Only Heels Can Be Heroes Redux

What separates a hero from a heel?

Sometimes, nothing more than timing.

On our thirty-seventh anniversary, it’s fitting to revisit the very first Carosa Commentary that appeared in the inaugural issue of The Sentinel.

This is in the same vein as “No Guts, No Glory.”

Essentially, Heels and Heroes are made of the same stuff. Only the outcome of their deeds is different (or at least viewed differently). Ultimately, the critical factor leading to the labeling of a man (or woman) may be nothing more than luck.

But, today’s essay does not concern what distinguishes Heels from Heroes. Rather, it will focus on those fundamental traits shared, indeed vital, to the soul of both. You see, only Heroes can be Heels and only Heels can be Heroes.

There is a drive within us from the moment of our very birth. Each of us has an innate desire to excel, to achieve, in fact, to go out of our way to climb mountains. As we grow older, life’s choices force us to corral this wild energy into a manageable and useful spirit. In assessing the risks of any venture, we rationally compare the rewards with the repercussions. For example, if our ultimate goal in life is to raise a family in a sound environment, we decide against embarking upon a career as an itinerant Hollywood stuntman.

In the course of our maturation, a few people might actually lose all but the most meager of ambitions. Our society generally views such lifelessness with disdain. (How many of you consider “couch potato” a term of endearment?) A few others might never part with their uncontrollable spunk. We label these people at best “obnoxious” and at worst “convicts.” Most of us, however, learn to redirect that force in ways constructive to our families, our jobs and our communities. The populace has bestowed the title “Model Citizen” upon such folks.

A handful, though, decide to keep just a little of that wild vitality in a special bottle. Every now and then, when they think the time is right, they uncork that vial. In a sense, their rallying cry (familiar to us all) yells “Damn the torpedoes – full speed ahead!”

That pluck, my friends, is the common link between Heels and Heroes. Both have the courage to let loose the contents of self-determination, the willingness to momentarily risk going beyond the bounds, or, as ascribed by Tom Wolfe to test pilots in his seminal book The Right Stuff, “to push to the other edge of the envelope.” In the end, only poor timing separates the Heel from the Hero (just ask General George Custer).

(Of course, I know what you’re thinking. “It’s one thing for an astronaut to have these rugged traits, but if my kid ever tried them…”)

The point of the passage, then, yields the understanding of two different, yet similar, lessons. First, we all find ourselves in situations where we fail in spite of our good intentions. Dealing with that failure is always difficult, but remember, the very same quality which led to a brick wall sometimes leads to a pot of gold. To forever disavow such vigor is far worse than any single failed event.

Secondly, we frequently place ourselves in the position of judge and render verdicts on the actions of others. We smile at those who achieve success and frown upon those who suffer miserable failures. To the latter, we say, “Anyone with common sense would not have done that…”

Individuals with the fortitude to promote innovation fill our community. It is our sincere wish to use The Sentinel as a means to celebrate those brave souls who possess the confidence to even attempt to climb mountains.

Why did I write this? It reflected a concern I had about whether we—my co-founder Shirley Arena and I—could pull off the bold move of starting a newspaper from scratch before more experienced competitors entered our market. Many believed we couldn’t. Some were surprised when we did. But starting a business is one thing. Sustaining it is quite another.

Even after the first few successful issues, we still had to build an organization capable of producing a community newspaper every week. It took nearly a year before we knew we had “made it.”

But this column wasn’t just about us; it was about anybody who takes a chance. In other words, it was about everyone.

We all stick our necks out. It doesn’t just mean starting a new business. Maybe it’s asking the boss for a raise. Maybe it’s floating a proposal to a volunteer group we’re part of. Maybe it’s simply suggesting a movie to watch for the evening’s entertainment. Every time, we risk getting snapped back at.

But, you know, it doesn’t matter if they embrace or dismiss your idea. What matters is that you had the guts to speak out. That’s the trait that drives all success. It’s that same trait that leads to failures.

In baseball terms, you miss every chance if you don’t swing. But if you do swing, you might strike out.

Think about that man at bat. He stands alone, like Theodore Roosevelt’s famous “Man in the Arena.” He’s exposed to the whole world. And the whole world is watching. Talk about pressure.

And yet, every day, ballplayers step up to the plate knowing they have less than a one in three chance of getting a hit.

Will they come away a heel or a hero?

That’s not the point.

The point is they’re not afraid to try.

And you shouldn’t be either.