The Wishing Well

By Mark Faris

When Mark Faris first met Cate Greenway, he knew she was an angel. As a teenager hanging out with the neighborhood kids in 1970s Kansas City, Faris often went with his friends to Cates house and enjoyed picnics next to the wishing well in her field. They found safety and love there, and Cate became a guiding light for them.

Even after Faris moved to Minneapolis and started a new life, he never forgot Cate. But it was years later in 2009 that Cate became an even more important influence on his life. After decades of self-interest, combined with his wobbly faith, Faris was convicted of money laundering, mail fraud, and wire fraud. He was incarcerated in a federal prison and separated from his family and friends. It was in prison that Cate appeared to him in angelic form, pushing Faris to make faith, love, and service for God the highest priorities in his life.

Chronicling the drowsy summer days under under Cate's sprawling oak tree, his venture into the business world, and his renewal of faith in God, The Wishing Well is an honest look at Fariss life and how one special angel transformed it forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Dec 27, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458201171

Mark Faris

As founder and president of MPV Ethics, Mark Faris communicates the importance of morals, principles, and values to individuals, corporations, and non-profit organizations in a way that challenges their beliefs and transforms them into more honest, accountable, and ethical people.

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Copyright © 2011 Mark Faris

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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ISBN: 978-1-4582-0118-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4582-0119-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4582-0117-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011961742

Printed in the United States of America

Abbott Press rev. date: 12/22/2011

Contents

Introduction

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty Two

Chapter Thirty Three

Chapter Thirty Four

Chapter Thirty Five

Chapter Thirty Six

Chapter Thirty Seven

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty One

Chapter Forty Two

Chapter Forty Three

Chapter Forty Four

Chapter Forty Five

Chapter Forty Six

Chapter Forty Seven

Chapter Forty Eight

Chapter Forty Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty One

Chapter Fifty Two

Chapter Fifty Three

Chapter Fifty Four

Chapter Fifty Five

Chapter Fifty Six

Chapter Fifty Seven

Chapter Fifty Eight

Chapter Fifty Nine

Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty One

Conclusion

Where Are They Now?

Acknowledgments: October 31, 2011

Introduction

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It started as a friendly four way card game involving me, an Indian chief, one meth head, and another roommate who was busted for selling crack cocaine. The game was in our dorm room at the Federal Prison Camp in Duluth Minnesota where I had just started my incarceration two weeks earlier for committing mail fraud, wire fraud, and money laundering.

Up to that point, the entire experience had been surreal. I just kept shaking my head every day feeling like this prison camp didn’t deserve to be a part of the Milky Way Galaxy. I was living with 925 convicts from all walks of life and most of them were crazed nuts.

At the top of my list for designated numb people was Chief. His real name was Bob and he was the head of a Chippewa tribe from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. He was sixty two years old and his Chippewa name was Lone Wolf. He wanted to be called Chief and always wore his headband.

We were playing a popular prison game of spades and it was my turn to deal the cards. I asked Chief why he wore his headband to bed and showered with it on. Chief’s blood pressure increased, his face turned red, and he said to me with a raised voice, You just mind your own business. Not letting up on him, I asked if he wore it when he sat down on the toilet. Chief waggled his finger in my face and told me to shut my mouth up.

After he was transferred to Room 113, Chief was poking his finger in everybody’s business and always wanted to know what we were doing. Not only that, he was probably one of the most opinionated guys I had ever met. Chief was always right and the world was always wrong.

One day we had a conversation with Chief in our room that started late one afternoon and went into the evening. We were all curious concerning what Chief did employment wise prior to settling down as a ceremonial leader of his tribe. He said that he was a steel worker in his early twenties and helped build some big skyscrapers including the Sears Tower. Furthermore, he claimed that the Sears Tower could sway up to sixteen feet at the very top.

We all thought that Chief had lost his mind and I bet him a case of pop that he was just plain wrong. I remember saying to him, Chief, if the building is moving sixteen feet at the very top, desks and people are flying out windows. My roommates including Country the Hillbilly never laughed so hard in their lives. He made me laugh looking at the six or so teeth left in his mouth. I promise to cover Country in more detail later.

