MAE JULIAN
Ordinary Heroes
There are those who look to celebrities, or people of note, to seek heroes. How often do we look around us, not recognizing the heroes where we are, those whom we know, perhaps in our own families? In our family we have our heroes. I could write about each one of them, but today I want to tell you about my brother, John.
From the beginning, he was a challenge to our mother. Perhaps he was a challenge to the world, itself, but how much poorer we would be without the benefit of his very presence on this earth. In childhood, he bore the overwhelming bane that afflicted many children of the 50’s…before Jonas Salk brought us the salvation of the Salk vaccine. I remember that John, as a little boy, was lying on the couch in the living room when Old Doc Summers came to our house and diagnosed him with no diagnostic tools other than his own eyes. John had polio. The fear that that word, “polio” struck in the heart of everyone at that time would be impossible to describe. Part of the panic was lack of knowledge of what caused it. At any rate, John was taken from us and placed apart where he would fight the first major battle of his life. Although he survived, he had much damage to the muscles of his legs. He lives, still, in constant pain, but complaining was something he learned early was not something he would indulge in. Somehow, he steeled himself against the pain, the crippling effects, the surgeries, the learning to walk again, and somehow, through that pain and survival he set himself up for life in a world that would never recognize him for the hero that he is. His path was not an easy one. Married young, and a father too soon, he battled his demons as he groped his way along in the darkness of inexperience and peril. He attended college for a while as he worked in the mean, hard environs of the factory. He sought his peace in the ease of the bottle, as alcohol offered a means of escape, even as it entrapped him in its unforgiving throngs of unmerciful bondage. I remember his telling of the lowest point of his life when he sat with a gun in his hand, his hand resting in him lap, thinking what a short distance it was from his lap to his head. One simple movement and he could end his physical, emotional, and mental pain. For whatever reason, perhaps the intervention of his higher power, his hand never made that short path, and instead, some time later, he went to a treatment center for alcoholics. He remained there a month, gathering the tools to go back into a world that felt hostile and unforgiving, if not hopeless. That was perhaps twenty years ago.
Today, I look at John and I am standing in wonder at his accomplishments. He did the hardest thing he would ever do, which put him in “hero” category in my mind. He faced his demons, rejected his dependence on alcohol, and began the long journey into a world that did not have the benefit of blurred consciousness. Facing the world head on, taking one day at a time, he retrieved his life, his sanity, and now gives the gift of his success to many others who seek his help. He gives back every single day of his life. His legs would not allow him to stand for long periods of time so the factory became a thing of the past. He ventured into working in an area where he cultivated his talents, which were buried inside himself. He turned to working with wood. His garage became his artist’s studio. He spends his days making beautiful frames, finished with the final stroking of the wood, using his hands holding a cloth with special oils. He gives the wood coat after coat until it pleases his eye. He waits patiently for the wood to speak to him, and tell him his task has been accomplished. He recently built a mantle for our fireplace, which is unparalleled in workmanship. He used aged white oak and it was made with the pride and expertise of a master craftsman. I will always treasure it.
Most evenings find John with an A.A. meeting going on in his garage, or he is meeting with men who are trying to find their way out of the abyss he was once in. It would be impossible to know how many lives he has saved. If you asked, he would brush it aside. He never boasts or accepts credit for the incredible contribution to humanity he has made. He lives in Waynedale, and is one of Waynedale’s finest. One does not need to make a million bucks or be held up in high esteem by adoring fans to be a hero. For John is, indeed, one of the many humble heroes that bless our lives.
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