I Wanna Be a Lifeguard.

[tedwords]

So what’s with all this talk lately about doing heroic things, all of a sudden? Huh?

First there’s that story of the “Subway Superman,” the “Hero of Harlem” that jumped in front of a train to save a man who had fallen on the tracks after suffering an epileptic seizure. Then there's all tht talk about the two guys who saved a three-year-old who was dangling off a fire escape.

And here I am, scratching my head, trying to remember if there’s ever been any instance in my apparently drab, miserable, selfish life where I’ve ever done anything that could ever be even remotely considered heroic. Life-saving.

Think, think, think. Have I ever rescued a child from a burning building? Performed the Heimlich on someone choking on a chicken bone? Saved a drowning swimmer? Have I ever rescued a kitten from a tree, possibly? Or, saved Lois Lane from a terrible earthquake at the San Andreas fault by spinning around the earth and turning back time?

Sigh. No, I haven’t. Not once.

But it's not my fult. Not really, it isn't. It's just fate, really. See, not once in my 41 years of existence have I ever actually been placed in the position of getting the opportunity to save someone.

And I bet I would, too. I bet I’d be the best life saver that ever was!

Just you wait. Tomorrow, Ted the Hero springs into action. I’m going to help little old ladies across the street! I’m going to breast-feed starving infants! I’m going to pull Ossama out of the cave! I’ll do it, whatever it is, as Bob is my witless, if it takes all day and night! I'll be the best subway supering, kitten saving, world-turning, breast-feeding hero that there ever was!

Sigh. I’d think I’d better go take a nap. I’m getting tired just thinking about all the heroic things I’m going to have to do tomorrow. This hero thing is tiring business.

###

Tonight, I stood at the front desk of Corb’s work, talking to Annie, when Corb entered the room, weighed down with a plateful of Panera sandwiches, a huge salad, and three long loaves of fresh bread.

“What’s all this for?” I asked, laughing.

“For us,” he said. “I planned a meeting today, and they didn’t come close to eating everything.”

What he didn't say was that almost all of it was for us. As we pulled into the driveway of our apartment complex, Corb abruptly asked me to pull the car over. Then, he hopped out of his seat, and jumped into the back, next to Ashes.

“What are you doing?”


“I’m going to feed the ducks,” he replied, with a twinkle in his blue eyes as he rolled down her window.

“What are you going to do, throw a loaf on the ground? They’ll never be able to cut it up!”

“Silly.”

“Hey, be careful, would you? Don’t whip a whole loaf out. You might accidentally kill a duck! Death by French baguette. That’d be nasty.”

Corb had taken one of the loaves and crumbled it into bits. He had decided that he was going to defy the ban imposed by our landlord against feeding our feathered friends. So, I drove around in circles, as Corb sprinkled bread crumbs out the window. The kids thought it was hysterical.

Well, I guess it's a small consolation to know that my partner-man is a hero to the duckies.

###

So, Ella’s getting a stamp.

I think that’s so cool. Not only is she the “First Lady of Jazz,” her bright voice has brightened many a day in my life.

I remember the first time I really listened to her. I mean, obviously I had heard her before. Just not intently. When I was in high school, I would listen to an all-night jazz station, and wake up to the sounds of be-bop and scat. But that was waking up and having background noise as I wearily stumbled out of bed.

Actually listening is something else. And there I was, in Edinburgh, Scotland, traveling with a group of actors. Each night, at the end of our play (which usually had an audience of, maybe, four), we would walk over to a pizzeria located across from the French Embassy and sit down to drink beer and have a few laughs.

And, at the end of the night, every night, Ella would come on. Singing “Mr. Paganini.” It must have been on a tape, and it always brought a smile to my face.

About a year later, I hunted down a tape that had that song, and there I started my discovery of so many other classics. Duets with Louie. You're Just My Old Hunk of Trash. Summertime. Riding High. The Songbooks.

Each song puts me in a certain time and place.

And, my all time favorite, Ella’s rendition of “Mack the Knife.” Ella, forgetting the lyrics in the middle of the song, and launching into one of the funniest ad libs in the history of the world, an utter act of inspiration. To this day, I can only shake my head and marvel.

Yes. I’d be happy to place Ella on an envelope. She made it her business to rescue lyrical kittens out of trees, each and every day. She's truly a hero of mine.

###