Sometimes, when you look back across a lifetime, there are moments that seem ordinary when they happen but become extraordinary when viewed through the lens of time. In September of 1962, I was eight years old, my brother David Wayne was nine, and neither of us had any idea that our grandfather, Claude Hines, would save David Wayne’s life—and then, just thirteen days later, make a simple decision that may have saved both of ours. We certainly didn't understand it that way at the time.

Every now and then, life has a funny way of dropping something completely unexpected into your lap. You don't see it coming. You aren't looking for it. You certainly don't have it on your five-year plan. And then, years later, you find yourself saying, almost apologetically, “Oh, by the way, I once wrote speeches for Bill Clinton.”
 
That sounds like the beginning of a political memoir. It wasn't. It was the result of a struggling advertising agency, a martial arts tournament, a former television sports reporter, a Korean grandmaster, a governor, a little creative thinking—and one very nervous Taekwondo expert.

It was near the beginning of September 1962, and our family was about to spend nine months living in two different states. My dad, David F. Shaner, was an enlisted Navy Petty Officer who had received orders to report to the Naval Air Station Memphis in Millington, Tennessee, now known as Naval Support Activity Mid-South. He was being sent there for additional training before his next assignment and, hopefully, a promotion. The training was supposed to last only nine months, but my parents had a practical problem to solve before Dad could even report for duty.