I thought, as I watched him continue toward the shade of the next walnut tree, "I wonder: what is his story." To my amazement, it suddenly occurred to me that I knew the man. Embarrassed at my initial ponderance that brought on the thought, "I wonder: what is his story," my thoughts turned toward what I knew of the man. With that, I understood that his head was not down in sadness but in watching his careful steps.
It's not his name, but in order to protect his privacy and tell his story, I will call him Wess Spence. Mr. Spence is a common man and an unexpected hero, and he is the inspiration for this blog.
No one would have thought him a hero that day, watching him walk down that street, his head down. Some days later, I called Mr. Spence and asked him to tell me his own story -- something I knew about but had never asked him personally. He didn't hesitate, but I noticed that as he told his story, the main characteristic that came out was humility: he is a quiet hero. (Having a brother who is a retired firefighter, I immediately recognized this quality. "Is it common among firefighters?" I wondered.) He took no credit -- he just told it matter-of-factly, in the same manner I would tell another the recipe for cocoa.
This is basically what he said. Some of the facts have been changed, in order to further protect his identity.
Mr. Spence was born and raised in Illinois and joined the service in 1952. He fought in the Korean War, until his brother died in the line of duty. Normally, an only remaining son would be released from further duty upon the passing of a sibling, but Mr. Spence declined and completed his service to our country.
Soon after, Mr. Spence moved to the West Coast and took a job, but he found an ad in the newspaper for firefighters. He took the written exam, and I learned that he took first place among 36 other men, in spite of being a high school graduate, while many taking the test had college diplomas.
As firefighters do, he started at the bottom -- "hoboing for a year," he said. He explained that this meant that he was to show up wherever he was needed, working for any fire department that called. After this, he was called to one department.
During his time there, he tested and once again took top place in the exam to become a lieutenant in the department. As a lieutenant, he was expected to help train new firefighters, but later, he was called to another location to be the acting captain, although he understood that he would do so on a lieutenant's salary.
Although all firefighters must now qualify as paramedics, this was not so in the 1960s. However, Mr. Spence signed up both himself and his whole batallion to take paramedic classes at a local hospital. Many of the men had extreme doubts that they could take the classes, much less pass, but Mr. Spence had a simple, one-word saying his father had taught him, a word he had made his own: "Try." With this word, he encouraged his men, and every one of them passed, becoming full paramedics for the fire department.
He would not elaborate, but I learned that he moved on from being a lieutenant acting as captain to captain, then to battalion chief. As battalion chief, he decided that all the men in the department out of which he worked would sign up to be tested for becoming lieutenants. When they were told, many protested, doubting that they could do it, but just as Mr. Spence told the ones who had become paramedics, when they expressed their doubts, he told these men, "Try -- try, try, try." The result was that all 37 of his men made lieutenant, and many of them took the top marks over many others who took the test at that time.When I expressed awe at his successes with his men, he gently hushed me. "I'm just like everybody else. I did the best I could," he told me. "I tried."
Like my brother, Mr. Spence would not tell me about his heroics fighting fires, but I know something he would not tell me: in 1975, he went in a building, not allowing his men to go in anymore, and that building collapsed upon him. They didn't think he would live, much less walk again. But he tried and succeeded in this and many other activities thought impossible for him.
Furthermore, his is the first face most see when they enter his church on Sunday mornings. He greets each one with a huge grin, twinkling eyes, and gentle, encouraging words as he hands them that morning's bulletin. He is often the first to respond when his church's alarm company calls. He is there to do whatever he can when a work crew is called.
He visits the local fire departments, and recently, upon one of those visits, a new recruit answered the door. She recognized him and told about her fears regarding an upcoming test. Then she hesitated. She said, "But I remember what you have said. 'Try.'"
He went back sometime later, and the same lady opened the door. Upon seeing him, her face lit up. "You passed, didn't you," he said to her. Of course, her answer was, "Yes."Mr. Spence's son, in a recent conversation with him, spoke about what an asset Wess was to the departments he had worked in, wondering about his early retirement in 1976. Mr. Spence also regrets that early retirement.
Our firefighters are indeed people who live the hero's life, and many of those working in Mr. Spence's area were trained by him. I am sure it would boggle the mind to learn of the lives saved, the fires put out, the heroics of the men trained by Mr. Spence. It further boggles the mind to think of all those who went on to train other firefighters, remembering the lessons of Mr. Spence and the simple, one-word saying his father had taught him: "Try."
Next time I see Mr. Spence walking down the street outside my office window, I will remember his story as he told it to me today. I will additionally remember who got the credit for his story: not just his father but also His G-d.
