Personality does not a person make. Beneath an exterior of confidence and boldness can be a self-doubting, timid individual. Likewise, beneath a persona of shyness can exist the potential for outstanding heroism.

Audie Murphy, the most decorated American combat soldier of World War II, is an excellent example of this. Murphy, a small, shy man by nature, won more awards for heroism than any other soldier of the war, within only a few months time. This truth, though, dawned upon me much later--and not via feats of Audie Murphy--but by an event that occurred on a trip to South Florida when I was twelve.

My dad had always frowned upon over-confident and self-aggrandizing people. And, not given to boasting himself,  he appeared, I'm sure, meek and cowardly to many, including--and I hate saying it--to many in his own family. He never seemed to feel it necessary to prove anything or his manhood to anybody else, and was content with himself. 

It was one of those cloudy, overcast days in July. The rain had been slapping at our car's windshield all morning.  The closer we approached Orlando, the worse the traffic became. And, by noon we found ourselves in a long line of vehicles the length of a football field, creeping along Highway 95 at fifteen miles an hour. Twice we had stopped completely, due to something happening ahead. Having yet to learn patience, my sister and I grew restless in the backseat.

"Dad! Let's stop. I just have to go," my sister complained, followed by my,  "Me, too!" 

Dad had more tension in his voice than usual.  "Sh..., kids!" he said. "Look up ahead.  It's going to be a while before the traffic is better. When it does...if ever--"  He jammed the brake, barely missing the rear of the stopped eighteen-wheeler ahead of us. The van in back of us swerved to the left and almost went over the shoulder into the median.

We were forced to wait until the cars and trucks in front of us began moving again in order to align with traffic. My mother switched on the radio and tried to find a station to entertain us, but only found  hard rock music or evangelical sermons. So, she clicked off.  Ten minutes passed, then fifteen, then twenty. Yet, nothing moved, except the sweeping hum-drum motion of the windshield wiper and the pelting of rain on our car's roof. Dad switched off the motor to save gas, but the heat was so intolerable, he turned it back on.

After ten minutes more, the eighteen wheeler in front of us started moving. Dad straightened up behind it and slowly began picking up speed, making sure to stay more than a car's length behind it.

From nowhere, a red flash of lightning sped along our right side and moved inside the space between our vehicle and the eighteen-wheeler.  Dad braked, slowing, but not too fast, so as to warn the vehicles in back.  A laughing young man on a red motocycle wearing a black helmet and a young woman in shorts behind him, hardly out of their teens, drove about five minutes in front of us and then cut swiftly into the right lane and sped around the truck. 

"Jesus Christ!" Dad said. And, Mom scolded him, saying he should not take the Lord's name in vain.

The rain finally ceased, but the sun stayed hidden behind clumps of grey. Gradually the traffic grew lighter. And, for the next ten or fifteen miles, Dad drove comfortably at sixty-five miles an hour. "The next exit, we'll pull off and find a service station," he said.
 
Seconds later, we noticed a row of cars and trucks parked along the left side of the highway. People, young and old, stood on an embankment, sipping colas and eating from tinfoil wrappers. There must have been at least twenty of them, casually staring down at something below in a water-filled culvert. It reminded me of a line of people whiling away time, waiting for tickets to a theater performance. Dad slowed, and in passing, we were able to see through the bystanders at what held their interests.

 A red motorcycle, twisted into half its original length, lay near a telephone pole, like a worthless mass of metal thrown from a garbage truck. In the water face down, were the young man and woman who had passed us with such wild abandonment earlier. None of the spectators, it appeared, had attempted to help them. Dad yelled, "What the....!" and pulled over between two cars. He jumped out and in his rush to get to the bodies almost rolled down the hill. He turned the bodies over and dragged them to the side of the ditch, out of the water.

Mom stood next to our car's left fender, watching the drama, while my sister and I viewed it from the back windshield. Dad was attempting to revive the badly injured young motorcyclist while talking softly to him. Suddenly, a black Cadillac, pulled to the side of the road in front of us. An elegant brunette stepped out from the backseat and walked, as if making an entrance into a ballroom, to the culvert's edge. 




She climbed down into the ditch and felt the unconscious girl's pulse. Afterward, she did something not many of us would ever expect of an apparently wealthy woman. She climbed back to the top of the embankment, went to her car, retrieved a coat from the backseat, returned and wrapped it around the girl. Without a word, she climbed back to the top of the culvert, walked to her car and drove away. Her methodical behavior left everybody spellbound.

During the entire scene, spectators who had arrived before us, continued drinking colas, eating snacks, and murmuring among themselves. "Well...have you ever..."  "That's strange..." "Look at that..." "They won't live..." "She'll never see her coat again..." and "Hear the siren...?" 

Dad later told us the young motorcyclist had been traveling at a high rate of speed, hit a pocket of water and hydroplaned across the culvert. After losing his cheap helmit, he had crashed into the telephone pole and broken his neck. He died in Dad's arms. The young woman survived, but with a broken arm and crushed foot.

People react in the strangest and the most unpredictable ways during such crises. Who would have ever thought  a shy man like my dad could respond in an emergency with such boldness! Who would have ever thought a wealthy woman would ever descend willingly into a muddy ditch to cover an accident victim with an expensive coat!

My dad never won a Medal of Honor. He never won anything, as far as I know--except the admiration of his family, on that particular day. Though an unusually quiet man, like the soldier Murphy, he could also exhibit admirable qualities of courage whenever he felt them imperative.

Through him, I learned that we all have within us seeds of cowardice, or heroism; and if an occasion arises, can react either selfishly or unselfishly.Whether rich or poor, young or old--every day we have opportunities of some kind or another to make positive contributions, by moving out of the audience and into the action.