One of the guys on the second floor of our dorm who previously was a building engineer was brought into the discussion. The firm he once worked for built some decent size high rise buildings in Brooklyn, New York and New Jersey. Clearly, Jack would be an excellent source to counter Chief’s ridiculous claim. When we threw Jack into this discussion, he just mocked Chief and said at most the Sears Tower would sway maybe eighteen inches at the top. It was clear to everyone involved in the discussion, now totaling eight inmates, that proof was needed to put this to bed once and for all.

I managed to have a friend of mine send me the vital information we were looking for regarding the engineering and architectural information about the Sears Tower. As my friend owned his own construction company, I was confident in the quality of the documents he sent to me as well as his own firm’s opinion.

We presented this information to Chief and he carefully read it all over. The documentation said that the Tower normally swayed between twelve and eighteen inches at the top. This validated what Jack had said, but Chief knew everything and said everyone was wrong. Then, he changed his story to say that the structural specifications were built to withstand a sixteen foot sway at the top. He never yielded on this point and we finally dropped the matter.

The reason Chief landed at the Prison Camp for ten months was that a rival Chippewa Tribe complained to the Bureau of Indian Affairs and the Justice Department that land they owned was being encroached on by his tribe. Specifically, they accused Chief of bulldozing and clearing out four acres of their land. Interestingly enough, Chief was never indicted and was finally asked to make an appearance in a federal courthouse.

Chief claimed that his tribe’s Constitution clearly described and outlined what lands they owned going back over seventy five years and that the U.S. Government failed to recognize their treaties and Constitution covering sovereign land. A judge who drove up from Lower Michigan didn’t see it that way and told Chief to go to Duluth for ten months and pay a fine of $47,000 covering the removal of trees and court costs.

I helped Chief draft several letters to appeal his case as he knew I could write. This helped our relationship, and the fact was Chief respected my business background. We just liked to argue about stuff and I could get him wound up faster than anyone over a game of spades. When we were partners, we spent more time verbally jabbing each other than playing cards.

He began to teach me a few words of Chippewa but just couldn’t deal with my enunciation. It was easier to call him Chief than Bob, and I did that out of some respect for him. If I called him Lone Wolf or Mainga in Chippewa, he would start growling at me and turn into a grump. Chief, what should my name be? I asked him one day. He thought about it for a moment and said, Walking Eagle. How did you come up with that? I asked. He replied quickly and said, Walking Eagle, you are so full of crap you are too heavy to fly.

Chapter One

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I’m a simple guy who came from a good middle class family that stressed values, politeness, and courtesy to others. My dad grew up in Chicago, was a practicing Methodist, attended college at the University of Illinois for three years, enrolled in the Navy in 1950, and later completed two years of studies at Boston University completing his degree. While in the Navy he was stationed at the submarine base in New London, Connecticut. During this time, he worked at the base radio station and decided to be a professional sportscaster.

My mother was born in New York City and spent her first seven years living in Barranquilla, Columbia before moving back to the Borough of Queens. The product of immigrant parents, her father was 100% Italian and her mother 100% Venezuelan, she was raised to be a Roman Catholic. Spanish was the main language spoken, followed by English, and my grandfather added some colorful Italian to the mix.

Mom did not take a conventional route as a teenager and young adult. She graduated from high school at the ridiculous age of sixteen in 1944 and was deemed to be too smart. She then studied accounting and finance for two years at Queens College, drawing the attention of an international exporting company in Manhattan who hired her at eighteen years of age. While many of her friends were getting married out of high school or in their early twenties, mom was forging a business career in the world of numbers right along with the men.

How mom exactly met dad was not totally clear to me until only a few months ago. As she approaches her eighty fourth year on this planet, she remembers the meeting quite clearly. I may as well admit what might appear all too obvious to any interested party or reader. I am embarrassed about my own incorrect assumptions and not knowing the real facts.

Dad enjoyed visiting the Big Apple on weekends from Connecticut. He travelled alone and sometimes came with friends hitchhiking or taking the train. Once a month on a Saturday, mom worked at a mid-Manhattan Catholic canteen serving meals and refreshments. One Saturday during the summer of 1952, dad walked up to the serving table and asked for freshly squeezed orange juice. Mom recalls just laughing at him, but dad was persistent.

