In this book, I pay tribute to the heroes of all states and stages in life. I aim to illuminate the stories and behaviors of heroes who sacrificed their lives in the service of others during the COVID-19 pandemic. Additionally, I aim to address the question of how leadership behavior influences Heroism? To answer the question, I researched theories of heroism and synthesized the materials. Further, I reviewed some established leadership theories with a focus on the research implications of leadership successes and failures. Finally, I explore the gaps between leadership expectations and shortcomings and how the leaders’ actions might have influenced heroism.
Today I walked a total of three miles from my home to the park and back. I wanted to jog to the park and back just like in the day; however, my body reminded me it was a different day.
What I learned on this walk is that sometimes our bodies remind us to slow down, observe the walking speed limit, and, most importantly, appreciate what you can do versus what you could do.
Today, as I strolled along the tree-lined streets, I observed the beautiful cottonwood trees and the tall majestic pin oaks with their stout trunks and lush green leaves painted against the deep blue background of the sky. I saw fields of corn with their rich verdant green leaves all pointing heavenward.
As several different birds sang overhead, I tried to distinguish the birds by their songs. I encountered a pair of raccoons busily foraging in the daylight. These are usually nocturnal creatures that seemed to have adapted to the bright sunlight. As I entered the park, I saw the fishes swimming, jumping, and playing in the water as they made ripples and sent concentric circles out from the point of their frolicking.
And then there was this family of ducks—beautiful greys and brown bodies, blue and green heads, and moving in unison. The father duck went ahead of the flock while the mother followed a bit behind with about 15 teenage ducks. Once they recognized my presence, the mother duck drew them close together and then gave me a warning to stay away. The father duck stopped moving as well to listen to the communication from the mother duck. I smiled because it was beautiful to see birds caring so tenderly and protectively of their children.
As I rounded the last bend towards my house, I couldn’t help but reflect on the news I received this morning that my youngest and remaining uncle died last night. I knew him well, and he lived life on his terms. But he is the youngest of eight children and is survived by three older siblings. Though he lived life on his words, I wondered if he ever took time to experience nature at its best. I asked whether he slowed down long enough just to walk.
I did not have the energy or motivation to jog this morning; however, I had a long, meaningful walk and connected with nature. I reflected on my history in this village, both the good and the bad. This village is where we raised our children.
I would like to encourage you to remember to take time to walk, even though you feel like a jog.
A while ago, I visited a church I previously attended regularly, and one of the parishioners walked up to me to apologize. Here is how her apology went:
I noticed when you come to church you avoid me, she said. She continued to say; I want to see Jesus. If there is anything I have done to you, please forgive me.
After that encounter, I was moved for a moment; however, I felt uncomfortable with the apology, but I couldn’t wrap my head around my uneasiness with the apology. This person had done some pretty nasty things as I recalled it. After reflection, here are some thoughts about that apology that bothered me.
First, she started the apology by scolding me. I noticed you don’t interact with me when you come to church. If you plan to apologize to someone, just get to it. Don’t try to make the other person feel guilty that you are apologizing.
Secondly, she said, I want to see Jesus before starting the apology. Starting the apology with a statement like that simply says, I am only apologizing because there is some benefit to me. Here is a different interpretation of the same lead-in. I need to clear my conscience. Your apology for previously offending someone should never be for your benefit. Instead, your apology should be because you have wronged someone, and you need to restore them if possible. If not possible to restore the person, for example, in the case of rape, then you need to reassure the person that you fully accept accountability for your actions, and you are genuinely remorseful.
Finally, she was never specific about her apology. I might have assumed she was apologizing for one thing while she was apologizing for something completely different. Apologies should be straightforward. Both individuals should know what and why you are apologizing and the remedy to prevent the same behavior. It would also be excellent while making amends if you shared how you’ve grown in the process so you would not harm others.
