Who Americans Are
The media spends an inordinate amount of time trying to divide Americans. In a sick game of “us vs. them,” they try in new ways every day to divide us by race, class, gender, political persuasion, any possible way they can think of. Ultimately, it is all for political purposes, all designed to keep politicians in both parties in power in any way they can. Unfortunately, a lot of the time, it works, and we are at each other’s throats. But every now and then, we are reminded just how completely out of touch, and just how little, the media actually knows about the American people.
I don’t usually write this newsletter from a personal point of view. I write about the political topic of the day, what I think about it, and what I think others might think. This week is different. I felt compelled to relate an event that recently happened, and what it made me discover about every day average Americans. I don’t know if it affected others who witnessed it the way it did me, maybe I am just one of those sensitive writer types. Last week, my neighbor’s house caught fire. I was in the bedroom when I heard lots of cracking and popping, like firecrackers, and lots of people outside yelling and screaming. I looked out my front door and saw thick black smoke. My first thought, someone’s car was on fire. I looked out the back door, and the back of the house two doors down on the corner, whose backyard faces mine, was totally engulfed in flames. Even though I had hoped someone else had already called 911, that’s what I did. “Is this about the fire? They are on the way,” the dispatcher said. I could hear sirens getting closer.
I grabbed some shoes and headed down the street. In the chaos, I found my neighbor, asked if she was ok, asked if her significant other was out of the house, asked if her dog was out. Thankfully, yes to all three. It was then that I hung around with the rest of the curious from the neighborhood, wanting to be of any assistance to my neighbor if needed, but also, because I had never seen anything like this before. But it was what I began to witness next that may be the one thing that stands out about that horrible day. I watched total strangers, black and white, from all different backgrounds, began to pound on the door of the house in between the house on fire and my house, and knock on the front window, in an effort to make sure that if anyone was inside, they would be able to get out safely, as the siding on that house had begun to melt off. A few minutes later, I saw my neighbor asking if anyone had any bottled water. That’s when a man who had stopped to help, went to the rear of his SUV, and began to hand her several bottles of water. Someone standing nearby told me that my neighbor’s significant other had first done what many of us might have done, tried putting the fire out with the garden hose. When it became apparent that it was too much for that, again, total strangers stopped to help get him over the backyard fence to safety.
Total strangers helping an older man out of harm’s way. Total strangers offering a few bottles of water to someone whose house was ablaze. Even people from the neighborhood, if all they had at the moment to offer was a hug and some reassurance that things would be ok, they offered it. This was five o’clock in the afternoon. People who were on their way home from work after a long day, people coming and going from wherever it was they needed to be, stopped to help someone they didn’t know. I realized that, while we might still be weeks away from July 4th, this is what America really looks like.
Every day, we are bombarded by tales of rich vs. poor, black vs. white, and a whole other litany of differences among Americans. But when we need to help each other the most, none of those things matter. And at the risk of ruining a story about American exceptionalism, the kind Barack Obama says doesn’t really exist, to throw in a bit of politics, forgive me, occupational hazard, but it is scenes like this, that scare the bejesus out of politicians in Washington. They believe that if they keep us fighting with each other, we won’t pay attention to what they’re doing. The story would not be complete without mentioning the heroes of the Florissant Valley Fire Department, who do what firefighters every day do, and that is risk their lives to help others. We hope we never need them, but if and when we do, we don’t know what we would do without them. They even offered a bit of humor in an otherwise horrible situation. As a fireman climbed into one of the five firetrucks parked on a somewhat narrow older residential side street, I and another woman watched as he precariously maneuvered the giant truck in between cars and trucks parked along the street. With literally inches to spare, he successfully guided the truck out onto the main street. I gave him a thumbs up for some great driving moves, he looked down from the cab of the truck, with dark sunglasses on, and gave us a “hang loose” sign. Pretty funny.
I am grateful that my neighbors are ok, and now the repair process will begin for them. I am very grateful to strangers who didn’t think twice about helping someone they didn’t know in a crisis. Every year at this time, those same politicians like to talk about the “spirit of America.” I saw it in action.
