The Hush of Heroism

Thank you Unsplash for the photo by Osman Rana 

While walking in our quiet neighbourhood, my friend noticed a man standing on the road.  His head was bowed, his shoulders squared, and his arms hung formally at his side.  His noble posture resembled a butler stationed at the grand doors of a palace, ready to greet arriving royalty.  The man’s attire, comprising of dark shorts, a shirt, and sneakers, contradicted his footman-like stance.

As we approached him from the sidewalk across the street, we could hear his deep, rhythmic breathing.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

No response.  Not a muscle twitched.  What we could see of the man’s face remained devoid of any movement.  He did not lift his eyes or head and gave no indication that he had heard my question.  Traffic had to swerve wide around him.  He stood there, rigid and unresponsive.  The man’s breathing was mysterious and clearly audible from where we were standing on the other side of the street.

My initial thought was that this might be a suicide attempt in progress.  Perhaps the man’s deep breathing was for calmness or to gather courage for what was about to happen.  He positioned himself with his back to the oncoming traffic.  Maybe this was deliberate, a way to avoid seeing the driver or the car that would assist his transition.

My son’s voice echoed in my mind, cautioning me against interactions with strangers.  His advice, shaped by his experience as a young police officer, conflicted with the undeniable fact that this individual’s life was in danger.

“Do you need help?” I asked.  Again, no answer except for his resolute inhalations.

Fear began to feed my imagination.  The man’s meditative lungful’s now seemed more purposeful…like an effort to soothe an impending eruption of rage.  My instinctive response, flight mode activated, urging me to prioritize my safety.

However, running felt futile; the man’s youth and physicality would allow him to outrun me in seconds.  The presence of other pedestrians—walkers, strollers, and runners—on the sidewalk offered some solace in numbers.

Yet, there was no change in his seemingly catatonic state.

I dialled 9-1-1.

Upon hearing our location, the operator informed me that the incident had already been reported, and the police were en route.

The ambulance arrived first, parking on the opposite side of the road.  The paramedic, wisely staying in the safety of her vehicle, made multiple attempts to capture the man’s attention.

No response.

Dusk began to envelop us, and soon the man in his dark clothes would be difficult to see.  Traffic in both directions cautiously maneuvered the narrow passage left between the ambulance and the stationary man.

Recognizing the possible danger of the situation, the paramedic driver circled the street and positioned the ambulance behind the man, shielding him from a potential collision.  She sensibly remained inside the vehicle, safeguarding herself.

Shortly after, the first police officer arrived.  I thought about the prevalent drug problem in our city and found it disconcerting to imagine what the officer might be walking into.  The officer, exuding an air of confidence, walked purposefully into this volatile situation.  From our vantage point across the street, my friend and I watched nervously.  Holding his flashlight on the man while keeping a cautious distance, the officer attempted to verbally coax him off the street.

No response.

Thankfully, a second officer arrived. Both officers maintained a calm demeanour as they spoke to the man.  They repeatedly informed him of their intention to guide him to the sidewalk.

No response.

The officers gradually moved in closer to the motionless man.  They urged him not to resist and emphasized their goal of moving him to the safety of the sidewalk.

At this point, I fully expected a positive ending.  I envisioned the man acknowledging the officers, extending his arm, and willingly allowing himself to be led to the back of the ambulance. From there he would be transported to the hospital to receive the care he needed to achieve a “happily ever after.”

To my complete surprise, the officers suddenly altered their approach.  With a flash of force, they seized the man, pulling him toward the sidewalk as if snatching him out of the path of a speeding train.

The man jolted out of his unresponsive state and erupted into a fit of furious resistance.  He fought off the two officers with untamed energy.  Within seconds, the three fell to the ground, with the man overpowering one of the officers.  I could hardly bear to watch.  Both officers yelled at him to stop resisting, with a warning of employing a taser.  The man’s resistance dwindled after the mention of the taser, and his struggle subsided. 

The police managed to restrain him, diminishing my anxiety.  Now that the situation was under control, I felt it was safe for us to resume our walk.  As we proceeded up the street, I glanced back and breathed a sigh of relief when I noticed the ambulance doors swing open, ready to transport the man to the hospital.

Curious, I later asked my son why there was such a sudden shift in the police’s approach to the man on the road.  He explained that the change in tactic was necessary to ensure the individual’s safety.  One scenario of a myriad of possibilities they were guarding against was the man impulsively bolting into traffic, endangering himself and others.

Once again, the quiet heroism of the police prevailed, averting a probable tragedy and saving yet another life.

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