The lesson I also learned in this process is that apologies require more humility on the person receiving the apology than the person giving it. Why? If someone is humble and honest enough to provide a genuine apology, it takes humility on the aggrieved individual to forgive the person apologizing and to restore them as well. After this person apologized to me, I felt no different, and I did not forgive her at that point. Later in the day, after I had some time to think about it, I realized she was using the tools she had, and though I did not see her apology as sincere, I needed to accept there was an effort on her part.
Be ready and willing to forgive; however, if someone begins an apology with “if I have offended anyone or if I have offended you,” stop the person and ask them to be specific about their apology. Remind them of why they are apologizing and have them restart the apology. I believe this one action might go a long way to close the gap between a sincere apology and your acceptance and forgiveness of the apology.
It is probably better not to apologize if you don’t own it. Chances are, you didn’t see fault on your part.
I love wearing my Retired US Air Force hat. I love the memories that come with this reflection of my time in the Air Force. For example, I loved the historical significance of visiting Berlin before the wall came down. Traveling with my family from Frankfurt, Germany, in a heavily guarded and sealed train through Communist East Germany, I had a feeling of uncertainty about whether we would survive the ride without some military confrontation. I recall that we only had some small windows we peered through to see the Russian and East German soldiers standing along the tracks with their guns readied as the train very slowly inched its way into Berlin. I also recall that we were briefed not to make any contact with the East German soldiers and no obscene gestures. That was one of the eeriest and most uncertain trips I ever took with my family.
But I wouldn’t trade that trip for anything. My children physically touched the Berlin Wall, saw the graffiti, and learned what it was like to be isolated in your own country. More importantly, they experienced how physical and ideological walls separated families, friends, and governments. The Berlin Wall was the ultimate symbol of tribalism. Shortly after we visited East Germany, President Reagan admonished President Gorbachev by saying, “ Mr. Gorbachev, tear down that wall.” Indeed the Wall came down. Both East Germans and West Germans took hammers, axes, and their physical bodies to break down and remove the symbol of their division that had begun just after WW II. On that glorious night, autobahns that normally whizzed with Mercedes, BMWs, and Porches became clogged with East German Trabants bumper-to-bumper. In a constant stream of light East Germans abandoned their tribal divisions to seek loving refuge in the arms and homes of their West German families and friends.
As far as the East is from the West, I reflected on another tribal symbol and a deep division in ideologies. On assignment to South Korea, I visited the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ), a three-mile strip of land between North and South Korea. The DMZ is quiet, tense, and eerie. Nothing seems to move there, and there is no sound other than North Korean propaganda loudspeakers shouting nonstop propaganda and invitations to come to North Korea. Once again, here I was in this uncertain location caught between estranged families locked in their tribal battles. There were moments during that visit when I got that same feeling of concern crossing into Berlin. Here, I felt caught between two worlds, just miles apart, and I was not sure if I would make it out. These two examples bring me to the main reason that inspired me to write this article.
This morning, I awoke from a dream that troubled me. In my dream, I was attending a baseball game where the National Anthem was playing. Everyone was standing as the Anthem played. I remembered my conflicting thoughts standing for the Anthem. Here I was holding my Retired US Air Force hat over my heart reflecting on my service, Berlin, The DMZ, and the many exciting opportunities I had to serve our country. But then, in the middle of the Anthem, an announcer paused the Anthem to declare that we sang all stanzas of The National Anthem. The Anthem restarted, and the words projected onto the Jumbotron. The crowd sang with gusto. Then came the third stanza.
“And where is that band who so vauntingly swore, That the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion A home and a Country should leave us no more? Their blood has wash’d out their foul footstep’s pollution. No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave, And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.”
Everyone kept singing, some more loudly than others, while some just merely hushed in dismay as they were expected to continue singing. I instinctively fell to my knees and punched my clenched fist in the air, as I endured this demonstration of tribalism in our great country. By the fourth stanza, the voices had all but quieted, and that eerie feeling I felt crossing into Berlin and walking in the DMZ returned. It was at that very moment that I felt estranged from my country even though I was right there amid fellow countrymen. The silence was palpable. I opened my eyes and looked up and saw everyone around me, a mixture of all ethnicities gazing down at me with deep empathy. At that moment, I imagined what the East and West Germans felt at reunification. I projected on the scene of potential reunification between North and South Korea and what that might represent. But, then, I awoke from my dream, perplexed.
