppy joes, his favorite couch and a Vikings game to take his mind off Cory for a few hours.  So, naturally, he figures this call is a joke.

“No, it is Tony Dungy,” the voice says.  “I’m just calling to offer my condolences  to you and see if there’s anything I can do to help you.”

Now, you’ve got to understand, this was in October.  The Colts were into the teeth of their schedule, the most critical season in Dungy’s life, not to mention Peyton Manning’s.  They figure if they don’t win it all this year, the genie goes back in the bottle.

But Dungy has his own sorrow to swallow.  His 18 year old son, James, hanged himself three days before Christmas in 2005.  And Lemke knows this.  So maybe Dungy, who’s the same age as Lemke, is a guy who can relate.  So they talk, and the coach tells Lemke to keep in touch.

“The hardest thing for me is, I sit in that truck all day, and all I do is think about him,” Lemke tells him one day.  “You’re lucky.  You’ve got so many people around you to get you through the days.”  “Yeah,” Dungy says, “but it doesn’t get you through the nights.”

And pretty soon they’ve got this bond going.  Dungy has a wife, five kids, the monster job, numerous charities he works with and a thousand things to do, yet he takes the time to answer every Lemke e-mail, gives him his cell number and returns every call.  They go deep sometimes.  Lemke gets hot at God for taking Cory.  Dungy tells him that’s normal, but he adds that if they keep their faith, “we’ll see them again.”

Then it’s the playoffs, and Dungy is apologizing for not replying to Lemke right away.  Sorry for not getting back to you right away he e-mails Lemke one day.  Sometimes I can go a few days without getting to my computer, especially if our defense is not playing well.

I ask you, who is that nice?

Next thing you know, the Colts are in the Super Bowl and Dungy is inviting a man he’s never met, a Vikings fan, no less, to be his guest there.  So Lemke finds a load that needs hauling to Florida and a load that has to come back, and he drives his 18 wheel rig to Miami.  The day before the game he meets Dungy in person at the team hotel.  They hug.  They visit.  They pray.  The next day Lemke takes his seat in Dolphin Stadium and watches his new buddy win it all.

And this is only one stranger whom Dungy has befriended.  There’s the former high school coach in Wisconsin whose son committed suicide.  There’s the young kid in Indianapolis who lost his mother and brother in a car wreck.    Heartbroken people all over are suddenly getting a hand up from a man who himself should be a puddle but is instead a river of strength.

Yet Dungy refuses to talk to the media about these good deeds, which only makes them better.  “I’m awfully grateful to him,” says Lemke.  “He helped me keep my faith.  He taught me that he and I, we’re not alone.”

After two weeks of hearing about how low man can sink, isn’t it nice to know how high he can rise?

Tony Dungy stands as a reminder to every parent who’s grieving right now that there is a way through the pain.  And that way is through each other.