She served him regular orange juice and they started talking. There was a dance two floors up and dad invited mom to join him. Then, he asked her out for a drink. After consulting with her two girlfriends, mom took a small leap of faith and enjoyed dad’s company. He asked for her phone number and proceeded to call her one week later from the Navy base.

A courting dance had begun, and my dad to his credit honed in on the grand prize. This process took almost two years to play out as my mom and her proud Italian father slowly relented to dad’s overtures. Even after dad finally said the inevitable words of I love you, mom directed him to ask her father for his blessings regarding marriage. That’s how matters of the heart were handled back then.

Mom and dad were married July 1955 in Queens, New York. In January of 1957, my dad moved to Waterloo, Iowa to join a small radio and television station handling their sports department. This lasted about six months until he landed a better position in Lexington, Kentucky for a larger radio and television station. He drove back to New York City to rejoin mom prior to me being born in July 1957. Leading up to this joyous event, mom had continued her outstanding work for the export company and received several promotions.

After I was born in Queens, New York we drove to Lexington so dad could begin his new job. He did a great job and was highly thought of. This assignment lasted one year. In the fall of 1958, dad continued his rapid climb in the broadcasting profession beginning with a significant job opportunity in Birmingham, Alabama as a sports anchor for a larger television station. He covered all sports including broadcasting minor league baseball.

Thus began a series of moves to New York City, New Orleans, and Kansas City that spanned seven years. During this time, the Faris Family expanded with the addition of two more boys in 1960 and 1962. I am proud to note that in addition to mom running our household, she also managed to work part-time in finance positions helping business owners with their bookkeeping. Her dual roles made her by definition a true anomaly, and there simply were not many women doing this in the 1960’s.

Once our family moved to Kansas City in 1966, my father had reached the pinnacle of sports broadcasting taking over as an announcer for professional baseball and football. He was well known in the community and well respected in his profession. Despite his heavy travel schedule, our family was tight-knit. Mom ran the household like a Swiss watch. My dad and mom attended many of my sporting events that included baseball, golf, football, and hockey.

We lived in a nice suburban neighborhood that was rapidly expanding to the southwest of the downtown area on the Kansas side. My brothers and I fit into the school system quickly and there were always decent neighborhood kids to play with. My parents also made friends quickly and we were a happy family.

In fact, I could not have asked for more supportive parents or a better childhood. They emphasized taking school seriously and doing my homework. My dad was talking to me about colleges as early as eleven years of age. One of his favorite sayings was, Make something happen today. He was not a fan of the Vietnam War and didn’t want me throwing hand grenades in some Cambodian rice patty field. He wanted me to be successful and continuously stressed outworking others to make that happen.

My family always emphasized the importance of consideration, courtesy, and respect. At an early age I had a deep-seated respect for the phrase Yes Sir and Yes Ma’am. We wrote thank you notes to friends, relatives, and acquaintances. We were taught to tell the truth and admit our mistakes. Honesty, accountability, and responsibility were major themes in our family. When I answered the phone, it was Faris residence, this is Mark speaking. Anything less than that quickly put me in hot water, particularly with my dad.

Regarding our religious persuasions, it was mom who took us to church and did her best to bring three boys up as practicing Catholics. Attending church was a high priority in our household. I received my First Communion and Confirmation followed by both of my brothers, Chris and Andy. We were expected to keep our rooms tidy or forfeit our allowances for a week. I started mowing the yard when I was about twelve years old and also pulled weeds that accounted for a portion of my allowance.

One of the great benefits of having a dad as a well-known sports broadcaster was the constant introductions to major league sports figures. In the 1960’s and 1970’s professional athletes were classy and spent more time making themselves accessible to fans. I can’t recall how many Hall of Fame athletes I met or who were at our house, but the highlight had to be meeting Mickey Mantle in 1968 prior to his retirement.

I came home from school in May and mom asked how school was. I provided the standard kid’s answer of Fine. She then told me to go say hi to dad and a friend of his. I entered the living room and initially saw the back of a muscular and wide shouldered man. When he turned around, my dad introduced Mickey Mantle to me. I remember turning a bit numb, my jaw felt like it unhinged, and my eyes were really big. Nice to meet you Mr. Mantle I said. He replied, It’s my pleasure Mark, and you can call me Mickey. We talked for thirty minutes about school, my interests, and what sports I was playing. It was unforgettable and I was blown away by his sincerity and interest in me.

