When Heroes Die

When Heroes Die
by Tom Foley

When I was a kid I never thought they would grow old, much less up and die on me. When John Wayne mounted up, tugged on the brim of that weather-beaten old Stetson and rode off into a fiery gold and crimson sunset, I knew I would see him again.

Sure enough, a few weeks later, there he was again on the big screen. This time as Sergeant John Stryker, leading a platoon of marines fighting their way to the top of Mount Suribachi in "The Sands of Iwo Jima." He did stop a bullet in that epic film, but even though I fought back tears and bit my tongue pigging popcorn, I knew that Duke Wayne would return another day.

I've had my share of heroes over the years; I still do. Writer Jim Bishop, achieved fame as the author of "The Day Lincoln Was Shot," and other best selling books. Even though he enjoyed the recognition as a successful author, Bishop considered himself, first and foremost, a news reporter. Jim could tap out words and mix them with just the right amount of Irish wit or pathos to evoke a satisfying smile or a tearful sigh ... signifying communion. Back in the 60's he lived in Sea Bright, New Jersey, and often wrote about the colorful characters who lived and worked in the local village. Jim Bishop inspired me to write.

Eric Sevareid, a foreign correspondent for CBS also made my list of heroes. He impressed my by his professional approach to reporting the news. Sevareid was the first to report the fall of France during the second World War. I had hoped to look like him when I grew older, you know, with that distinguished gray hair and impeccable demeanor.

Another of my heroes was the legendary sport fisherman, Lee Wulff. Lee could stroke a fly rod like a Stradivarius in the hands of a violin virtuoso. He had a passion for catching and releasing the Atlantic salmon that were enticed by his own hand-tied flies. Lee taught me the value of enjoying, yet preserving, this magnificent resource.

In the movie "Shane," the mortally wounded hero rides off into his last sunset followed by the young boy who loved him, pleading "Come back Shane, Shane come back." I know that you know that convoluted feeling of anxiety, resentment and loss. With age comes a keen awareness of reality and finality as you see your heroes bow and make their final exit. Yet, somewhere deep within my being a young boy keeps crying out. "Come back John, Jim, Eric, come back Lee."