I slept until 7:30 this morning and woke up to steady rain.  I wasn't too eager to do my running around in it, so I hit snooze and laid back down, just to be tormented by a mosquito.  I killed him and several others after, as though they were waiting in line, for me.
  I thrashed around with them until 8:30 and finally sat up.  I made a cold instant coffee and realized how long it had been since this had been my morning ritual.
  I had hidden my Large pack the day before, among the short palm trees that covered the area and halfway through my hobo latte, realized that it was still there, having forgotten to bring it under the protection of the tarp when I returned to camp.  I retrieved it and was relieved to find it fairly waterproof, though I was glad it was mostly full of just damp clothes.

  Yesterday I went to the Church of Christ where I had volunteered a few years ago and they gave me a couple bags of food, to get me by.
  The lady who greeted me said "I remember you!"  The other handful of workers there were new and unfamiliar to me but very nice.
  Her name is Patricia and she told me if I came back today, they would have a tent for me!
  I asked her about another old friend, who had worked there, as I had heard rumors that he wasn't doing so well.
  She affirmed my fears by telling me he was at a convalescent home and that they thought he was in his last days.  She gave me the address and told me I should go see him.

  His name is Mike Patrick, although he was known as "Fireman Mike."
  Mike was previously a Fireman and a landscaper, now retired.
  When I met him back 3 and a half years ago, he worked at the Church of Christ and seemed to do everything there but preach.
  He took care of most of the daily activities even to the point of sleeping overnight there.
  So one day I was working with him and we were trimming the trees and the hedges that surrounded the large grounds.
  He was working off the ladders and doing everything quite nimbly, so when he climbed down the ladder and asked me if the hedge was straight, commenting that he was blind in one eye, I took him as being sarcastic.
  We worked further and he made another such comment about his eye.
  I had to ask him "Are you really blind in one eye?"
  He has a rough Tennessee accent and he answered "Yip, I really ay-im."
  I felt kind of awkward for a moment and I think he could see it.
  "Well, I don't like to tell too many people, it bothers me to think about it but when I was a Firefighter, I was on my way to work one day and down in the valley below, I could see a lot of smoke rising and it was black smoke, so I knew there was no water being put on it, otherwise it would be white smoke."
  "So I rushed down there, found where it was coming from and saw a house on fire, with no other fireman there.  I was the only one and I didn't have any of my equipment, because I was heading to work, so I got out, people were screaming and I asked a hysterical black lady if there was anyone left inside and she shrieked "There's a little girl in the upstairs bedroom!""
  "I ran inside and made it up the stairs, checked bedrooms and found this girl in her bed unconscious, so I wrapped her in a blanket, threw her over my shoulder and started on my way out."
  "Now the smoke was getting to me bad and I was getting confused but I found the stairs, made it down them and took a right, when I should have taken a left.  I was lost.  I was now in a garage with fire all around and starting to go unconscious, myself."
  Through the smoke I could see some light, so I headed for that and it turned out to be a storm door and when I got to it, I kicked it out for all I was worth.  Well there was a propane tank, in the garage and just as I kicked that door out it exploded, hitting me in the right side and threw me outdoors onto the lawn, with the girl."
  I could see the pain coming into his eyes as he cut the story a little short, with "I lost my right eye and lung."
  "Oh, God!" was my awkward response.
  The silence became heavy but I had to ask him "Forgive me for asking but did the girl live?"
  "Oh, yeah.  She growed up fine.  I used to visit her occasionally."  This seemed to bring him some well deserved, prideful joy.
  "I met a Hero today."  I said.
  He looked at me with those steely eyes and said "I ain't no #%@&ing Hero.  I was just doing my job."
  "Well maybe, but you're a Hero, to me."

  So today, in the rain, I finally found myself peddling through the side streets, with my laptop and gear in my small backpack and wearing my raincoat over it all so I looked like a hunchback, lurching over the handlebars, heading for the church to get the tent and volunteer to help them again.
  It suddenly occurred to me that it was only a few blocks out of the way to stop by and see "Fireman Mike" but I fought the urge because the church would only be open until noon and I was hoping to squeeze a shower in, also.  I figured maybe it would stop raining by the time I was heading back and I could see him without getting his room all wet.
  I locked my bike up and went in.  There were quite a few people there, mostly older.  Some helping, some getting helped.  A scattering of women.  Men sitting at tables with their backpacks.  A man hobbling around with a cane and a frail little man in a walker/wheelchair combo. I finished talking to one lady and I heard an old familiar voice.  It sounded a bit like Mike.  I didn't see him, though.  I walked in the direction I thought it came from and another white haired lady tried to help me.
  I had tunnel vision for the voice I had heard and just brushed her off with: "No thank you, Ma'am, I'm being waited on."
  I heard the voice again and it lasted longer, this time.  It was coming from the little man in the walker/stroller combo.
  I saw my Hero!  The once lanky spry man was now bent over and sitting down in his pedestal.  He was hard to recognize.  I got close to him.
  "Fireman Mike!  You may not remember me but I sure remember you."
  He still had that vinegar and it came out when he said "Well git down here, so I kin see ya'!"
  I moved so I was in view of his left eye.
  "Of course I remember ya!  The guy from Maine."
  "Yes!  Jeff."  I reminded him.
  "That's it, it's Jeff!" he remembered.

  The last day that I had seen Mike, I was drunk.  I had slid back down the alcohole and he had been trying to talk some sense into me for a couple of weeks, watching me go down the slippery slope.
  Florida had offered me a plane ticket back to Maine.  They wanted to get rid of me.  I hadn't even asked for it.  I was in such bad shape.  I had brain damage from a mugging and I was now an insane drunk.  I took the plane ticket and spent my last night on the island, sleeping on the church couch, with Mike on the other couch.  A lady was going to pick me up in the morning, drive me to the airport and make sure I got onto the plane.
  In the morning, I got ready.  I found a 4-LOCO I had stashed somewhere and drank it, behind the church.  I was as ready as I could be.
  With the last few minutes left, Mike was still trying to talk sense into me.  "You know," he said "You gotta think about what's more important to you.  Your boy, or that alcohol."
  That was my last drink, for a while.  I made it 11 months and four days.  I had a slip and now I have 19 months of sobriety.  It just gets better and better, and so do I.

  So I spent quite a bit of time with my Hero, today.  They finally came and took him back to the home.
  That man deserves much more of a tribute than I can give him, or anyone else.  His honors and awards are hung all over the walls of the church.  More of a man than most could even hope to be.  That's what a Hero means to me.  Not someone who sees a princess waving a hankerchief out a window and says "I'll save you, here I come!" with all the fanfare.  It's someone that sees someone in danger and runs.  There's no thinking about the danger, no thought of reward or applause.
  It's one human caring as much for another as he does for himself, like God tells us to.
  It's a human being:  "Just doing my job!"
  We can all learn a lot from "Fireman Mike."  I sure do.