Heros

I've been thinking about moments of heroism. Every time I see someone on t.v. news labelled a hero, the person resists the label. Recently, there was a young woman who saw a trucker nearby in a terrible crash. His vehicle was about to be engulf in flames. She left the safety of her own car, in which her child was still strapped in a car seat, and she rushed to the trucker to pull this complete stranger to safety. These were two human beings of different ages, different races, entirely unknown to one another. She was a small woman; he was a large man. And by attempting to rescue this man, the young woman could have put herself or her infant child at risk. But the woman acted without hesitation. That's a hero.

There is something universal about these reports of heroism. In every case the hero says, "I only did what anyone would do in the situation." Or, "I did what I had to do." They are humble and grateful that the stranger was brought to safety. The hero acts without any guile, without self-protection or self-promotion. It blows our minds, because we've constantly been told that human beings are calculating and selfish. Yet in these moments of crisis, we see something quite different. We see deep, instinctive generosity. Even to the point of self-sacrifice, these people act to protect others. There's absolutely no selfishness. The consuming interest is the well-being of a total stranger.

In my experience, heroic action isn't as rare as we may think. It's not only someone like the Dalai Lama or some exalted spiritual practitioner, but ordinary people who will act this way. On a few occasions, a life-and-death-situation comes up.  I felt a need to act, and I just acted. In retrospect, it may look crazy, or it may look heroic. In each case, it may have saved a life, although I don't know for sure. But it wasn't at all about being noble or being admirable or being anything. There was nothing but the action. The moment simply cried out for the action, and --zap!-- it was done. And there's just about nothing more satisfying than those moments.

One time was when I was in law school in Berkeley. My four roommates and I had a party on a Saturday night. The living room was packed with people, most of whom I hardly knew. A man I did know slightly, a man named Alan, arrived looking very agitated. I saw instantly that he was carrying a gun -- and that he was pointing it. I moved toward him, and somehow I was in front of him immediately. I reached for the barrel and calmly took the gun out of his hand. I said to him, "No need for this here. I'll return this to you later." Amazingly, he didn't resist. There was this surreal, intimate moment -- when I knew he could kill me, since the gun that I was taking from him was pointed right at my chest. But instead, he let me take the gun out of his hand. Then I smiled at him and said, "Alan, you are welcome here tonight."

It sounds preposterous. I don't know what happened that allowed me the presence of mind to take the gun from a crazed-looking man. I don't know what allowed me to swiftly put myself in front of him, between him and the other guests. I don't know what released him from the anger that was besetting him. In retrospect, many other approaches may seem wiser. But I acted in the moment with my best efforts. And -- it worked. Alan stayed at the party, and he stayed calm that night. And when he left that evening, I gave him back the gun, but I urged him to consider getting rid of it. And I hope he did, but I have no idea.

There was another occasion where that energy of necessity arose and I acted. It may have saved a life, too, but it was less simple. The events occurred a number of years later in Washington, D.C. I'd gone to a play with a man I scarcely knew, a friend of a reporter friend of mine. He was a theater director from San Francisco, and we lingered after the performance so he could speak with the actors about performing the play. When we left the theater, the area was eerily empty, and I suggested we call a taxi. My companion wanted to walk, though, since it was a pleasant spring evening. Despite my misgivings, I agreed. Within a block, we were held up by a gang of at least four young men, one of whom shakily held a gun at us. Instantly, I opened my wallet, handing over everything of value, including my rings and watch. My companion, however, resisted. Seeing the tension of the situation rise, I swiftly took the wallet from my companion and handed over his cash to our robbers. Right then, the assailants melted away into the night. From my companion's perspective, he was humiliated not once but twice -- by the robbers and by me. He said he felt like the Cowardly Lion -- shivering and ineffectual. I tried to reassure him, but to no avoid.  I felt absolutely clearly that he had been a split-second away from being shot over a few hundred dollars. And I did what I had to do. Needless to say, I never saw the theater director again. I'm sure it remains a very unpleasant memory for him. But he survived. I have no doubt at all that I did what I had to do. And I would do it again.