heroism: shifting the paradigm
by kelle olwyler

he · ro, n. a mythological or legendary figure endowed with great strength, courage or ability; a man admired for his achievements and noble qualities and considered a model or ideal. Webster’s Third New International Dictionary

John Berger, a British author and painter from the early 20th century, believed that a Bourgeois culture—the middle class—is not capable of producing heroes, only of producing idols.

“The idol is self-sufficient; the hero never is. The idol is so superficially desirable, spectacular, witty, happy that he or she merely supplies acontext for fantasy and therefore, instead of inspiring, lulls. The idol is based on the appearance of perfection, but never on the striving towards it.”

I agree with Berger. In a country whose overall modus operandi is consumerism and individual self-interest, only a very few will attain what is deemed legendary achievements or qualities. We bombard our children with the ideas of superheroes.

Anyone out there remember reading comic books and dreaming of saving a bus full of people, or a child drowning in the city park pond? Or dreaming of overcoming evil in the form of a nasty mutant who was powerful and smart, but not as smart as you? You wanted to stop bank robbers, and prevent broken dams from flooding towns . . . until one day you realized, “I can’t do those things!” And with your realization died your desire to be a hero. It ended up being a meaningless shell of an idea, because it seems impossible to fit our culture’s picture of what it means to be a hero.

Of course, there’s an advantage in having heroes that are beyond “real.” We don’t have to waste energy being invested in them; we don’t have to expend effort delving deep within ourselves to try to emulate them; we don’t have to feel ashamed that we are not stepping up to the plate, because, after all, being a hero is all but an impossible stature to attain. What freedom! We don’t even have to think about it!

he · ro · ic, adj. supremely noble, altruistic, or self-sacrificing.
Webster’s Third New International Dictionary

But hold on. What if we stop allowing the media to dictate that our heroes be people of extraordinary stature and vision in sports, cinema, business or government? What if we take the “supremely” out of Webster’s definition of heroic and bring it down to a more manageable, “noble, altruistic, or self-sacrificing?” And what if we include in this reframe that we don’t have to be these things all at once, OR ALL OF THE TIME? And finally, what if we learn and re-tell stories about real people like you and me that help us understand that heroism can look like many different things and be of many different scales in size and importance?

I know the stories are there, waiting to be told. I have thousands of them in a data-base, all garnered from people whom my associates and I have interviewed over the years. I estimate that of these stories, over 20% express some form of heroic action. Here are a few selections from my data base of “ordinary” people’s stories that shout “hero” to me.

Marisa, mother of 6 year old Tanya and 2 year old Terrie, was, along with her neighbors, concerned about the new teenager speeding on their block. It was a peaceful, family neighborhood, with children and dogs in abundance. When the boy sped by, neighbors on the street had taken to yelling at the boy and threatening him if he didn’t slow down. It wasn’t working. One afternoon, Marisa saw the boy drive by earlier than usual and fast as usual. It was girl scout cookie sale time, so she hoisted Terrie, and took Tanya and their golden retriever up to the end of the street where the boy lived. She rang the bell. Only loud music could be heard coming from inside the house. She knocked and rang until he answered. She introduced herself, her two daughters, and her dog. “We’re selling girl scout cookies and wondered if you would like to buy a box.” They began talking, he squatted down, talked with the kids, and signed up for 3 boxes of cookies. After that, he didn’t speed down their streets. “How did you know that would work?” I asked her. “I didn’t. Yelling at him certainly wasn’t. How could he care about us if he didn’t know us?!” Sam, the teen, now knows these children, the dog, the family. He could no longer ignore their safety, as they are now a part of his field of community. Sam is a frequent babysitter for her children and much loved by the whole family.

Sokhom Khin, a Cambodian man my age, arrived to become part of my mother’s family 25 years ago. She had met Sokhom and 6 members of his immediate family while she volunteered at Khao I Dang, a refugee camp in Thailand across from the Cambodian border. It was unusual for more than just a few people to have survived Pol Pot’s murderous regime, much less seven; they all wanted to stay together, a difficult situation for attaining sponsorship. My mother understood the heart of the matter—keeping them together —and sponsored them all. They moved into her house for one year while they adjusted to, for the first time, knowing they would not be murdered before the next day. Simultaneously, they were thrown into the trials of learning a new culture, a new language, and finding work that would keep them fed, clothed and housed. Sokhom’s story is not known by other than his family and my own. Somehow he escaped, obtained a bicycle, and stealthfully began determining the location of his parents and each of his four sisters. Some were imprisoned, some ill and weak with hunger. Literally burying himself in the jungle during the day and traveling at night, he found a way to help every member of his family escape, carrying each on his bicycle to a secret place where they lay waiting until together they could make their flight to Thailand. Once he delivered one family member to the secret hiding place, he went back for the next. When they were all gathered, he held them together as they buried themselves during the day and traveled at night until they were able to cross the border and get into Thailand. The weakest took turns being carried by Sokhom on the bicycle. His coworkers at the US Post Office don’t know this about him. He is an “ordinary” man, who performed a heroic act in one period of his life that ongoingly affected many people’s lives, including mine.

Lou, a pipe fitter for an oil refinery plant in Louisiana, did not complete high school because he had to go to work to support his family. Now in his 50s, he spends time every week repairing the homes of the elderly in his small community. In his county, if an elder’s house is not in repair, he or she is evicted and institutionalized. He does what he can to prevent that from happening by fixing screen doors, porch steps, water faucets, heating and electrical problems. They are a community of very proud people, and Lou knows they won’t accept charity and accepts payments for his services. “That’ll be $1.00 for the new floor boards, Miss Daisy, and 75 cents for repairing the front steps.” They count out the funds from the glass jar and hand them over. They don’t know that he’s just done $200 worth of work, and he doesn’t see the need to tell them. Their pride is intact, and his goal is accomplished. They are safe in their own homes.

Marisa, Sokhom, and Lou each performed a heroic act during a particular time and place. They vary in intensity and in importance to the people involved. Some are big, some are small, and some go on longer than others. But they are all heroic. Because of my good fortune to have access to so many of these stories, I recount them in speeches I give and in articles I write. When I hear them, they humble me and inspire me, and I find they have the same effect on others.

We can no longer afford to leave the heroic acts to characters in books and movies, nor to allow idols to fill the role of hero so we don’t have to do it ourselves. Just look around you in the grocery line, walk down the street, look at the people sitting next to you in your favorite restaurant. Each person your eyes touch has a story worth telling, a story that will inspire your heroic nature. Go find out those stories, tell them to your friends, your family, your children, your co-workers. Talk about what makes them heroic. And when you learn of someone who has done a heroic act, shake their hand and thank them for inspiring you to be your best. And then be your best . . . whenever the opportunity arises.

A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is braver five minutes longer.
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Kelle Olwyler, a management consultant based in Asheville, facilitates companies and executives to implementation of strategic plans and initiatives. She is an author and columnist, and is currently working on her second book, the subject of this article. [Kel Bergan Consulting;828-254-8049; kelbergan.com]