The Letter

How would I do it?

How could I ever make the leap from the chair I was in onto the speaker's platform? The thought coursed through my mind as I sat in the sales meeting, listening to the president and owner of the company. He was dynamic, charismatic, and everyone loved him.

Me? I was young then — a bit reserved, very insecure, and in total awe of the man I intently watched and listened to as he addressed us from the platform at the front of the room. He had the leadership qualities I could only dream I might one day possess. I hung on his every word, every syllable, even though I had heard it in one form or another from this man my entire life.

Gene Moore spoke with an animated, passionate style. He talked about the highest levels of achievement and made the group of thirty sales people assembled at the Chicago Heights branch of Moore Industries, Inc., want to sell and excel with passion. He brought out the best in each of us. We wanted to perform for him. We wanted to be like him. We all yearned for a pat on the back or a wink from his smiling face telling us, "good job" or "way to go." He made us believe that what we did was important, admirable, and honorable, even though what we did was sell vacuum cleaners door-to-door. Gene Moore made us believe what we did would change the world. It certainly changed our worlds. Many of those in his audience went on to achieve levels of success with Filter Queen or in other chosen professions. Most would attribute some or all of their success to the time they spent working with this man. "There is just something special about him" was a phrase heard over and over again.

As Gene was beginning to wind down his motivational talk he raised his arms in excitement — and then suddenly stopped. His eyes sought me out. "Gary take it from here," he said calmly, a small smile on his face. And then he walked out of the room. Although unusual, Gene was prone to theatrics, so I jumped up from my chair and tried to pick up where he left off, which was an insurmountable task.

Once the meeting ended a young salesman named Ed walked up to me and said something I would never forget. "What happened to Gene?" he asked.

"Nothing," I replied.

"Didn't look like nothing to me," continued Ed, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. A dark look of concern had crossed his face.

"What?" I asked. "What are you talking about?"

"When he walked out of the meeting, he stepped into the next room, doubled over, and was holding his left arm." The words sent a chill through me I still feel to this day.

I ran to the door, threw it open, and looked outside, but his gray Cadillac was gone. A glance at my watch told me the meeting had continued almost forty-five minutes after Gene had left. I stepped toward the phone to call our headquarters in Bradley, Illinois, which I assumed was Gene's destination. Before I could dial the phone number, a secretary tapped my shoulder, "Gary, your mom's on the line. She sounds real upset."

I stepped into the closest room and picked up the phone. Judy Moore was crying on the other end. "Why did you let your father drive home when he was having a heart attack?"

"A heart attack! Mom, is he okay? Where is he?"

I listened just long enough to hear her answer before dropping the phone and running to my car to speed to Riverside Hospital in Kankakee. It was normally a thirty-minute drive, but I made it in record time.

When I arrived in the emergency room the first thing I heard was laughter. Puzzled, I edged my way past bustling nurses and small knots of strangers before coming to a stop next to a curtained-off area. I slowly pulled the curtain back to find Gene sitting up on the edge of the bed. Around him were several nurses and an emergency room doctor laughing at something he had just said. As usual, Gene controlled the room and everyone in it.

My sister Debbie was there too, her eyes swollen from crying. My mother was standing next to her husband's side, rubbing his shoulder and holding back the tears. A few moments later my youngest sister Kim and her new husband Keith rushed into the emergency room.

"Calm down," Gene commanded with a sturdy laugh. "It's a false alarm. You're not getting rid of me this easy," a comment that brought more laughter from the hospital staff, but only concerned looks from his family members.

Until that moment it had never occurred to me that my mentor, my employer, and my father, all one and the same, would ever die. He was only 57, and he had always seemed indestructible.

While Gene was sharing a story with the nurses, Doctor Burnett, our family physician, arrived with what he claimed was good news. "I don't think Gene had a heart attack. He only suffered from a little overexertion. We're going to keep him overnight for observation and send him home tomorrow." The doctor also told us he would set up a round of tests with a heart specialist in Chicago. "You folks go home now and don't worry any longer about this. Gene is going to be fine."

The next day Gene took a stress test, passed, and was released. As was his nature, he walked out of the hospital and went straight to work. It was April 29, 1983.

The test with the heart specialist was eventually scheduled for Thursday, May 12, at St Luke's Presbyterian Hospital in Chicago. Our appointment was at 4:00 p.m., and my mother insisted I go along. She was afraid Gene might not tell her if the news wasn't good. I agreed, and my dad and I drove to the hospital together. The specialist agreed with Dr. Burnett: he was certain Gene did not have a heart attack. In fact, he told us Gene was in great shape and we had nothing to worry...