Our story begins in the early 1960s.
“Your cash drawer is 45 cents off, young man. That’s 45 cents more than you should have in the drawer at the end of today’s work.”
I looked down once more at my numbers. My boss, Mr. Britt, the hospital credit manager, was right. I had tried to come out balanced to the penny, but I was young and not as perfect as he required me to be.
“Richard, let me tell you a story.”
Mr. Britt motioned for me to sit down in the cashier’s chair, right where I had been working. I sat, my mind rushing back over all the patient accounts I had dealt with that day.How had I come out 45 cents long?
“Once upon a time,” he began, “way back in the year 1928, the cashier was a young man named E. E. Martin, and the credit manager was Mr. Harley Rice. Young Mr. Martin sat in this same office you do, and on the day I want to tell you about, he wondered why his drawer was 45 cents long. It had been a full day. One of the patients, a man named Mr. Henry Porter, had tried to pay a portion of his account with odd-looking coupons rather than with cash or a check.
“Mr. Porter had contacted our hospital, which was known back then as Paradise Valley Sanitarium, because he had a terrible cold and believed several days of hydrotherapy treatments might help. We sent a car to collect him from his hotel, the Del Coronado. We gave him one of our better rooms, one with running water and a toilet, and he stayed there for almost a full week. He must have enjoyed it, because his wife joined him for the last few days.”
“Mr. Britt,” I interrupted, “this Mr. Porter must have run up a pretty large bill!”
“You’re right, young man. When Mr. Porter stood right over there to check out, the cashier, Mr. Martin, gave him the handwritten journal of charges. Mr. Porter looked it over and wrote a check for everything except for his rather large telephone bill. For that, he pulled out a book of coupons and tore out enough coupons to cover the phone bill. Then he handed the check and coupons to Mr. Martin, who had never seen anything like the odd coupons before.”
“I’ve never seen anything like that either, Mr. Britt. I probably would have said I’d be right back and come right over to check with you.”
Elder Rice was overwhelmed, astonished, and eager all at once.
“And that’s exactly what Mr. Martin did! He took the certificates, smiled at Mr. Porter, and excused himself to check with the credit manager, Harley Rice.”
“How did Mr. Martin get the account off by 45 cents?”
“Don’t get ahead of me,” chuckled Mr. Britt.
“OK. Were the coupons any good?”
“Very good. Harley Rice called the San Diego branch of the telephone company and asked to speak with the manager. When the manager came on the phone, Harley told him about Mr. Porter’s coupons and asked what they were.”
“Those coupon books are issued only to our large stockholders and members of the phone company’s board of directors,” the manager said. “Please accept them as cash.”
“Wow! Mr. Porter must have been a pretty important man!”
“Well, nobody here thought much about it, but that evening when he was cashing out, Mr. Martin discovered his drawer was 45 cents off—to the good—just as you are today. Harley Rice looked over the accounts and discovered that we had figured part of Mr. Porter’s bill incorrectly, and that we owed him 45 cents.”
“Forty-five cents isn’t a very big deal. What did they do about it?”
“It was a big deal to Harley Rice. He quickly corrected the account and sent a letter of apology, dated February 10, 1928, along with a check for 45 cents to Mr. Henry Porter at the Hotel Del Coronado.”
“What did Mr. Porter think about that?”
“Two days later Harley received a letter from Mr. Porter. In it was the check, endorsed back to Paradise Valley Sanitarium, with a note of appreciation for Mr. Rice’s honesty.”
“Mr. Britt, did you tell me that story to make me feel better about the 45 cents I’m off in my drawer?”
“No, Dick. I told you that story so you will always remember to be careful and kind, and to make sure that your work is done accurately and well.”
“Sounds to me like there’s more to the story.”
“Sure enough! On April 16, 1928, Harley received another handwritten letter from Mr. Porter, this one postmarked from Denver, Colorado. Here’s what it said:
“ ‘Can you please give me the address of the manager of your various corporations, as I would like to correspond with him in regard to establishing a like institution in Denver.’ ”
“Did he actually do it?”
“Don’t get ahead of my story!”
“Sorry, Mr. Britt.”
“Harley sent the letter on to his own father, Elder M. L. Rice, who was the associate secretary of the General Conference Medical Department in Washington, D.C. Then he forgot about it. Neither he nor his father really believed what Mr. Porter was saying about wanting to establish a new hospital. But Elder Rice’s travel plans included a four-hour layover at the Denver train station, so he sent Mr. Porter a note offering to meet him between trains.
“ ‘It’s odd,’ Elder Rice told his son, ‘that this man would talk about having a hospital in Denver. I wonder if he knows that we have an excellent sanitarium just a few miles away in Boulder, Colorado.’ So Elder Rice decided to tell Mr. Porter about the Boulder Sanitarium, and got on the train.
“When Mr. Porter received the letter, he chuckled, realizing that neither Harley nor his father believed he was serious.
“That changed quickly when Mr. Porter met Elder Rice at the train station. He put his guest in a big limousine with a uniformed chauffeur and drove him all around Denver, showing him all the buildings that the Porters owned.
“The trip included two very important stops. The first was at the Denver National Bank building, where Mr. Porter was president. The second was to 40 country acres on the edge of town.
“ ‘This land will be the location of your new hospital, Elder Rice. I’ve decided to give you $330,000 for the new hospital. That will cover the cost of the land, the buildings, and the equipment. Here, let me walk you to where you will even be able to have a small farm to provide vegetables for the guests.’
“Elder Rice was overwhelmed, astonished, and eager all at once.
“ ‘I will help get it all started,’ said Mr. Porter, ‘but you will have to operate the hospital on your own. I know you can do that, because I know your son Harley and the other employees at Paradise Valley. I trust that you will run this hospital honestly, fairly, and well. I can trust you with my health and my wealth.’ ”
“All that because of a check for 45 cents!”
“No, young man. Mr. Porter gave a total of more than $3 million to the hospital because he had learned he could trust us with his health and his wealth.
“Now,” Mr. Britt smiled at me, “go find your 45 cents.”