In the United States of America, we fought a war for maintaining unity between the North and South. However, today, we still have a divided North, East, South, West, and Central America. The boundaries, cultures, and tribes are well-delineated. We seem more divided along ethnic, political, economic, and religious tribal lines than any other time in my short history in America. There is a question that requires a discussion.
East and a West Germany came together because they were one people separated by a wall. North and South Korea are one people separated by the chasm called the DMZ. The question we must ask America is, since we are not of one ethnic family, what illusions must we tear down to make us one cohesive tribe? Or should the question be, is it necessary that we become one tribe working together, or should we retain the tribal uniqueness of each group and compliment each other for the greater good?
How often have you looked at the state of our world and wished for something better? How many times a day have you reflected on your experiences and longed for the peace. Have you yearned for innocence, and the tranquility of your childhood? I want to walk you through an imaginary journey of your rebirth. In this journey, I will challenge you to assume two states simultaneously. But before I explain the rules, let me share the scenario of your first state.
The date is today. The time is now. At this moment in time, the global tribes have launched all their nuclear weapons at their predetermined targets. Immediately after launching their atomic arsenals, the tribes unleash their chemical and biological weapons, followed by all short and long-range ballistic weapons. Every known tribe released its fire and fury from land, sea, and air on opposing tribes.
The world tribes continue to destroy each other with heavy artillery until the fuel and food are exhausted. Finally, hand-to-hand combat is all that is left to continue the fight. In the aftermath of the wars, secondary and tertiary detonations destroy the power grids around the world. The nations with peaceful nuclear power facilities watch as their facilities overheat and meltdown, annihilating everything around the power plants.
Food supplies become contaminated around the world. At the same time, the intense heat from the explosions significantly raises the temperatures of the earth, and the ice at the polar regions melt and flood large portions of the planet. Some remote and isolated tribes not affected by urban sprawl, become concerned for their survival, and quickly destroy each other in the search for food and clean water.
In this destruction of the tribes of the earth, your first state is one of nonexistence. Imagine you no longer have the power to create, destroy, love, hate, produce, or consume. However, you still maintain all your qualities, values, and behaviors before the catastrophe. You are now an abstract entity precisely the way you were when you were alive, but without the power to use any of the characteristics that made you uniquely you.
Planet earth is now wet, cold, mostly dark, and barren, except for one glimmer. In a small country in Africa, one isolated Masai tribe survived the chaos. This Masai tribe is a homogeneous tribe of 50 persons of varying ages and genders. They have no modern communications, never had any contact with any other tribe outside of themselves. They survived by raising cattle and goats for food. But more importantly, their only currencies are love, compassion, empathy, and tolerance for each other. They are in complete harmony with each other and their surroundings. Here is good news for you.
Here is your second state. Imagine you are one of these fifty members of this isolated tribe. You join this tribe with all your knowledge and experiences of the world you left behind. Your mission is to grow and expand this tribe to repopulate the earth. However, you must never introduce anything that would influence this tribe to devolve into sub-tribes. You must decide which elements, behaviors, characteristics, knowledge, skills, and wisdom you will employ to improve and grow this tribe.
Given this opportunity of rebirth, how will you seek to influence this tribe? Will you surrender your will to this tribe? Or will you try to remake them in your image? What might be the single most important thing you would consider in your rebirth?
Stan Brooks, PhD
Post note: The scenario presented above is only one button push away. All that is required is a single unrestrained narcissist.
Hi, I am Sedona Kia and I would like to share a story with you. I have several ways of communicating, but I am unable to write. So I have solicited the help of my friend Dr. Brooks to help me tell my story.