We lived in Kansas City for six wonderful years and I made all sorts of friends. My favorite friends were Maureen, David, and Cindy and we called ourselves The Gang. There was one adult outside of my mom and dad who would unknowingly become the most influential person in my life. Her name was Cate Greenway. Cate became our friends and had a magnificent wishing well located in her field under a sprawling oak tree. My fascination with wishing wells began with Cate.

How certain people come into our lives and why is not a question I have ever been able to answer with any clarity at all. Cate befriended The Gang and was a spiritual and guiding light for us. There was something about her personality, being, and her presence that simply stood out from the very beginning when we first met in the summer of 1971, and has stayed with me to this very day. I count my lucky stars to have met Cate, knowing full well that her presence has been very powerful through my ups and downs spanning over forty years.

My parents did a great job of teaching, developing, assisting, and launching me in the proper direction so I could experience a productive and meaningful life. Both mom and dad encouraged me to follow my instincts and pursue my dreams. I was blessed to grow up with loving parents who provided me with so many opportunities. They prepared me to be successful and I wanted to experience that as my chosen career in sales commenced as a young adult. I did not wish to disappoint them.

One of my favorite interests was reading the newspaper and various business magazines. I soaked up as much information as possible. Besides the sports section, I regularly read the local news and business sections. As the U.S. economy rapidly expanded in the 1980’s, it seemed like business people were regularly getting into trouble and breaking the law. This led to them being sent away to prison, and I always shook my head in amazement asking myself and others just how stupid can a person be judgment wise?

Never in my wildest imagination did I think I would be one of those business people who crossed the line, broke laws, and ended up in a federal prison. This wasn’t part of my life plan. I thought I was able to discern between right and wrong, recognize this distinction, and utilize common sense. My lack of Christian faith and spirituality allowed my greed, entitlement, and arrogance to take over. Me became most important. Somehow, I managed to accomplish the unthinkable and be rewarded with a prison number 13348-041.

Chapter Two

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Thus, the story begins. I close my eyes gently to the point where my eyelids are covering the tops of my eyeballs. Some drowsiness sets in as I begin drifting back in time. I start to spin quickly and fly sideways like some propeller in a large gray circulating cloud. Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down—as the ground is rapidly coming into view. Hold on! Hold on! Bam! I cannot move and the wind is knocked out of me. It is hard to breathe, and crap did that hurt.

I have landed in an undeveloped area of grasses, weeds, and rocks directly across the street from my house. It is 1971 and I am fourteen years old. Look, there is my mother in our front yard on a long lawn that stretches and curves with the street. She cannot see me as I enthusiastically wave at her.

Directly behind the area is a long and winding stream called Rushing Waters. My friends and I really liked to play and explore along the creek. We were a self-named group called The Gang-comprised of Maureen, Cindy, David, and me. Having known each other for a few years and attended the same elementary school, we were friends and playmates.

Often, we would skip rocks along the shallow water, and just mess around like most kids. A game of hide-and-seek usually followed. David and I usually lost as we rarely could find the girls. They were quite clever and quiet, and seemed like ghosts to us. When it was our turn to hide, we utilized every trick in the book including moving leaves to cover up our footprints or other indentations on the ground. It hardly mattered because our steady giggling generally revealed our location.

One time in the middle of the summer of 1971, we covered ourselves up in leaves and lay down on our backs. David and I believed we finally had lost the girls, and it was the only time that we managed to control our excitement and not laugh. We actually believed that Maureen and Cindy would not find us this time. Our beliefs were misguided in many ways, and we were discovered despite doing everything to control our breathing and movements. Cindy found me first and said, Got you got you, we found you boys. Now that we found you, you are our toys.

Maureen was no slouch either in the discovery department. That girl could see for what seemed like miles, and with her black shining hair she sort of looked like an Indian princess, like Pocahontas to me. She might as well have been one with the wind as far as we were all concerned. Maureen wore braces and David needled her about that, claiming that sunlight reflected off of them. It is true that my friend had some distorted views, one being that this somehow allowed Maureen to redirect light to expose unseen objects.

