The flight took off on time and before long, we were preparing to land. Suddenly, the plane zigged, the storms zagged, adults screamed, and children cried. Our smooth sailing craft, at the hands of Mother Nature, had been transformed into a trackless roller coaster. People who had forgotten how to pray suddenly remembered.

The turbulence was so extreme the pilot bypassed Houston and landed in Austin where the plane was to be inspected for damage. My fellow travelers and I stood at the gate, mentally and physically disheveled, awaiting our fate. Some sent text messages, others called loved ones, and a few reached out to comfort one another. At times like this, it becomes apparent—we humans have far more in common than not. I called my wife, Anne, to see if she could find another flight into Houston. No luck.

Many passengers remained focused on the “problems” at hand. They provided each other with affirmations, complained to agents, and gathered evidence to support their beliefs. Within an hour, our flight had been rescheduled on another plane for later that evening… and then delayed once again for even later. My gut told me the third rescheduling was not going to be the charm.

“Has anyone checked on ground transportation?” I asked a group of passengers that were commiserating at the bar. “No, it’s too far to drive‚ about four hours. We’re just going to wait it out,” said one woman as she raised her glass to toast the decision. The others followed suit. As I thanked her, she wrinkled her nose in a peculiar way and said, “Find the tall woman in the white sweater; she’s thinking about renting a car.” I couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol talking, or if a suppressed memory had unexpectedly surfaced. In any case, it seemed surreal—like Alice’s encounter with the Cheshire Cat. I skeptically scanned the crowd and to my amazement, found my version of “The White Rabbit” standing less than 20 feet away, talking to some fellow passengers. This trip was becoming “curiouser and curiouser!” Perhaps I was in Wonderland?

“Are you the tall woman in the white sweater that’s considering driving to Houston tonight?” Relieved that she didn’t break out into a chorus of, “I’m late, I’m late for a very important date!” I introduced myself and explained my situation. After a brief moment of contemplation, she answered, “Why not, yes, let’s do it!” Gigi Woodruff, a YMCA executive, rented a car and selflessly agreed to go out of her way to deliver a nurse, a sales manager and me to our respective destinations near her hometown.

Two hours into our journey, Anne called to inform us that our flight to Houston had been canceled until morning… which is when I had to deliver my keynote on “Turning Problems Into Solutions.” Thanks to Gigi, the Good Samaritan in the white sweater, that’s exactly what happened!

I checked into the hotel and called Debbie Norman, the event manager. Even though it was late, Debbie did a convincing job of sounding awake and positive… “Great, Michael, I’m so glad you made it… I’ll meet you in the lobby at 9 AM.” No doubt, she had alternative plans in place if I hadn’t. Professional event managers are masters at turning problems into solutions.

Life is a journey—and when our plans don’t align with reality (as they often don’t), we can either see it as a problem, or an opportunity. The choice is ours. When we remain open-minded and focus on possibilities, we can turn “perceived” problems into “real” solutions. No doubt, my trip to Houston tested this axiom… and I’m pleased to say, it passed with flying colors.

Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence. The following morning, Dr. Carla O’Dell introduced me and then shared the events leading up to my arrival. In doing so, she reinforced that the theme of my speech was more than an extraordinary claim. The audience was wonderful and my message seemed to resonate with them on many levels. Gigi was able to attend the event, too. At the end of my speech I introduced her… and she received a standing ovation.

It’s true: The world we focus on is the world we create. Thank you Anne, Carla, Debbie, and Gigi for “Turning Problems Into Solutions” and making this world a better place in the process.

“HOW CAN PEOPLE WALK BY A DYING PERSON AND NOT HELP?” outraged citizens ask in utter disbelief. “WHAT’S THE WORLD COMING TO?” dismayed talking TV heads ask… acting as if this were something new.

According to social psychologists, Mr. Tale-Yax was the victim of a psychological phenomenon called “the bystander effect.” I first learned about this in a college sociology class. Back then it was called the “Genovese syndrome” named after the infamous 1964 rape and murder of Kitty Genovese in Queens. Dozens of people witnessed her attack and heard her screams but did nothing to stop it… let alone report it.

It seems the greater the number of bystanders, the less likely it is that any one of them will help a person in need. Research shows that individual bystanders monitor fellow bystanders to try and determine if it’s necessary to intervene. When no one takes action, they all conclude their help isn’t needed. Some individuals assume that another bystander will intervene… and as a result, no one intervenes. Many individuals assume that another bystander is more qualified, so they don’t bother getting involved. Certain bystanders are concerned about “losing face” in the eyes of the others… while some fear legal consequences should they offer their assistance.