First, let me tell you a bit about myself. I am a foreign-born, a product of South Korea. That is correct. Same South Korea separated from our relatives in the North by the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ). I am a big girl, not too shapely, have some nice features, a nice grill, and lots of junk in the trunk. I am gray (better known as a mulatto) and have a few miles on me. Overall, not a bad ride.
Today, while on a trip, I briefly stopped at a four-way intersection. I could not help but notice that all ten cars stopped with me going in the same direction had foreign ancestry. A few Germans (VW, BMW, and Mercedes), a few Japanese (Toyota and Nissan), and I also saw one of my South Korean cousins, Optima Kia. I felt a bit self-conscious because right next to me was a sleek black SL500 Mercedes sporting the AMG badge. The SL500 was sleek, shiny, muscular, and had a low rumble like a prized lion in the jungle.
As I looked ahead at the traffic stopped from the opposite direction, all of the six cars stopped had foreign ancestry except for an elderly lone native, a typical white Dodge truck amidst all these foreigners. He sat tall in his lane, was brawny, and had the heart of a naturally aspirated Detroit motor. He was a bit shabby, a few scrapes, and could use a bath. However, standing there amidst all these foreigners, he seemed quite at ease with himself. He seemed unfazed by all the German testosterone and spirited Japanese crowd.
I then looked to my left and saw approximately six more cars of foreign descent and one lone member of the native Ford family. They were only three cars entering the intersection from my right, and they were also foreigners. As I patiently waited for my turn to proceed, I wondered what each of these cars was thinking. Were they judging each other based on their shapes, color, or national origin? Alternatively, were they just content to coexist at this great intersection of life peacefully?
The light changed for each portion of the intersection, and each of us went on our way. They were no loud noises such as horns screaming at each other or flashing lights announcing our self-importance. At that particular moment, we all realized that we had something in common, transport our occupants to their next destination safely.
I was not the sexiest girl at the intersection, but even as an immigrant, I never felt out of place at this great intersection of life. As I continued on my journey, I could not help but ask, “What if people were like cars”?
At the borders of American culture, the vast lands of opportunity appear bright and filled with promise for anyone who dares to challenge the gauntlet of obstacles to secure entry. From a distance, the theories of welcoming the poor huddled masses seeking some sort of refuge for their tortured souls project themselves through the facade of American ideological pro-Christian, pro-life propaganda with power. However, deep within the soul of America lies a tragedy not visible at the borders of our consciousness.
If our collective ideals and values are grounded in our Christianity, then our consciousness-raising should also find refuge within the walls of our society. However, if the core premises and promises of openness and acceptance were built loosely on a sandy bank of deception, then the overwhelming seas of hatred, bigotry, and hate easily tear down the fragile structures of our society. Once the perimeter of our idealized culture is laid bare by the effects of the waters of inherently evil men, then we are thrust into an ocean of public confusion. What then, is the fate of our consciousness?
What follows the collapse of our pretext then, is chaos at the borders of our consciousness. The majority of us might believe we have a moral duty to hold the torch higher and burning brighter as we guide the indigent to a safe harbor. However, the tragic irony is that we espouse idealistic Christian values of saving souls with a Bible in an outstretched hand. At the same time, we conceal a dagger of distress securely hidden behind our backs. America is a theater, and the tragedy playing on the center stage of our consciousness demands no curtain call.
Three students from Ole Miss University posed in the dead of night in front of the bullet-riddled Emmett Till Memorial. Their bodies holding the guns cast eerie shadows on the backdrop of the Emmett Till Memorial. The source of the lighting and identity of the photographer/s remain a mystery. As they posed on Centre Stage with their prized trophy, none of them seemed to be aware that America the Theatre where they performed was burning down.
