I must have met John Ventura during a news directors convention in Las Vegas sometime.  I have no memory of him.  But a few days ago, when sorting through years of flotsam and jetsam on the top of my dresser, I came across an orange 3×5 card he must have given me sometime during one of our news directors’ conferences in Las Vegas.

John had a degree in pharmacy and had been a Navy corpsman.  But his real career was in newspapers and in public relations. He was the  editor of the Mohawk Valley Times in New York but wound in Las Vegas doing public relations. He was 79 when he died in 2011.

But John lived on with that card buried on my dresser top. It has some things he said and something somebody sent to the Times when he was the editor—a poem by William Arthur Ward that challenges us to be bolder than we think we can be—because unwillingness to risk anything means a person cannot BE something.

To laugh is to risk appearing a fool.

To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.

To reach out to another is to risk involvement.

To expose feelings is to risk rejection.

To place your dreams before the crowd is to risk ridicule.

To love is to risk not being loved in return.

To hope is to risk pain.

To go forth in the face of overwhelming odds is to risk failure

But risks must be taken because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.

The person who risks nothing does nothing, has nothing, is nothing.

He may avoid suffering and sorrow, but he cannot learn, feel change, grow or love.

Chained by his certitudes, he is a slave.

He has forfeited his freedom.

Only a person who takes risks is free.

The little orange card contains a couple of things he said originated from him. The first is dated  June 13, 1984 (which is probably about the time we met so briefly):

“It’s doing what you don’t have to makes you do it better!”

And the little card also has something he didn’t take credit for, but liked;

I’d rather be a “could be” if I couldn’t be an “are;” for a “could be” is a “may be with” a chance at touching par.

I’d rather be a “has been” than a “might have been” but has never been.

But a “has been” was once an “are.”

Wisdom on a little card from a man I do not recall meeting but I know that I did. Finding it on the clutter of my dresser was a kind of resurrection for John D. Ventura. It’s too late to thank him for sharing those words, but I do.