GAIL WHITE Sparkle in his eye comes from putting others first

Bernie O'Gara insists that what he does is nothing, really.
He has a whole list of people he knows who are "truly living saints," he insists.
"You should talk with them," he tells me.
"I will," I assure him. "But I'd like to talk with you first."
I met Bernie at The Way Station in Columbiana.
I was dressed up, waiting to serve a Thanksgiving feast The Way Station was sponsoring for the community.
Bernie was dressed in blue jeans and a work coat. The blustery weather prompted him to cover his head with a well-worn winter cap.
He had pulled a flat-bed truck up to The Way Station loading dock, and a group of high school students was busy unloading its back, which was piled high with dairy products.
Bernie nodded hello as he passed me and I was struck by his appearance.
Though he was dressed in drab clothes, his eyes had a sparkle that brightened his entire being.
"Who is that?" I asked one of The Way Station employees.
"Oh, that's Bernie," she responded. "You should talk to him."
Intrigued by the sparkle in his eyes, I knew she was right.
Biographical
Bernie is retired from the Titan Corp., an aerospace company in San Diego, where he served as the director of administration.
He and his wife, Marty, lived in San Diego for 25 years. When Bernie retired three years ago the couple moved to Salem, Marty's hometown.
While many people retire and play golf, take vacations and relax, Bernie has chosen a different form of retirement.
Every Tuesday and Wednesday he drives the truck, which belongs to a friend, to a national food distributor in Navarre.
He loads the truck by hand with all kinds of perishable food items the distributor is discarding. On Tuesdays, he delivers the food to the Urban Mission in Steubenville. On Wednesdays, he delivers to The Way Station.
"What he does is incredible," says Carla Sukosd, director of food distribution for The Way Station. "We receive a lot of nonperishable food, but the perishable items are hard to come by. His work really helps people with things that they need."
Modesty
Bernie insists on downplaying his contribution of time and energy.
"It's simple," he says. "There is a lot of food over here and hungry people over there. All I do is move the food to where the people are."
"Navarre is not just down the road," I insist.
"It does take all day," Bernie concedes, adding up the time it takes to drive, load and deliver.
Yet, Bernie does not stop with delivering food items. He serves veterans as well.
"If somebody needs to go to one of the VA hospitals," he explains, "they make an appointment with AMVETS and we take them."
"What else do you do?" I ask Bernie, sensing that I have not even scratched the surface of his service.
He insists this is all, but I can tell he is holding out on me.
"You're retired," I remind Bernie. "You could be golfing or vacationing. What makes you do all this?"
"There are times when I'd rather be doing other stuff," Bernie admits. "Like today, I'd rather not been out in the snowstorm. But I have made a commitment and I will keep it."
Putting others first
As I began serving the dinner at The Way Station, I thought about all that Bernie had said.
His insistence that the hours he spends serving are "simple" and "nothing at all" had me puzzled.
Then I thought about that sparkle in his eyes. You can't find that kind of a sparkle on a golf course or at the beach. You can't get that kind of sparkle from a three-piece suit.
It is the kind of sparkle that can shine only from putting the needs of others in front of your wants.
Bernie's sparkle didn't come from his important position with an aerospace company. It came from the "simple," "nothing, really" commitments he has kept in retirement.
gwhite@vindy.com