Heroism is Often Silent

This morning's newspaper informed me in graphic detail about allegations that a military police officer "aided the enemy" in Iraq. But that's not why I bought a newspaper today. I was looking for something else.

I was looking for a story of heroism.

I paid my twenty-five cents (only the second time I've done so this year) because I wanted to have a printed tribute to a hero whom I've been privileged to know, perhaps even tuck it away for a few years until I can pull it out and show my kids. So I paid my twenty-five cents.

I feel cheated.

I took the time to read the News section from start to finish. There was no report of heroism. Instead I read about the Dean of Admissions at MIT resigning after building a 28-year career based on fraudulent transcripts, Mexico City legalizing abortion, and a new book by a former CIA director claiming the president made him a scapegoat in 2004.

Heroism is gone. Deceased. Nowhere to be found. Not in the News section anyway.

But why was I searching for a story of heroism in today's paper? Actually, the reason is quite simple: because I didn't see one in yesterday's paper. And why does there not being a story in yesterday's paper mean that there should be one in today's? Because the newspaper got the first half of the story right, after Wednesday morning's fire, and I'm still waiting for the second half.

After thumbing through the printed paper, I search the online version. No luck there either.

Fifty cents and two days later, I know plenty about the fact that a child died in a fire on a military base here in Alaska on Wednesday morning, but almost nothing about the child who was saved.

A four-year-old child was flown to the Harborview Medical Center in Seattle on Wednesday because none of the hospitals in Alaska are equipped to provide advanced burn care. The story of why this child is still alive is what I was hoping to find in today's paper. But it was not to be. Heroism is often silent.

Question: A man died last week, named Liviu Librescu. His webpage is here. He was a Holocaust survivor, an Israeli-American born in Romania. He was an accomplished scientist with a Ph.D. in fluid mechanics. You can see from his webpage that he was an accomplished professional. He died last week at the age of 76. With so many hints, surely you know who I'm talking about and how he died. Right?

Alright, so how did he die?


He died in the line of fire.


He put himself between a murderer and his 23 students, all but one of which escaped. Liviu was shot five times, and died holding the door to his classroom at Virginia Tech. You can read about it at Holding out for a Hero by Scott Crocker and Blocking the Door by Judith Kleinfeld. Personally, I like the parallel Judith draws between Professor Librescu and Horatio at the Bridge:

"...Then out spake brave Horatio,
The captain of the gate:
To every man upon this earth
Death cometh soon or late.
And how can man die better
Than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers
And the temple of his gods?"

Kleinfeld also includes the final lines of the poem:

"With weeping and with laughter,
Still was the story told
How well Horatio kept the bridge
In the brave days of old."

But it seems the days of oft recalled deeds of heroism are themselves but a distant memory. The press would much rather focus on psychoanalyzing the killer and discussing who's to blame. If you mean to talk of Liviu....you may need to bring up the topic on your own.

But what of our young child and the fire?

Interestingly enough, after doing a thorough online search, I found one organization taking credit for the rescue. Firehouse Magazine has decided that the firemen performed the rescue.

Actually, the firemen were not the first people to respond. On Wednesday it was the police who were first on scene and notified their firefighting colleagues of the blaze. The rescue took place before the firemen had even arrived.

What the newspaper did not mention is that an off-duty police officer in my unit was driving by, saw the blaze, grabbed a jacket to cover his face, and entered the smoke-filled house despite ridicule. With zero visibility in the house, he found the child and carried him out, and has the burns to prove it.

The line of fire. He walked into it when no one else would or could.

We all had the chance to hear about the military police officer in Iraq today. How about the one in Alaska? Call me biased, but I think we should have read about both stories.

I well remember some of the firefighting training we went through in California as Fire Explorers before I joined the military. I vividly recall one training event in particular that we called "The Smokeroom". The task was simple: navigate the perimeter of a room in which you could see nothing and in which most anything you touched, including the floor, would burn you. I remember it being so hot that it burned you.....even though I was fully suited up and was moving pretty fast through the building.

I was in full gear, with a Scott on my back at the time. The soldier? He was wearing only his fatigues after coming off graveyard shift on Wednesday morning. And he had no air pack.

I thought my experience was hard.

Praise God for those standing in the line of fire on our behalf. Their stories are worthy of our attention.


"...That others might live."