METTLE MAKER #519: Non-Caped Crusader

When I was kid my friend Donald and I drew pictures of superheroes. We invented our own heroes and villains and imagined the incredible battles they would have. I wish I still had those old sketches to show you.

We often talked about what it would take to be a real-life superhero. We imagined how skilled, strong, smart, rich, and capable you'd have to be in order to be a real-life caped crusader. Our young minds greatly underestimated the dangers as well as the skills needed to pull it off -- and , that was the 1970s. These days, the state of forensic science and surveillance technology makes being a superhero impossible.

Or does it?

I still want to be a real-life superhero. I've just changed my definition. A superhero no longer looks like Captain America, Dr. Strange, Thor, Mr. Miracle, Moon Knight or Batman and Robin (some of my childhood favorites). My version of “superhero” has evolved.

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Back in the early 80’s, before I started martial arts, I was 80 lbs overweight and a fairly poor example of what an adult human male should be (inside and out). I was the assistant manager of a retail outlet called The Home Shop. It was a local, scaled down version of a Home Depot. My boss was Stan, a Vietnam vet who had been pushed out of the Marines after stepping on a landmine. He didn’t want to go — they made him go — he said he was fine. I believed him. He used to ride his bike about 25 miles as easy as you take out the trash, and he was carved out of wood. If I was going to choose an actor to play him in a biopic it would be Denzel Washington.

On one occasion we were closed for inventory, counting boxes in the back room. Months or years before, some nitwit had thrown a utility knife into a cardboard box with the blade extended. And after years of shifting and jostling, the blade was protruding from the lower edge of the box. One of the guys reached up to get the box down from the shelf and the blade slit his wrist lengthwise from the palm halfway down his forearm.

There was a shriek, and blood exploded from the wound like a burst waterpipe.

Stan was on him in a flash. He whipped off his necktie, tied it around the man’s arm, and used the ballpoint pen in his pocket to twist it tight, tucking it in so that it remained in place. He barked orders to call 9-1-1 and hold the door. He scooped the guy up in a fireman’s carry and ran him out of the back room, through the aisles of the store and out the front door, laying him gently on the sidewalk to await the ambulance.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said. “Just breathe deep and slow.”

That, ladies and gentlemen, is a real-life superhero.¹

For the average American, the chances of being involved in a life-threatening altercation are about 50/50 across your lifetime. You aren’t likely to save someone’s life by kicking a bad guy’s ass. But you are very likely to save someone’s life by administering first aid.

At least learn the 5 Bs of triage and the DRSABC protocol — see the pics above. And if you want to go deeper, take a Red Cross first aid certification course. Many are online, but hands on is better — and they’re actually fun!

No cape needed.

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¹ Stan did other things too. Once he saved me from an irate customer — a flannel-shirted hulk waiving a drip coffee maker’s broken carafe. The jagged edges of the glass below the handle, glinting under the fluorescent lights, are still clear in my memory. I’ll save that story for another day.

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SACRED READING FOR THIS SUNDAY

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