The Way I Heard It with Mike Rowe - 115: A Conventional Hero

Episode Date: November 6, 2018

There are many ways to save a life - this one was rather conventional. 

This is the way I heard it. The envelope arrived in his home in Canada with no return address, and the writing wasn't familiar. It's not unusual. Jimmy often received letters from strangers. Fellow pilots like to elicit his opinion on all things aeronautical. Students like to pick his brain with bizarre engineering questions. And some people, older veterans mostly, just wanted to share a war story or thank him for his service.

But this letter was different. Dear Jimmy, I'm writing to tell you how much I respect the life you've led and what an inspiration you've been to me, but I'm afraid the darkness is too heavy. My final wish, should you be so kind to grant it, is to hear your voice before I go. Just once. Please call. Thank you. Sarah. There was a phone number and a closing that read, sincerely. Jimmy was pretty sure she was. The former soldier poured a slug of scotch and considered the situation. If he called, it was entirely possible she'd pick up the phone, thank him for fulfilling her final wish, and then make good on her promise.

Could he live with that? On the other hand, how would he feel if he did nothing? Could he simply ignore a cry for help? Jimmy threw back the scotch and recalled his own misery once upon a time. After leading his men through a minefield just beyond the beaches at Norman, and personally taking out two German snipers, Jimmy was literally shot to pieces, six rounds and all,

four in the legs, one that removed the middle finger from his right hand, and one in the center of his chest, deflected miraculously by a cigarette lighter. Those injuries had ended his career as a soldier and a pilot and sent him into a deep depression. Without support from friends and family, who knows what would have become a,

of him. Jimmy dialed the number below the name and counted a dozen rings before a quiet voice on the other end said, hello? Jimmy gave it a beat. Is this Sarah? Yes, this is Sarah. Who is this? Jimmy could hear the pain in her voice, the despair. Well, good evening, young lady. I was calling to see if you were still fog in a mirror. I beg your pardon? I was wondering, if you had yet to join the choir invisible. You know, if you're still strolling on the sunny side of the street, if you've not yet settled in for your long and permanent dirt nap. Silence on the other end.

Then, Oh, my God. Is it really you? Seriously, said Jimmy. You don't even recognize the last voice you want to hear? Sarah said nothing, so Jimmy continued. I read your note, young lady. you write with clarity and precision, which leads me to conclude you possess other talents as well,

why would you want to throw those gifts away? Jimmy listened to the silence on the other end and waited, because there's no joy anymore. I have nothing to live for. My life is empty, and my days are hollow. Well, then what's the plan, Sarah? A fistful of pills, a leap off a bridge, Will you open a vein or eat a bullet? Personally, I don't recommend the bullet. Leaves a hell of a mess. There was another long pause, after which Sarah said,

This is not the conversation I imagined. That's because this isn't a conversation, Sarah. This is an invitation. I don't understand, said Sarah. I'm in San Diego next week, said Jimmy. I'm staying at the Marriott by the Convention Center. If you come, I'll set aside an hour, and we'll have ourselves a proper chat. If you don't, try not to leave too big a mess behind.

Suicide is no excuse for bad manners. Then he hung up. Jimmy wasn't a psychologist, but he understood that people with nothing to live for often stop living. And sure enough, that weekend, in the lobby of the Marriott Hotel, a suicidal woman waited to speak with a former soldier. A young woman who reminded Jimmy of the corpses he'd seen at Juno Beach, pale, sunken, cheeked, dead-eyed. They sat, they spoke. Jimmy told her that life was a precious gift. He told her to treasure every moment, even the unhappy ones.

He told her to master a useful skill to keep herself busy. Then, over at the convention center, he introduced Sarah to a few of the men he'd served with, including his former captain and a few other patriots who had distinguished themselves in combat. Sarah seemed to enjoy them, so Jimmy invited her to Indianapolis, where they were all scheduled to appear at a similar convention two weeks later. To Jimmy's surprise, Sarah showed up again. They talked some more, and Jimmy saw improvement, so he invited her to join him in Boston, then Phoenix, then Seattle.

After Seattle, it was Dallas, Madison, and Baltimore. Ultimately, the girl who wanted Jimmy's voice to be the last thing she ever heard came to hear him speak on 18 separate occasions. And then, when she had heard enough, she stopped showing up. Jimmy never saw her again, and assumed the troubled young woman had lost her fight with depression. Eight years later, though, an envelope arrived. at his home in Canada, an envelope with no return address. But this time, the writing was familiar.

Dear Jimmy, I want to thank you for saving my life. I got my masters. Today, I'm an electrical engineer, thanks to you. I'm also married with a two-year-old son. I'm healthy, Jimmy, and happy, and I owe you a debt I can never hope to repay. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. Sarah. The closing read sincerely, and Jimmy was pretty sure she was. Many years later, when asked to describe the proudest moment of his career, Jimmy didn't mention his professional awards or his many military honors, nor did he mention the TV show that made him famous. Instead, Jimmy recalled the suicidal woman who found salvation at a series of

conventions, conventions where thousands of people lined up to thank him for his service, along with a handful of other men and women, who had worn the same uniform once upon a time. Not the uniform he wore in the Second World War. No, I'm talking about the uniform he wore for three seasons on the TV show, where he boldly went where no Canadian with a Scottish accent had gone before. It's true. The man who became synonymous with the command, Beam Me Up, was the same man who transported a deeply depressed Treki

out of a deadly depression, not with science fiction, but with kindness. Such were the proudest moments of an actor called Jimmy Dewan, the man who kept the USS Enterprise firing on all cylinders with his portrayal of Montgomery Scott, the chief engineer you might remember. As Scotty. Anyway, that's the way I heard it.

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