Who Saved 2 Billion People?

This is from Chapter 6 of a book called "The Noticer: Sometimes All A Person Needs Is A Little Perspective."  After reading tell me you won't or haven't made an impact in your lives.

 

“While it is true that most people never see or understand

the difference they make, or sometimes only imagine their actions

having a tiny effect, every single action a person takes has far reaching

consequences.

“A moment ago, you and I were talking about particular

people who had accomplished great things during the later

years of their lives. Do you know the name Norman Bourlag?”

Willow shook her head. “Norman Bourlag was ninety-one when

he was informed that he had been personally responsible for

saving the lives of two billion people.”

“Two billion people?” Willow exclaimed. “How is that

possible?”

“Norman Bourlag was the man who hybridized corn and

wheat for arid climates,” Jones answered. “The Nobel committee,

the Fulbright Scholars, and many other experts calculated

that all across the world—in Central and South America, Western

Africa, across Europe and Asia, throughout the plains of Siberia,

and America’s own desert Southwest—Bourlag’s work has saved

from famine over two billion people . . . and the number is

increasing every day.”

“Incredible,” Willow said.

“Yes,” Jones agreed. “Isn’t it? But the most incredible part of

the story is that Bourlag, for all the credit he has received . . .”

Jones glanced around as if to prevent someone from hearing

what he was about to say. “For all the credit he’s received,

Bourlag was not the person who saved the two billion people.”

“What?”

“That’s right,” Jones confirmed. “I believe it was a man

named Henry Wallace. He was vice president of the United

States under Roosevelt.”

“I thought Truman was vice president under Roosevelt,”

Willow said suspiciously.

“He was,” Jones agreed, “but remember, Roosevelt served

four terms. His first two terms, John Nance served as vice president;

his fourth term, Truman; but it was during Roosevelt’s

third term that his vice president was a former secretary of agriculture

named Henry Wallace. While Wallace was vice president

of the United States, he used the power of his office to create a

station in Mexico whose sole purpose was to somehow hybridize

corn and wheat for arid climates . . . and he hired a young man

named Norman Bourlag to run it. So, while Norman Bourlag

won the Nobel Prize . . . it was really Henry Wallace whose initial

act was responsible for saving the two billion lives.”

“I never knew,” Willow said. “Why, I don’t even remember

the man.”

“That’s okay,” Jones replied. “Now that I think about it,

maybe it wasn’t Henry Wallace who should’ve gotten credit

anyway . . .”

Willow appeared startled. “Now, why would you say that?”

she asked.

Jones dropped his eyes to the ground and rubbed his chin, as

if deep in thought. “Maybe it was George Washington Carver

who saved the two billion lives.” Then, his head popping up

again, he said, “You remember him, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Willow answered quickly. “Peanuts. But what does

he—”

“What people don’t know about George Washington Carver

is that while he was nineteen and a student at Iowa State University,

he had a dairy sciences professor who allowed his own

six-year-old boy to go on botanical expeditions every weekend

with this brilliant student. George Washington Carver took that

little tot and directed his life. And it was Carver who gave six year-

old Henry Wallace a vision about his future and what he

could do with plants to help humanity.”

Jones shook his head in wonder. “It is amazing, isn’t it?” he

said. “That Carver could spend all that time with the peanut?

Hours and months and years of work. I mean, the man developed

two hundred and sixty-six products from the peanut—that

we still use today. And then there’s the sweet potato. Eighty-eight

uses he developed from it.” Jones leaned forward, hands on his

knees. “He also wrote an agricultural tract and promoted the

idea of what he called a ‘victory garden.’”

Willow smiled. “I remember victory gardens. We had one.”

“Yes. So did most people,” Jones said. “Victory gardens—

even in the middle of major cities—fed a significant portion of

our population during World War II.

“But with all the time and effort and years that Carver spent

on things like peanuts and sweet potatoes and victory gardens,

isn’t it amazing that a few afternoons with a six-year-old boy named

Henry Wallace turned out to make that much difference!”

“Truly,” Willow said with awe in her voice. “So it was George

Washington Carver whose action saved all those people.”

“Ahhh . . . ,” Jones shook his head. “Not really.”

“What?”

“It had to have been the farmer from Diamond, Missouri.”

Jones grinned as Willow threw up her hands.

“There was a farmer in Diamond, Missouri, named Moses,”

Jones continued, “who had a wife named Susan. They lived in a

slave state but didn’t believe in slavery. Well, that was a problem

for those crazy people who rode through farms at night, terrorizing

what they called ‘sympathizers.’ And one cold winter night,

Quantrill’s Raiders attacked Moses and Susan’s farm. They

burned the barn, shot several people, and dragged off a woman

named Mary Washington . . . who refused to let go of her infant

son, George.

“Now, Mary Washington was Susan’s best friend, so Moses

sent word out immediately, trying to arrange a meeting with

those cutthroats, trying to do something to get Mary and her

baby back. Within a few days, he had the meeting set; and so, on

a January night, Moses took a black horse and went several

hours north to a crossroads in Kansas.

“There, he met four of Quantrill’s men, who arrived on

horseback, carrying torches, wearing flour sacks with eyeholes

cut out over their heads. And Moses traded his only horse for

what they threw him in a burlap bag.

“As they thundered off, Moses fell to his knees. There, in the

freezing dark, with his breath’s vapor blowing hard and white

from his mouth, Moses brought out of that burlap bag a cold,

naked, almost dead baby boy. And he opened up his jacket and

he opened up his shirts and placed that baby next to his skin.

Moses fastened that child in under his clothes and walked that

baby out! Talking to that child every step of the way—telling

the baby he would take care of him and raise him as his own . . .

promising to educate him to honor Mary, his mother, who they

knew was already dead.”

Jones looked intently at Willow who stared back in wonder.

“That was the night,” he said softly, “that the farmer told that

baby he would give him his name. And that is how Moses and

Susan Carver came to raise that little baby, George Washington.

“So there. It was obviously the farmer from Diamond,

Missouri, who saved those two billion people.”

They sat quietly for a moment until Jones raised his finger

as if an idea had just come to him. Teasing, he said, “Unless

maybe . . .”

But then, seeing the tears in Willow’s eyes, he said,

“So you see, madam, we could continue this line of reasoning all

evening. For the truth is, who knows who it really was whose

single action saved the two billion people? How far back could

we go?” Jones reached over and took Willow’s hand. “And how

far into the future could we go, dear lady, to show how many

lives you will touch? There are generations yet unborn, whose

very lives will be shifted and shaped by the moves you make

and the actions you take . . . tonight. And tomorrow. And tomorrow

night. And the next day. And the next.

“No matter your age, physical condition, financial situation,

color, gender, emotional state, or belief . . . everything you do,

every move you make, matters to all of us—and forever.”

“Thank you,” Willow said faintly. “Thank you.”

“And thank you, young lady,” Jones said as he stood. “Thank

you for the opportunity to spend a few moments with you and

rest in such a beautiful spot.” He began walking slowly westward,

toward the canal. “Let’s not rest too long, though,” Willow

heard him say as the evening darkness took him from her sight.

“Time is precious, and you have much to do.”