Recognition and Honor

W
hen honor and love for others become the hallmark of your life, great things happen. Not all of those things are pleasant or welcome. When you are required to pay the ultimate price for others’ betterment, the impact lasts beyond your own life. Mourning and questions of “why?” become the norm, often without answers.
In the case of our firefighters, who have paid that sacrifice while on duty, maybe the answer is, as I said, honor and love. On Saturday, two ceremonies took place at the Wyoming Fire Academy in Riverton. The second was to honor our fallen heroes, but I’ll get back to that. 
The first was to honor four men inducted in the newly formed Wyoming Fire Fighter’s Hall of Fame, including two posthumous inductees, Donald Young of Casper and Larry Lee of Riverton. Also honored were Joseph Fender of Cheyenne and Newcastle’s own Gene Diedtrich. 
During the service, emotions were not far from me. Over and over again, I kept thinking about the military-like lucidity of the event. The austere attention to detail, the solemn quiet during the proceedings and the great respect for the honored by the firefighters and public who attended not only impressed me but overtook me. As the bagpipes and drums played, I was struck with the beauty of the formality. Two officers from the Wyoming Highway Patrol, in full dress, stood at attention, escorted the families, and added to the honor of the event. Tears of love from Gene’s daughter, Lynn Gregory, showed her love and respect. The humility expressed in Sen. John Barrasso’s speech touched me. I was filled with a sense of all that is best in humanity. Of course, these men’s lives and careers were related in detail, and you had no doubt as to why they were inducted. They had earned it!
Barrasso summed up what they exemplified: courage and leadership. He said that courage was not the absence of fear but doing what was needed in the face of fear. He mentioned the dedication that first responders have toward their communities, the resolve to put the lives and safety of people ahead of their own. As these men acted in that courage, they were made into leaders.
“Leadership is when people look at you,” Barrasso said, “To see how you behave. If you’re confident, then they can be confident.”
As Gene gave his acceptance speech, he dedicated his trophy to the Newcastle Volunteer Fire Department. It is a beautiful blown-glass orb shaped like a water drop covering a flame. He said that he would put the award in the trophy case at the Newcastle fire station.
“This doesn’t belong to one person,” he said, “It belongs to the entire department.” 
Gene also recognized the Newcastle firefighters who attended: Chief Robert Munger, Donny Munger and Craig Bruch, with his wife, Joannie. I think Gene’s humility is also part of his leadership, and I was honored to be invited and witness it, and I was not alone.
Vern and Carolyn Johnson also attended. On Sunday, I talked to them, and Vern told me about a fire at their home some years ago, and how Gene helped them get through the aftermath.
“Gene was very helpful getting us through all of that,” Vern said. 
Of Saturday’s event , he said, “I was highly impressed with the ceremonies, and honored to be able to witness that.”
“This is a rare honor,” Carolyn said after the induction ceremony.
As I was driving home, that statement kept playing around in my head. I thought I was going there to honor Gene, but it became so much more. During the memorial for the fallen firefighters, my emotions became more real and overwhelming. My love for people I didn’t even know grew in ways I’ve rarely experienced. The bagpipes and drums played, and the fallen firefighters’ families were escorted to their seats in the front row. Respectful speeches followed. A quiet reverence was displayed by all. Pride was showing on the faces of all the firefighters. But there was something else in those looks. That sense of loss, the realization that they were once again saying goodbye to fallen friends, comrades and family was quite tangible. 
I remember thinking as a child that it would be cool to be a firefighter. But it was the thrill and the action that had attracted me. I wonder if I really knew what a firefighter or a first responder was really about. Would I have felt the same? I love people. But these people are dedicated to the safety of others in ways I have never been. Would I be willing to sacrifice my life in that love? To my shame, I have to honestly say, I don’t think so. I’m kind of a selfish person. We were there paying homage to unselfish heroes. And I can’t help but feel there’s something a bit bigger and nobler inside them.
The names of Wyoming’s fallen are carved on four pillars at the memorial. Four of those names are from fallen Newcastle firefighters: Ted Davis, William T. Kohlbrand, Elsie Christensen and Anndee Huber. As I read their stories, awe overtook me, especially with young Huber’s tragic death. Even as I type, I can’t help but feel fortunate that two of my uncles, both firemen, did not die in the line of duty; in fact, one of them is still living. But what was it like for the families of these guardians? I don’t think I’ll ever know entirely. What was it like for Christensen, who was cut off from escape during a fire in 1952? What did she experience during that time, knowing that her route to safety was gone? I can’t even wrap my mind around that one. 
I feel warmth for the family members of emergency workers. How hard it must be at times when the call comes in, and these dedicated people have to take off. What if that call was their last? How must that be? That rare honor must be extended to these families as well.
When the bell was rung — three sets of three ringings — I started to tear up. I watched as Gene then read off the 57 names of Wyoming’s fallen, and a bell was rung by Val Reed of Casper for each one. I looked at the faces of the men in uniform. In my eyes, these are real men. I’ve heard that real men don’t cry. That is a lie, for real men can and do cry. I wondered if Gene would be able to read through that list without breaking down. He did, but you could hear in his voice and see in his eyes that it was a battle for him. I think that, too, is part of his leadership. He displayed courage, but mostly his love for his brothers and sisters. I looked over at the family members of the fallen; their tears were open but costly. And I was torn. 
You see, I didn’t know even one of these fallen. But I was tearing up too. A “rare honor,” Carolyn had said. What I didn’t grasp at the time was that honor was more extensive than just one life. It was the honor of their brothers and sisters in uniform. It was the honor of the families who have also sacrificed so much so we can live in safety. And it was also the honor to be humbled by giants who served our communities with selfless dedication.
After the names were read, the family members put roses on the memorial. Some reached out to touch the names of their loved ones. It was one more connection to a husband, wife, father, mother, son, brother, daughter who was now gone. How does one witness that unchanged? You don’t. At least not if you still have a heart made of flesh.
Chief Munger reminded me of John 15:13: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” That was what those people have done, he said.