Haverstick, 62, and dozens of volunteers figure out
the logistics. "Some wishes take one phone call," he
says. "Others have us going through back doors and over the
wall, making a tunnel, connecting dots, and doing whatever it
takes."
Haverstick's toughest challenge came from Lucious Newsom,
a minister - "the Mother Teresa of Indianapolis" - who
told Haverstick that he wanted help feeding hungry families in the
neighborhood as a way to celebrate his 90th birthday. "His
list of families was huge," recalls Haverstick, "but we
got churches involved, people called Kroger and Walmart for us,
and checks started coming in. We ended up collecting 1,250 bags of
groceries. The night before, I was up wondering how we'd get all
those bags delivered." But they did.
Last year, Never Too Late (nevertoolate.org)
spent about $70,000 fulfilling wishes, at an average of $300 each.
Haverstick relies on a steady pool of donors, as well as silent
auctions and golf outings. Whether someone's wish involves a
tractor or a plane, Haverstick can almost always find a loaner.
Haverstick's wish-granting idea
started much smaller and more local, near his hometown of
Indianpolis. "Back in the late '90s, I was looking for a
sense of purpose for the second half of my life," he says. As
a marketing director at a computer software company, he'd gotten a
taste of what it was like to grant people's wishes while managing
the firm's community outreach program. In January 2000, he began
soliciting wishes at the nursing home where his mother-in-law had
lived out her last days.
Haverstick wasn't prepared for the
first problem he encountered: getting people to actually cop to
their wishes. "I'd forgotten this is the Greatest
Generation," he says. "They are proud and independent.
They are not about to raise their hands and say 'gimme.' I have to
tell them that this isn't charity. This is a way of saying 'Thank
you for your years of dedication and commitment.' "
Eventually, the wishes began rolling
in. Every wish, though, has to be reasonable and affordable.
"Sometimes," he says, "someone will tell us, 'I
want to pay off my mortgage so I can be a full-time minister.' and
we say, 'Good luck with that.' " More often, the wishes come
from the heart - and can be surprising even to immediate family
members.
While Haverstick got the
charity off the ground, his wife, Cathy Kane, supported him
financially. "I don't take any money for this," he says.
"Cath has been there for me all these years while I got to go
out and sprinkle happy dust on people." Asked about his own
wish, he says, "This is it. Living vicariously through all
those wishes was my dream."