Emmett Till, a black boy, did not sacrifice his life to advance the causes of Civil Rights. Emmett, barely fourteen years old, was falsely accused of whistling at a white woman, and he was brutally beaten beyond recognition, and his body dumped in a swamp. The death of Emmett Till is said to have been the catalyst for the Civil Rights Movement. The woman who accused Emmett and the three men who brutally murdered Emmett did not realize that tragedy playing on Center Stage of America the Theatre, was burning down.
In this particular scene, the three men holding guns with their shadows cascading across Emmett ’s Memorial represent the main characters in this tragedy on Center Stage. These three young men rehearsed and internalized their lines of hatred and racism so well that they become the characters they were supposed to be playing. These three young men were so well-rehearsed and trained; they became lost in their performances and did not realize America the Theatre was burning down. But they are only part of the script.
The camera crew, the director, and the stagehands memorialize this scene on film. The audience attending this performance cheer and applaud this tragedy as if they were watching a Disney movie. This group of participants in this tragedy gives legitimacy to and validation of the disaster on Center Stage. However, in their enthusiasm to reminisce of an era long past its usefulness and relevance, they inadvertently add fuel to the fire. They allow America the Theatre, to burn down. But they did not write the script.
Perhaps, the most significant contribution to this tragedy is the screenwriter. The screenwriter tells the story, knows the central thread from the beginning to the end of the story. The writer chooses the words for each act and scene. The writer decides the people s/he prefers to bring the script to life. In essence, the writer is the person who gives life to the idea and oversees the entire production. The writer sets the tone and mood of the whole show. However, in this tragedy, the writer is aware that America the Theatre, is burning down, a twist to the story often shared but easily dismissed as mythical.
Unfortunately, this tragedy in full production on Center Stage of America, the Theatre, is not a single production. This tragedy is a franchise of hate and intolerance currently playing in every corner and hamlet of America. The screenwriter has given free unlimited use to anyone willing to promote this tragedy. Though Center Stages are burning in every theatre across the country, there is still hope that the attendees might feel the warmth of love and tolerance and use them to douse the flames of racism and bigotry. There is yet an opportunity to salvage America the Theatre.
For the record, we raised our children in Lebanon, IL. Our home was a place of refuge and gathering for many of the neighborhood children from the local high school and village. We are Christians and believe in opening our hearts and home to those in need, whether physical, psychosocial or just a listening ear; in essence, giving back. One of the things we routinely did, was invited total strangers in our home. I once recalled coming home late one night and saw a hitchhiker on the highway. He was dirty, smelly, and hungry. I picked him up and brought him home without any advanced warning. Jeanne (my spouse ), never asked any questions, she just invited him in. While Jeanne prepared a hot meal for him, I showed him where to shower and clean up. After he was cleaned, he ate, then I took him back to the interstate so he could continue his journey. Bringing strangers home or feeding the needy was not unusual for our family.
I grew up in Chimborazo, and neither my mother nor my father ever turned anyone away who came to our home in need. I can still hear my father’s voice as he called out to mom. “Ena!” “Yes, Douglas,” she would reply. “What you so loud about?” He would answer, “put a plate hey fuh dis boy,” in his gruff voice. “Alright, Douglas,” she said and fixed a plate of whatever we were eating that day. Let me say that our family with eight children was not wealthy, and some days we ate stretched out breadfruit, and one can of corned beef also stretched out, probably for flavor more than nutrition. But the message and the lessons were real. If you do it unto the least of these, my brothers, you do it unto me. I sincerely hope those lessons of compassion and generosity resonated with my children. Serena, our daughter, is gone; but we know that during her short life, she championed the needy and unloved.
Over the years, however, we had had to modify our behavior when it came to helping strangers. One night, while returning from church in East St. Louis, we (my entire family in the car) stopped to help a woman who had driven her car into a deep ditch. As my wife and I were helping the woman, a young man jumped over her car and punched me in the face, knocking me out. My sons jumped out of the car, coming to my rescue. In that instant, someone reached into our now unoccupied car and robbed us. Why do I tell this story?
