Local Hero

Salena Zito is a national treasure. She writes for the Washington Examiner, the New York Post, and the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, and her columns are generally uplifting and inspiring. What else would you expect from a column that she calls "Dispatches from The Middle of Somewhere"? ("In my estimation, there is no patch of geography in this country that is the 'middle of nowhere.' This is America; everywhere is the middle of somewhere.") Her recent column in the Washington Examiner is well worth the time spent reading it. It reminded me that I spend too much time worrying about our self-inflicted wounds of inflation, gasoline prices, food shortages, and addiction to opioids, and not enough time dwelling on the good things that happen every day. This column is my attempt to make up for my past posts that, quite frankly, could depress a hyena.

This is a true story about a local hero. Very few people know about his heroism, and with good reason: it occurred nearly 23 years ago. Our hero was, at the time, 11 years old.

The lad was spending some vacation time with his father, on South Beach, Bald Head Island, NC. He struck up a friendship with another lad of approximately the same age, and found himself at the beach with his young friend, and the young friend’s family. His new-found friend had a half-brother, approximately 18 months of age, a mother, and a step-father. The mother and step-father were in the ocean, enjoying the calm seas, the toddler was in a trough or ditch in the sand, about a foot and one-half deep, that ran along the beach, parallel to the shore, and the two 11-years-old boys were sitting on the beach nearby, doing whatever it is that 11-years-old boys do.

A bit further out to sea, a big barge came drifting by. Big barges create big wakes. The folks out in the ocean noticed the wake, but by the time it came ashore, it created some excitement. The wake moved much further up the beach than the normal wave action, far enough to fill the ditch or trough containing the 18-months-old toddler with water.

Mothers are observant creatures. The mother of the toddler may have been floating out on the ocean, but she saw immediately what had happened, and she realized she would not be able to get to shore in time to save the toddler. So she screamed, in a voice recognizable by one and all as the voice of panic: “GET MY BABY!”

Our hero had not noticed that the toddler was in danger, but the voice of the mother made him look around. He saw what was happening, then turned to the toddler’s half-brother, expecting him to spring into action. But the half-brother sat frozen. So our hero, who later said “I just did what I was told”, hopped up and raced over to the trough.

He plunged his arm into the water at the point where he last saw the toddler, but the toddler was not there. The water in the trough was moving, probably towards the sea. Our hero moved a few feet down the trough and tried again, this time feeling the toddler’s arm. He pulled the toddler out of the trough: the poor little fellow was spitting up water. Shortly thereafter, the mother arrived and did what mothers do: she took command of the situation. The toddler survived, with no ill effects, and the mother was extremely grateful.

After the vacation, our hero returned home to his mother in Atlanta, who soon received a phone call from Ojai, California, inviting the young hero out to the toddler’s home. The young hero flew out to visit with the family, and had a grand old time.

In the intervening years, our hero would hear from the family occasionally, but with the passage of time come the transitions of life. Our hero graduated high school, went off to college, did some traveling, and eventually settled down in Asheville, NC. In those pre-social media days, it was difficult to keep up with folks who moved around the country, and our hero lost touch with the family.

Recently, the half-brother found our hero on social media, and contacted him. A few days later, our hero received a very nice letter from the mother of the “toddler” (now in his mid-20s), and, more surprising, a hefty check. The letter, which our hero shared with me, was one of the sweetest, most sincere letters I have ever read. The mother once again thanked our hero for giving her the opportunity to spend the last twenty-something-odd years with her younger son. She thinks of his actions on that day frequently, and offered words describing a gratitude that can never be fully expressed. She invited him to visit the family, now living in Mexico. Our hero wrote back. Their connection has been re-established.

This, my friends, is America. It is the lad who did something heroic, thinking he was only doing what he was told. It is the mother who recognizes that life is fragile, and that, but for the actions of an 11-years-old child, she would have received a wound that would never heal. It is about gratitude, and humility. It is about personal connections. It is about bringing us together, not pushing us apart.

It is the exact opposite of social media.