His theory was crazy, and I attempted to remind him on several occasions that I too was a recipient of steel covering up my teeth. Not once did he mention any special powers I possessed. I think in a crazy way he had a small crush on Maureen and who could find fault with him? Without saying as much, I think David and I realized one very important fact. What if my braces and Maureen’s became interlocked with one another and we couldn’t be pulled apart? This was a potential scenario and disaster that needed to be averted at all costs. Besides, Cindy and I liked each other. The Gang liked each other.

Cindy had long auburn hair with just the right combination of red and brown color. She was a pretty girl and a natural detective. How did you find us? I asked with a look of disbelief on my face. Cindy looked at me with a deadly smile and said, Your white shoestring silly. I remember thinking how ridiculous that was. She said that my very long white shoestring could be seen above the leaves, and my left shoe was untied. Frustrated, I swept the leaves off of my body, quickly stood up, and looked down at my shoes. Detective Cindy was right. My left shoe was untied, and both shoes were full of dirt and grime.

Now David thought that I really liked Cindy. He always needled me about it too. There wasn’t any question that this was true, and I did convey to him that there might be feelings exceeding what I was willing to admit. At the same time David had a crush on Maureen and his face showed every bit of it. He never denied his feelings. When the girls won at hide-and-seek the worst part for David and I was hearing that awful chant for the rest of our play day: Got you, got you we found you boys. Now that we found you, you are our toys. This made our tummies gurgle, but rules were rules when playing with friends. Cindy and Maureen remembered all of the rules that were agreed upon in advance. No matter how hard David and I tried to maneuver around them, we were called out all the time.

We knew for some time that the creek was really long and winding. Having never explored much of it before, the Gang decided to take off and see where it went. The girls let David and I take the lead, as we knew they were afraid of critters and snakes.

Mom always worried about me walking along the creek, walking in it, or walking in the surrounding grass fields of our still largely developing town. Beyond our house and the creek were vast stretches of farmland. Once mom knew who I was playing with and where we planned to go, she insisted that I find a two or three foot branch to poke and prod around with. After all, in these parts, there were rattlers, copperheads, water moccasins, and various critters lurking about. This was Kansas people, and these kinds of devilish critters liked to play their version of hide-and-seek.

We walked along the winding and curving creek for a bit skipping rocks and whistling tunes. One of my favorite tunes was Dizzy and it was hard to remove it from my head once the first words began. Here we go. One, two, three, four:

Dizzy, I’m so dizzy my head is spinning

Like a whirlpool it never ends

And it’s you girl making it spin

You’re making me dizzy.

First time that I saw you girl, I knew that I just had to make you mine

But it’s so hard to talk to you with fellows hanging round you all the time

I want you for my sweet pet, but you keep playing hard to get

I’m going round in circles all the time.

When I looked at Cindy, I saw whirlpools of water rushing in and circling around. The truth was that she made my head spin, and I liked her more than I would admit to David or Maureen.

The Kansas summers were quite hot and humid, and much of the creek was lined with various trees. Some were snapped and bent over with branches that dipped in the cool water. Others were upright and provided needed cover from the sun. Small fish swam about and many bugs would tap the surface attracting their attention. I decided to step out of the water and on to the bank, as time had flown by and we needed to determine our location. I moved one dead tree branch and then pushed a small trunk out of the way.

And then, I saw it out of the corner of my eye, neatly camouflaged in the brown and orange leaves, on top of the dirt. It was a brown copperhead in a semi-coiled position and he was too close to my right leg. Someway, somehow, and instinctively, I poked that snake in the head with my branch. I jabbed at it again and the branch connected for the second time. My voice was loud as I shouted, Get awaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay from me.

One last time I thrust the branch and it went through the snake’s neck as I lifted it off the ground. It was over two feet long and squirmed for a minute or two until dying. I couldn’t believe what had just happened and my heart was racing. The branch had turned in a quasi-spear, and I felt like I had triumphed in my first fencing class.

Behind me, David and the girls had heard the commotion and arrived at the scene. They saw the dead snake on my branch. David said, Wow man, what happened? Any attempt at answering him was quickly drained out by Cindy and Maureen’s loud screams. I could tell they were frightened and grossed out. Cindy said, Mark Faris, get that dead thing––it is dead isn’t it?––out of my face or I’m going to as her voice slowly faded away. I