When Nelle called and asked me to make a potato salad for the annual Haines Volunteer Fire Department's Fourth of July barbecue I said, you bet. Chuck, who is the chief, had already called to ask me to write the proclamation in honor of Fireman Al's retirement. Al Badgely is our town's only paid firefighter. He's also the training officer and an EMT. He has taken care of us all for over 25 years.
Al is from Texas and so the annual barbecue is Texas-style. Al is so organized that I promptly received 10 pounds of potatoes, onion, celery, eggs, and premeasured amounts of the mayo and seasonings as well as the tub to mix and serve it all in. Al loves quality control. I love Al. And it is safe to say so does everyone in town. (I'm an obituary writer and I have never written, "He was loved by all" -- because even the best people aren't. Al excepting.)
Al saved my life after I was run over by a ¾- ton pickup while riding my bike. With no hospital in our tiny town of Haines, Al and EMS service volunteer Travis Reid did all the right things to keep me stable until the medevac plane arrived and transported me 1,000 miles south to the trauma center in Seattle. As I lay on that pavement, scared I was dying, it was Al's soothing drawl that kept me from panicking. He said I would be OK, and I believed him. Only later, after I was home again, did he tear up and admit, "I thought we might never see you gain."
Until then, I had no idea he was even worried my smashed pelvis could cause fatal internal bleeding before I arrived in Seattle. Al made me feel that safe. The least I can do for Al and all our volunteers is make a potato salad. Nelle asked if I knew who else might make another batch of potato salad and I suggested a couple of the other early-bird swimmers at the pool.
The next morning I was waiting in my car for the pool to open at 6:30 and waved to Ike. Ike is a few years older than Al and a retired Alaska state trooper and former Marine. He was in his truck, idling next to me, and we both had our radios on (we only have one station in Haines). We were listening to the news about a deadly plane crash in Ketchikan. Nine people perished. The pilot and eight cruise ship passengers. It was awful.
When the lifeguard arrived, Ike and I walked up to the locker rooms together. As I said hello, he snuffled back a good morning. Maybe he had hay fever? No, turns out he was upset. Ike said the plane crash in the news had awakened long-ago grief, which reared up and hit him, "like a punch in the chest." It had caught him unprepared.
Ike knew where that plane had crashed. While on duty, he had responded to a fatal accident near Ketchikan in that same area. He knew one of the victims and, as soon as he had recovered her body, he said his search and rescue team was called to a second fatal crash in the same area. It was a horrible day and a bad memory. Back then, he had no time to reflect, he was simply doing his job, what he was trained and had sworn an oath to do. But now, he said, "all these things" come back. They don't leave you, ever, and as he gets older, and maybe softer, he told me he finds the memories, the images, the heartache, returns when he least expects it. Like listening to the radio on a misty summer morning in Haines, Alaska.
I thought of all the traumatic events people like Ike and Fireman Al had witnessed and responded to. In all these years writing obituaries for the Chilkat Valley News, I've always been aware that Al has been there for deaths, both tragic and expected. When Gene was fatally injured in the cabin fire at Chilkat Lake, it was Al who rode with him in the helicopter. When Christian had the awful rollover in the dune buggy at the fairgrounds, Al was there. Even when my elderly neighbor died gently at home in bed, Al made sure he was slipped into the body bag quickly and privately — he told me later the sight can upset the family — and and asked me to find a quilt to drape over it when they carried the stretcher from the house to the ambulance and the morgue.
Now at the pool, I asked Ike how he deals with all the tragedy he has seen. He said his faith is a comfort spiritually but what does his heart the most good is "doing something for other people." Which is no doubt why he became a trooper in the first place. Then he said, "The weirdest thing happened. Faith [his wife] and I were asked to make a potato salad for the firemen's barbecue. We are pretty busy and I said no, but she said 'OK.' And now I'm glad we have that to do. I'm looking forward to it."
Me, too. Which is a long way of saying that sometimes a potato salad on the Fourth of July is more than the sum of its ingredients. Sometimes, making one and sharing it with the firemen and EMTs and everyone in town on those long tables decorated with red, white and blue reminds you that you do live in the home of the brave. And how lucky you are.
Haines author Heather Lende's newest book is, "Find the Good: Unexpected Life Lessons from a Small-town Obituary Writer."
The views expressed here are the writer's own and are not necessarily endorsed by Alaska Dispatch News, which welcomes a broad range of viewpoints. To submit a piece for consideration, email commentary(at)alaskadispatch.com