Because here in America, we have been, and we are being, programmed to distrust and hate each other. We can barely worship without guards standing on the walls of the Temples. What have we become? Are we no longer our brother’s keepers? The woman in the ditched car was black; the hitchhiker in the other story was a white male. It didn’t matter to me. They were souls in need.
My question is, who is accountable then, if a father spewed hate and dislike for his neighbors, and one of his sons takes it upon himself to kill the neighbors? Is the boy accountable? Is the father liable? What if the mother remained silent, knowing what was about to happen and did nothing to stop the killing? Is she somehow accountable? Who is accountable?
My friends, I can only caution you to think about the safety of your family; however, don’t miss an opportunity to do good when a need arises. On my last trip home to Washington, some of the young neighborhood children came to the house to see Jeanne ’s library. I could see the joy in her eyes and on her face as she shared stories and books with the children. The event certainly brought back memories of those days when we felt a bit more secure inviting strangers into our home and lives.
We are accountable for what and how we teach our children. What will your legacy be?
Early one morning, I awakened from a dream that left me with more questions than answers. Dreams, I am told, reveal some aspects of our lives that may be in need of attention. As students of spiritual text, we learned about Joseph’s dream of a multicolored coat and the later interpretation and subsequent actions. In my experience, I am not sure that I could assign meaning to every dream I had, nor would I want to. However, this dream seems different:
I was invited to join a very large used car dealership, as an inexperienced salesman. The main building was poorly lit, dirty, and disorganized. The staff reflected the physical look and feel of the place; in essence, there was little difference between the ambiance of the establishment and the general demeanor and attitude of the employees.
In this setting, at this business, I felt entirely out of character. I am structured, organized, and very conscientious about my work. Not only was I different from the culture of this organization, but I was also the only non-Latino worker. I did not speak their language, nor did I understand their culture; however, I believe that I was led to this place by providence.
Some weeks after working at this establishment, I finally met Tony, the owner of the dealership. He was a tall man, around six feet, three inches, about 225 pounds, and nice features. Tony was soft-spoken, somewhat messy, and appeared to lack general interest in the business. He briefly spoke to the manager in the office and then disappeared as silently as he had entered the scene. I had no contact and made no connection with Tony on this one visit he made to the building.
Over the next few weeks, Tony visited the shop more frequently. He kept everyone in his business at “arm’s length.” However, over time, he slowly started paying attention to me and engaged in light conversation. I remained patient, always careful to let Tony initiate the topics and duration spent during each encounter. During my dialogues with Tony, I learned little about the man Tony. I knew nothing about his background, why he started the business, nor anything about the people in his life. He carefully shielded that information from me; however, knowing I needed to be patient, I was also determined to learn more about Tony.
One day, to my surprise, Tony said to me, ”come with me, I want to show you something”. The complex that housed the business was sprawling, but I hadn’t explored because I felt it wasn’t my business. Today, Tony asked me to accompany him on a walk down a path from the main building. We strolled for about five minutes without talking. On either side of the way were marshy lands with plenty of wildlife and beautiful sounds of nature. I slowed as I was distracted by the beauty, not realizing that Tony had continued walking around a bend and out of my sight.
I hurried to catch up with Tony, but I could not find him. I kept on the path until I came to a three-way fork in the road. I was perplexed and frustrated with myself. I felt that I might have squandered this one opportunity to learn something meaningful about Tony, but I had allowed my interests to interfere with the most important thing on which I should have have been focused. Now I was at a crossroads with no idea which path to choose to reconnect physically and emotionally with Tony.
As I stood at this new site, with wonder on my face and disappointment in my shoulders, one of the workers approached me and asked if I were supposed to meet Tony. I nodded, but in a somewhat disappointing tone, he informed me that Tony left. The worker continued to share how disappointed Tony was that I did not show up. He said I don’t ever recall seeing him this sad. I knew I had to find Tony and try to make it right, but I realized I most likely missed that one opportunity to minister to Tony. After all, he only asked me to walk with him, and I couldn’t even do that one little thing for him.
