By Jim Osterman
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
ATLANTA — They are called first responders. It is as if there are also second and third responders of note to house fires, traffic accidents, bank robberies and the like.
The men and women who serve in our police and fire departments are the ones who come running when the alarm sounds. They don’t take time to ask why something happened. They don’t assess blame. They don’t ponder the existential. They just come running, not knowing what level of precipice awaits.
In exchange they get unpresuming pay and long hours. Most of us get to plan what we will do when we retire. They are compelled to view the future as an iffy proposition.
There has never been a time as an adult that I did not understand these people were heroic beyond the pale. Professional athletes, Hollywood stars, best-selling authors and the like can be many things, but not heroes. And I thought I fully understood that, but I was wrong.
My wife and I were out walking the morning of Sept. 11, 2001. I broke off early to make an appointment and heard a radio report an airplane had hit one of the twin towers in New York. At the time, some thought this was a private plane with a deranged pilot.
It’s gut-wrenching that story line would have been preferable to what did happen. While the rest of us were glaciated in disbelief and fear, New York City police officers and firefighters ran into the burning buildings.
They didn’t stop and think about the danger. Some knew they wouldn’t come out.
That became the day I truly saw the heroism of first responders in specific relief.
In the days ahead, while the rest of us shut down after the attacks, our local police and firefighters got dressed and went to work. We didn’t ask if they needed the same down time we took. We expected them to be there.
They didn’t get to close their offices for the week. Next to those who lost family and friends in the attacks, their hearts were likely the heaviest. There but for God’s grace.
Please, someone, explain how does one fortify for a job like that?
What is it like to leave your family to go to that job? How do you listen to people complain when their employer takes away their parking pass?
This week we will be inundated with remembrances of 9/11/2001. We will talk about lessons learned. Or we may wonder if we truly learned anything. We will light candles, hold hands, remember, weep and pray.
And then the next day will dawn and it will be back to the grind. As ever, our first responders will be there, where we ask them to be. Where we expect them to be.
Jim Osterman has lived in Sandy Springs since 1962.
Copyright 2011 The Atlanta Journal-Constitution