05/27/99
By the Dashboard Lights
by Dave Friedli
In Stephen Crane's short story, "A Mystery of Heroism", Fred
Collins, a foot soldier in the Union army, risks his life by running
across a Civil War battlefield to draw water from a well for the hot,
tired and thirsty fighting men of Company A.
The men who watch him dodge explosions and fallen comrades see his
actions from one of two perspectives: Fred Collins is either doing
something tremendously courageous, or fatally stupid.
When, on his way back to the huddled troops, he stops to offer a
dying man a drink of cold water from his canteen, his fellow soldiers
realize they have witnessed a true act of heroism.
At the risk of being shot as a stationary target, Fred Collins knelt
and fulfilled the last wish of a fallen officer--a drink of water.
Fred Collins is a hero, not because he planned to be, but because
when confronted with a challenge, he responded in a manner most
consider un-characteristically brave.
Heroism happens when someone responds with split-second action,
often not considering the long-range implications.
Heroism is bestowed on someone when others perceive they have put
another's needs first, and their own second.
Heroism is often a matter of timing.
Myron Schoch spent a lifetime putting himself second and others
first, and his passing brings to light how the actions of one person
touches individuals but an entire community.
Myron will be remembered as a teacher, educator, advisor, sponsor,
husband, father and friend.
He will be remembered as a member, a leader, a promoter, a spokesman
and the voice of athletic events at
There will be thousands of Myron Schoch stories, told and retold,
just as Myron told thousands of stories.
Myron will be remembered as a hero. It is a just title.
In 1981,
the
exciting home game with Oakland-Craig, 6-0.
The team sat in the locker room, silently considering the hundreds
of little things which might have brought the margin of victory.
Coaches offered quiet words of encouragement and consolation, trying
to convince players who had spent every ounce of energy and emotion
that victory was theirs, if only for a few more minutes on the game
clock.
And in walked a hero.
Myron Schoch pushed open the door of the locker room, his huge arms
and ample body cradling a tray of Coca-Colas from the concession
stand.
Placing the sodas on the taping table in the middle of the room, he
scanned the room, looking players in the eyes, and said, "You played
hard. You played great. Maybe these will taste good."
And he walked out. It took a few minutes, but a senior captain
reached up and downed a cup in just a few gulps. Others followed.
Sitting on the gray, wooden benches, players began to speak to each
other, reliving plays and postulating "what ifs", all the while
holding the cool, refreshing cups of soda.
Myron's actions were nothing short of heroic. The timing was
perfect. The effect was immediate. The result was positive.
By the time the players left the locker room that night, their focus
was on the future, not the outcome of the game. It began with
Myron's tray of Coca-Cola, offered to a team wounded by defeat.
Myron Schoch, the common man who did uncommon things.
Myron Schoch, the hero.