STEVE SMITH -- Family Time

On a shelf above my desk at home is a baseball in a plexiglass case.

The ball is autographed by former Chicago Cubs baseball great and Hall of

Famer Ernie Banks. Banks was a boyhood hero, second only to another

baseball legend, Willie Mays, who is unquestionably the best baseball

player ever to play the game.

My boyhood heroes also included the “Mercury Seven” astronauts, who

rode rockets to the stars with the sole purpose, it seemed at the time,

of trumping the Russians in the space race. It didn’t seem to matter what

we’d see or do up in space, as long as we were there to see or do it

first. Of the seven, John Glenn became a legend.

I was 8 when John Kennedy was murdered and I did not cry, although my

brother, Larry, did. Larry, 15, watched Kennedy’s funeral in front of a

television with a blanket on top stretching from the set to his head lest

anyone see his tears. A few years older and Kennedy probably would have

been my hero too. Now, I’m having trouble thinking of any politician, let

alone a president, who has qualified for the title of hero in the past 20

years.

So it was rather fortuitous, although I did not realize it at the

time, that I was called by a magazine to write about some Southern

California firefighters who went to New York on Sept. 17 to help at

ground zero. I got the assignment because Craig Reem, the magazine editor

who had planned to cover the story, got appendicitis and checked into the

hospital just days before deadline.

After several calls, I was hooked up with Capt. Paul Sebourn, who

coordinated the trip for all 26 firefighters. Sebourn, 53, is a

no-nonsense guy who took the job seriously and brought men who felt the

same way. My job was to interview seven of these men before and after a

Saturday photo shoot.

As we got closer to the weekend, I received more details, not only

about what these men did, but what they were prepared to do once they got

to New York. They went to provide support, but without a moment’s

hesitation, would also have jumped down any hole in the World Trade

Center mess to search for a body if asked to do so. They would have put

their lives at risk for total strangers just because it was the right

thing to do.

That’s what is so special about heroes. Wired differently than the

rest of us, they have the uncanny ability to decide what is and is not an

appropriate course of action.

With heroes, there is no hand-wringing, no hesitation or pity party,

only action. I like heroes such as these firefighters because they

believe that talk is cheap and action is everything.

My son, Roy, decided to accompany me on the interview, which I had

arranged to be held at a fire station near my house. In the days leading

up to the interview, I let him know very clearly that the men he was

about to meet were real heroes, men who aren’t rich or famous but who did

a very brave thing.

At first, it was hard for an 8-year-old to understand how men who did

not swing a bat or hold a microphone could be heroes. But the more we

talked, the more he began to understand that America’s real heroes live

in our neighborhood. They are the police officers, firefighters, teachers

and others who play an important role but do not seek the spotlight.

My son was unusually quiet around the firefighters that day, a silence

I attribute to awe from the buildup his dad gave these men in the days

prior. But he managed to get a few autographs and seemed to be having a

very good time.

The photographer, Mark Savage, had positioned the seven men on the

back of a firetruck in a way that reminded me of a famous photograph of

the Mercury Seven. Halfway through the shoot, one of the men, Jeffrey

Braff, tossed his goggles on the floor behind Savage. After the

picture-taking was over, Braff started to walk toward his car. My son

grabbed the goggles he left behind, ran up to him and said, “You forgot

these!”

Braff looked down and said, “Those are for you.” Most of the time,

kids will count their heroes based on cues they take from their parents.

The people who impress us are likely to leave an impression on them.

The following Monday, my son took the goggles to school to show his

teacher and his friends. Then he came home and asked me if I could find

him a plexiglass case for them -- just like the one holding my Ernie

Banks baseball.

* STEVE SMITH is a Costa Mesa resident and freelance writer. Readers

may leave a message for him on the Daily Pilot hotline at (949) 642-6086.