been one of the champions for the honor code, but Josh and
his classmates completed the task.
Recently, I reconnected with Ed Cathey. He was working at
another nearby rescue mission as the board director. When
we caught up on the phone, he told me he was sleeping less
than ever before—a few hours a night—and that he missed
his wife. She died long before I ever met Ed. He had to be
well into his eighties by now, and it would have been more
than a decade since her death.
He told me he was looking forward to “going home,” to
dying. He wasn’t sad about this; he was excited to soon be
reunited with his wife. At the same time, he wasn’t idly
sitting by, waiting for death to come. Ed was as active as
ever, which was what I would have expected. I asked him
what he was most proud of. His answer surprised me, but it
shouldn’t have.
Did Ed talk about his years of service at Vanderbilt
Hospital? Did he mention his experiences of singing in
concert halls and leading world-famous choirs? No, he
mentioned none of that. What he told me was story after
story of the homeless men whom he called “son,” men he
had the privilege of watching graduate from the
rehabilitation program and go on to live healthy lives. This
was his legacy, and it happened in the two decades of his
life after he retired.
Ed answered a call on his life that surprised him. He