For whatever the reasons, I still find myself asking, “Whatever happened to being a Good Samaritan?” For those unfamiliar, “The Good Samaritan” is a parable Jesus shared with his disciples. In this parable, a Jewish traveler is beaten, robbed, and left for dead on the roadside. First a priest passes by and then a Levite… neither stops to help. Finally, a Samaritan comes to his rescue. What’s significant about this parable is not only that the Samaritan stopped to help, but that Samaritans and Jews despised each other.

While the bystander effect is evident during life-threatening emergencies, it can be seen on a regular daily basis, too. Think about your workplace, the organizations you belong to and your social circles. Do you buy into peer pressure or stand up for what’s right? Many people believe it’s best to not cause waves… to just go along with the crowd. They prefer to follow the status quo regardless of how it affects others—especially those outside the group. Unfortunately, it’s this kind of thinking that leads to tragic, dangerous and destructive results. Just reflect on history for a moment… you don’t need to look far.

So, whatever happened to being a Good Samaritan? Nothing. Good Samaritans are still around today… there’s just not many of them. I doubt there ever was. Why? Because Good Samaritans think independently, act responsibly and stand up for what’s right, regardless of the consequences or how they’re judged by society. They aren’t afraid to ruffle a few feathers or go against the grain—especially when someone’s in need. Mostly, Good Samaritans listen to their hearts, they put themselves in others’ shoes, and then courageously take action. Ask yourself this question: “Am I a ‘Good Samaritan’ or a bystander?” Like Mr. Tale-Yax, your actions will reveal the answer. He was a Good Samaritan… unfortunately he was the only one in the crowd that day.

Please share your thoughts on this subject… or any Good Samaritan examples.

That winter was unprecedented. The number of consecutive freezing days and snowfall set an Illinois record and resulted in 62 deaths and more than 2,000 injuries. I was kept very busy.

One morning the shop received so many calls about stranded motorists, abandoned vehicles and accidents, I decided to skip class and keep working. The local radio station and newspaper warned residents to stay inside unless it was an emergency. They said if you absolutely had to travel be certain to carry a first-aid kit, flashlight (extra batteries), blankets, waterproof matches, a sack of sand, a shovel, tool kit, tow rope, booster cables, compass… the list was as extreme as the weather. Since cellular phones weren’t around back then, you had to think before venturing out.

By the end of the day I was beat. I arrived home and started taking off my boots when the phone rang. It was the county police: “This situation has gone from bad to worse… get back out there and start towing in any and every vehicle in sight.” Apparently the number of stranded vehicles was making it impossible to plow—not to mention dangerous.

I grabbed a sandwich and went back to work… and continued working for nearly 40 consecutive hours. Before long I had pulled in enough vehicles to pay for an entire semester of school. Financially, the blizzard seemed like a blessing to me.

At some point, as my boss was writing reports on all the frozen vehicles that had filled the parking lot, it hit him… “How long has McMillan been working?”

“Wrecker Boy, Wrecker Boy, do you copy?”

That was my “handle.” The older shop guys gave it to me. They found it funny. I didn’t mind. Even if I had, it wouldn’t have mattered—the police called me “Wrecker Boy,” too.

“I read you… over,” I responded.

“What’s your twenty?”

The radio was breaking up. I tried adjusting the squelch control but to no avail. “I’m not certain… out in the country… some place west of town,” I replied. I had strategically pulled in the vehicles closest to the shop first, then slowly worked my way further and further into the country… off the beaten path.

“It’s time you bring that damn wrecker in and get some rest.”

He was more right than he knew. I was exhausted and in desperate need of rest.

“10-4… I’m picking up one more—then I’m heading back.”

“10-1… I can’t read yo…” were the last words I heard. I tried contacting him a few more times but concluded I was out of range. It was around noon when I lowered the tow sling down, slid under the stranded car, and hooked up the chains. I was mentally and physically fatigued. It took everything I had to move the frozen hoist lever. With the front wheels off the snow, I jumped back inside the cab, peeled off my gloves, switched on the flashing amber light, and started back toward the shop. I glanced in the side mirrors to check on my load. While it appeared stable, I knew I wasn’t. I was sleep-drunk, driving under the influence of exhaustion.

Thin white halos outlined the trees, power poles and lines… like a strange inverted Sabattier print. Everything was glowing unnaturally and I was squinting, hoping to make it stop. I tried calculating how much money I had earned but found I couldn’t add. I tried figuring out how much school I’d missed but didn’t know what day it was. My mind was crystallizing like the world around me. I kept drifting off the road—until the wheels rumbled and then I’d swerve back on—then off… back on… off… on … off… on… then FLASH… I was blind!

