Back when I was in my late 20s, still ready dumb but all eager to make a difference in the world, I got tangled up in a life-changing caper late one night. A close friend called and frantically asked if I knew anybody who had a private plane. She said a real sick child needed to get to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital in Memphis – it was desperate – and the life-or-death situation was so bad that even the fastest ambulance might not make it.

So I called a great friend in turn and, before I could even finish the beg, he told me to get the child and the mother on the way to the airport and to meet his pilot at Krystal Aviation, or whatever it was at the time. It was wintertime; cold, raining and foggy, and as the pilot and I waited on the child in the hangar, the flier said the weather was so lousy we should wait awhile. The more we talked – it was already after midnight – he wondered if it might be too risky all together because the weather was severe in some places across the state.

In a very few minutes this station wagon roared up and the look on the mother’s face, as she cradled the wrapped baby, was what made the decision. I hurriedly helped the mother, her sister and the baby get situated as the pilot, already on the radio, got the starboard prop fired. I chokingly told them I’d been praying ever since I first heard.

But when I went to thank the pilot for going up on a night like this, he glared over his shoulder, “Where the (expletive) do you think you’re going! You’re my co-pilot, buddy, and the only place you’re going right now is Memphis! C'mon, let’s get these flaps up!”

That was my first trip to St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital and I’ll never forget it. The ride was rough but the baby was too sick to cry. The tight-faced pilot had the both engines wide open so it turned into one of those things where we all prayed silently the whole ride. When we landed there was an ambulance waiting as we taxied in and the pilot said we’d wait until daybreak, hoping the sky would settle before going back East.

So I got in the ambulance and roared towards town. The hospital, I vividly recall, looked like an oasis in the desert that night. I have never been happier to see any place in my life and I cried again just this week as the greatest hospital for catastrophic children’s disease in the world gloriously celebrated its 50th birthday.

When I was in the newspaper business I wrote reams of stories on the endless miracles that continue to be seen at St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. It is uncanny and every day. It all started when a struggling young nightclub comic needed $70 to get his wife and infant daughter out of a hospital.

The comedian just had $10 to his name so he went to a church and prayed to St. Jude – the patron saint of the hopeless – promising that if he could get just enough money to bring his family home by the next day, he would one day build a shrine.

The next morning Danny Thomas got a call to do a $75 commercial as a singing tooth brush for a radio ad. Danny, who will have a U.S. stamp issued with his picture on it in Memphis next week, made good on his pledge – oh, did he ever – and to this day no child who is treated at St. Jude has ever been sent a bill.

Why Memphis? Danny said he prayed about his vision long before he unlocked the doors the first day in 1962. As he searched for the idea location, he heard about a young black boy in north Mississippi who was struck by a car on his bicycle and soon died because there no hospital nearby.

In the last 50 years the world-famous pediatric hospital has helped pushed the survival rates for childhood cancers from 20 percent (back in the ‘60s) to 80 percent today and don’t forget a key policy at St. Jude is to immediately share any formulas, procedures or any other information with other doctors and hospitals anywhere in the world.

At one time Chattanooga was one of the top contributors to St. Jude – in patients, mind you. So back in the day we had mammoth fund-raiders and Chattanooga – long known for its philanthropy – has sent millions in donations over the last half-century. Wonderful efforts, like that of radio giant US 101, continue to this day and the hospital deserves every penny.

That first night we walked into St. Jude Children’s Hospital I marveled at the place. It was quiet, about 3 a.m., and waiting outside the emergency room they had an adorable poster of a teenaged girl, her head bald from chemotherapy treatments, with the words underneath: “God only made so many beautiful heads – the rest he covered with hair.”

I guess the taxi got me back to the Memphis airport around 7 o'clock that morning and the pilot, who had sat up all night, was drinking coffee in front of a small TV. I didn’t think he had seen me and he didn’t dare look around when he asked quietly, “Let’s hear it … ”

“Baby’s in intensive care but the doctors are really encouraged. They said the vital signs really perked up and the breathing is normal. The mom was asleep when I left. How’s our weather?”

“Don’t worry … this is already the most beautiful day I can ever remember.”

Like I said, stuff like that happens all the time at St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital.