Last Sunday, a passenger car hit the concrete divider on Tempe’s Loop 202 Freeway.
Bouncing off the wall and flipping over, it landed blocking off the HOV lane near exit 6, for Priest Drive and Center Parkway.
Just ahead, a driver saw the crash in his rear mirror and pulled over. He ran back to help, flip-flops flopping, in whatever way he could.
As he approached the car, another passing driver parked his truck behind the wreck, sheltering the crash site as he too rushed in to help.
But as they worked to aid the victims, who were trapped inside their vehicle, another car came speeding down the lane and did not stop.
It slammed into the truck full-force, and sent it barreling into the first crashed car, right between the two Samaritans.
The first driver – the one in flip-flops – lost his shoes and glasses too, as the truck blew by, knocking him back into the wall.
Dazed and bloodied, both men got back up and went to work, now with twice as many people needing help.
Eventually, police and other “first responders” reached the scene, but through it all the bystanders were helping — counseling, translating, and holding oxygen masks for the trapped and terrified wounded.
It wasn’t until hours later that they stopped to check their own wounds. In the calm that sometimes follows frenzy, one driver sought a hospital, for scraped knees and bloodied feet.
In the meantime, news reports were written with no heroes.
Which is how it often goes. To tell these stories, we look for flash or action. What exploded? Who was in it? How’d they die?
Real heroes, oftentimes, don’t make the cut.
It’s a strange thing, in our culture so obsessed with individuals. On the screen, the field, even the boardroom, we find great men and women to look up to.
But if there’s one thing our celebrity culture rarely celebrates, in truth, it is the hero. In life, they’re just not always that exciting. Heroes don’t wear tights, or have big muscles — in fact they’re usually quite average.
The “everyday” hero is by far the common type. To be a hero’s not an act of strength, agility or skill.
It is the simple choice, sometimes nearly automatic, to take a risk for someone else.
And that’s what’s in our old, great hero stories, though not always in their flashier Hollywood updates.
People acting against their strongest instincts – those of self-preservation, self-centeredness, and apathy – and taking on another person’s danger, this is what a real hero does.
Regular commuters who leave cars on busy freeways, running into traffic to help people they don’t know.
We’re all right to look for heroes; it’s a virtue we should each strive to embody, if just once. But heroism is a tough thing to prepare for. Working out or practicing won’t do it, and in most cases, it won’t earn you any prize.
To be a hero starts with caring about people, even those you might not know.
And it goes, in many cases, mostly unnoticed.
Reach the columnist at john.a.gaylord@asu.edu
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