I screamed, grabbed my eyes and hit the breaks. With my forehead pressed against the steering wheel, I rubbed my eyelids until my sight started to slowly return. “What the hell just happened… was it aliens?” I asked myself.

Like Lot’s wife, I reluctantly glanced back and saw what appeared to be a laser gun peering above the snow’s surface. Or was it a spacecraft? Upon closer inspection, I discovered it was neither… at least by design. It was a submerged car reflecting the sun. I must have glanced over at the precise moment to catch a flash and to make things worse, my weary eyelids couldn’t respond in time to protect my pupils from frying.

I watched the snow blow over the small exposed patch of car roof—covering it and uncovering it—“dot-dot-dot-dot… dot-dash-dot-dot… like Morse code. I culled through my Cub Scout memories but couldn’t recall a single signal.

I wondered how and when the car ended up out in the field…. but stopped myself from wondering whether anybody was inside it. I know that sounds bad. But I was alone and lost, and while I didn’t know it then, I was experiencing severe sleep deprivation for the first time in my life. After several attempts to radio the office, I stopped and concluded I was still out of range.

Unaware of my location, I tried painting mental pictures of the area so I could report the buried car once I returned. But trying to paint mental pictures in my mental state proved to be impossible. I put the wrecker in gear and started down the road, hoping to figure out where I was.

Before long, the voices in my head returned, “Nobody’s trapped in that car… it would take days to bury a car like that… you’re just exhausted and not thinking right.” Collectively, the voices were convincing until one brave voice spoke up, “Maybe you’re all right… but what if someone is buried in that car?” That question stopped the wrecker and turned me around.

The car appeared to be even further from the road than I had remembered. I waited for the voices of reason to return and persuade me to head back to the shop, but they remained silent. So I bundled up and reentered the deep freeze. Trying to get the shovel down from behind the toolbox was not only a struggle; it was also a warning: “Don’t do it… you are in no condition to rescue anyone.”

Then I looked over the tundra at that buried car and put it out of my mind. I made my way across the field and didn’t look back at the wrecker. I didn’t want to know how far or little I had traveled; I just wanted to arrive. I leaned into the wind fighting for each step… slipping and falling along the way. When I arrived, I fell to my knees and leaned on the shovel to catch my breath. The cold air burned my lungs as I climbed up onto the entombed car and started pounding on the roof and yelling, “Is anyone in there? Can you hear me?” I thought I heard something, but between the howling wind and my mental state I couldn’t be sure.

Don’t worry, you’ll be okay, I’ll get you out!” I yelled as I shoveled enough snow away to see through the driver’s window. I dropped to my knees, leaned down, and peered inside. The front seat was empty, but I couldn’t see into the back. So I climbed toward the rear, cleared away more snow and glanced inside… it was empty, too. Thank God, I thought, as the shovel slid down from the roof onto the ground.

I rolled onto my back, spread out like a snow angel on top of the roof and closed my eyes. I could feel my heart pounding as I tried to catch my breath. In time I sat up and looked back toward the wrecker. Its amber beacon flashed like a distant light tower. And I was a wayward sailor… and no one but me knew I was lost at sea. Whatever energy I had before my journey was now gone.

I slid down the car and started staggering back when I heard a sound. It came from inside the car! Then I realized I hadn’t thought to check the floors… or under the seats. “Hello… hello… I hear you… are you okay?” I yelled frantically turning back to look inside—but it was still empty. The sounds were from inside my head… or at best, from the wind howling around me. I looked toward the flashing amber light again and started to cry. As I made my way toward the beacon, the tears froze to my eyelashes and cheeks.

I finally reached the wrecker and thanked God for having helped me to make it back. My body throbbed as I breathed in the warm air from the wrecker cab. I threw my gloves and cap on the passenger’s seat and watched the snow crystals turn back into water.

Then I glanced back across the field and realized I had forgotten the snow shovel. In a distraught state, I started crying again, then laughing… I had just risked my life to rescue someone who didn’t need rescuing… and wasn’t about to go through it all again for a snow shovel. I wiped my eyes, put the wrecker in gear and started back down the road—again.

Days later, I drove back to the scene. The car was gone. The wind and snow had already erased most of the evidence of it ever having been there. I purchased a new snow shovel for the wrecker and never told anyone this story until now.

Looking back on it, I might have done things differently—but probably not much. The colloquial phrase “Good Samaritan,” means someone who helps a stranger. It’s derived from a parable Jesus tells in response to the question of who one’s “neighbor” is… I believe that’s everyone… even those you don’t know but are willing to risk your life to save. The ethic of reciprocity (The Golden Rule) doesn’t discriminate.