Heroism

It happened early in the summer of 1962. America was still reveling in post-war growth and prosperity, and we were enthralled by a charismatic young president from Massachusetts who appealed to our higher angels. Life was good.

I had just finished my freshman year at the University of North Carolina. I had snagged a great Navy ROTC scholarship that paid for all my books, fees, and tuition, plus a $50/month stipend which, combined with a few part-time jobs, covered room and board. I-95 was still in its infancy back then, and my hometown in Maine was a long haul from North Carolina. Commercial travel was of course financially out of the question, but I was blessed with plenty of shipmates and fraternity brothers that invited me to their homes for holidays, and I could always hitchhike home if I had the time. Hitchhiking in those days was still relatively safe, and, if you were in uniform, folks would pick you up right away.

So, there I was, just south of Washington on the northbound side of the Shirley highway, in uniform with my seabag slung over my shoulder and my thumb out. I had only been standing a half-hour or so when a gorgeous 1949 Hudson Super Six pulled over. The car was old and had plenty of miles on it, but the owner was clearly proud and had maintained it beautifully. He introduced himself as Sam, and I guessed he was in his late 40’s. I soon learned that he had served in the Pacific fleet during WWII and again in Korea. I was humbled – so far the extent of my military service had been going to class, learning to march, polishing my brass, and spit-shining my shoes. When I told Sam that later that summer I was going to ship out on the USS Intrepid for a 6 week Midshipmen cruise, it sounded pretty pathetic, but Sam thought that was great and he congratulated me.

Every once in a while, in the midst of regaling me with funny stories of life at sea and tales of daring-do, Sam would pause and say, “I helped build that bridge”, or, “I helped build this road”, or, “I helped build that building”, or “I helped build that tunnel”. By the time he dropped me off in northern New Jersey, I had come to the conclusion that Sam had helped to build much of America.

Although my relationship with Sam was limited to four hours or so, it left a lasting impression on me. As I matured over the years, I came to realize that Sam was a genuine American hero. John F. Kennedy, Douglas MacArthur, and even Audie Murphy had nothing on him. Sam defended America, he fought and bled for freedom, and his strong hands helped to build a helluva lot of the American skyline.

Oh, but Sam gave us so much more than those impressive structures. His spirit, his courage, his patriotism, his strength, and his skills embodied the American dream. He was the real McCoy - a true American hero. His great gifts to us live on in the wonder that is America – freedom’s best and brightest hope.

Thanks, Sam.