Heroes for My Son Read online

  Heroes for My Son

  Brad Meltzer

  For Theo and Jonas,

  MY SONS,

  MY HEROES

  Contents

  Introduction

  The Wright Brothers

  Team Hoyt

  Joe Shuster and Jerry Siegel

  Mr. Rogers

  Miep Gies

  Roberto Clemente

  Amelia Earhart

  Nelson Mandela

  Norman Borlaug

  Martin Luther King Jr.

  Anne Sullivan

  John Lennon

  Harriet Tubman

  Harry Houdini

  Jackie Robinson

  Albert Einstein

  Jesse Owens

  Jim Henson

  Jonas Salk

  Dr. Seuss

  Bella Abzug

  Dan West

  Mother Teresa

  Steven Spielberg

  George H. W. Bush

  Lucille Ball

  George Washington

  Charlie Chaplin

  Oprah Winfrey

  Officer Frank Shankwitz

  Mark Twain

  Eleanor Roosevelt

  Neil Armstrong

  Paul Newman

  Pelé

  Barbara Johns

  Aung San Suu Kyi

  Eli Segal

  Abraham Lincoln

  Andy Miyares

  Clara Hale

  Muhammad Ali

  Barack Obama

  Harper Lee

  Thomas Jefferson

  Mahatma Gandhi

  Frederick Douglass

  Chesley B. Sullenberger III

  Rosa Parks

  Lou Gehrig

  Teri Meltzer

  Ben Rubin

  Who Is Your Hero?

  Photograph Credits

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Other Books by Brad Meltzer

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  introduction

  I was stuck at a red light. It wasn’t a particularly long light. But I remember the moment because it was dark and it was quiet—the first moment of quiet on the day my son Jonas was born.

  And there I was, stuck at this red light.

  It was one of those moments where you sit outside your body—like your first kiss, or that first time someone in your family dies—and you’re looking down, knowing that the moment is so personally vital that the only way to comprehend it is to witness it from somewhere else.

  So as I sat there, gripping the steering wheel of our little banged-up car, I remember looking up at the crisp black sky and thinking about this baby boy we were just blessed with. That’s when it hit me—and when I asked myself the question for the very first time: what kind of man did I want my son to be?

  I have three children now. I’ve long since realized I have little say in the matter.

  But I still love that moment. That pure, beautiful moment where you get to think about your newborn child and every door and every possibility is just waiting there, perfectly open. You can dream as big as you want in that moment. That baby of yours may be the future president of the United States, or a creative genius, or a big thinker, or, best yet, the kind of person who leaves the world better than he found it.

  It’s a moment where there are no limits or detours or any of the restrictions that reality eventually brings. And it was in that moment of unbridled love and pure naïveté that this book was born.

  I decided right there that I’d write this book over the course of my son’s life—that I’d fill it with advice and good ideas. I started that very night, writing the instructions he needed to be a good man:

  1. Love God.

  2. Be nice to the fat kid in class.

  The plan was that I’d add more ideas throughout his lifetime, and then one day, when he was older, he’d thank me, realizing what a brilliant father I was. (I’d assumed Cat Stevens would be playing in the background. Norman Rockwell would of course be resurrected to paint the moment.)

  It was the day my son was born. I’m allowed mushy.

  And so, on that day, I began this book.

  Of course it was crap.

  Sure, there was some good advice in there. But most of it was just sentimental manure—the ramblings of someone who clearly had never been a parent. I mean, did I really think that if I said, “Be good,” my son would be good?

  So I started thinking about my own life: Where did I learn kindness? Who taught me about the benefits of patience? I didn’t have to look far. Sure, my mom and dad had laid the foundation. But when I thought of my first real hero, the person who came to mind was my grandfather, Ben Rubin.

  When I was little, my grandfather knew I loved hearing Batman stories, so he’d always tell me this one story that went like this: “Batman and Robin were in the Batmobile. And they were riding along the edge of a curving cliff. And up ahead of them was a white van, which held the Joker, the Penguin, the Riddler, and Catwoman. And as they drove along this cliff, Batman and Robin caught them.”

  That’s when I’d look him right in the eyes and whisper, “Tell it again.”

  He’d smile at me and say, “Batman and Robin were in the Batmobile. And they were riding along the edge of a curving cliff….”

  And when it was done, I’d say, “Tell it again.”

  And he would.

  It was the same story every time. Just four sentences long. Batman and Robin were in the Batmobile…. But he told me this story over and over simply because he knew I loved hearing it.

  That’s a hero to me.

  In that action, he taught me about love and compassion and dedication. He taught me the power of creativity. He opened the first window of my imagination. And most of all, as I look back on it, he showed me the true impact of a well-told story.

  That’s what I wanted for my son.

  From there, I started looking for more heroes. I wanted to hear their stories—the ones no one knew. It made sense to me—especially since, as a parent, I know that the only lesson we ever teach is the one that comes from example.

  One of the first stories I heard was about the Wright brothers. A friend told me that every day when Orville and Wilbur Wright went out to fly their plane, they would bring enough materials for multiple crashes. That way, when they crashed, they could rebuild the plane and try again. Think about it a moment: every time they went out—every time—they knew they were going to fail. But that’s what they did: Crash and rebuild. Crash and rebuild. And that’s why they finally took off.

  I loved that story. I still love that story. And that’s the kind of story I wanted my son to hear: a story that wouldn’t lecture to him, but would show him that if he was determined…if he wasn’t afraid to fail…if he had persistence (and a side order of stubbornness)…the impossible becomes possible.

  Since that time, I’ve been collecting heroes and their stories for my son. (Though of course, every hero in here is heroic for both boys and girls alike. Every single one.) There are thousands of heroes. And I think that’s what I like best. There is proof—absolute proof—everywhere. Look around at any life and you’ll find examples of charity and honesty, leadership and humility, tenacity and dignity. These are the tools I want my son to have. And the tools I want my daughter, Lila, to have. (I’m already working on her book.) Indeed, as this book got started, it became triply important: my younger son, Theo, was born. I want these tools for Theo too.

  Does that mean every hero in the world is in here? Of course not. I purposely left out most religious leaders so there’d be no battling among faiths.

  You’ll see heroes you know, like Jim Henson and Eleanor Roosevelt. There are others who are not as we
ll known, like Frank Shankwitz and Barbara Johns. And there are others who seem almost ridiculously obvious, like George Washington and Rosa Parks. But to be clear, this is not a book about fame. Thomas Jefferson isn’t in here just because he wrote the Declaration of Independence. He’s in here because he didn’t publicize that fact (indeed, it didn’t become common knowledge that he was the author until years after he was president), showing the kind of modesty that I want my sons to know about.

  This isn’t a book about how to be remembered—it’s a book about how we live our lives, and what we are capable of on our very best days.

  Is that schmaltzy and naive? I hope so. Because I want my sons to learn those things too.

  We all are who we are—until that moment when we strive for something greater.

  In the end, I suppose there are easier ways to share life’s most valuable lessons with my sons. There were moments when I thought about doing it Mr. Miyagi style and teaching it through karate. But I don’t know karate. And so I do the only thing I know how to do: I tell a story. Just like my grandfather taught me all those years ago.

  BRAD MELTZER

  Fort Lauderdale, Florida, 2009

  —INNOVATORS—

  the wright brothers

  Inventors of the world’s first flying machine.

  When it was time to try building the first flying machine, Samuel Langley had incredible resources and tens of thousands in funding. Bicycle salesmen Orville and Wilbur Wright had a flying toy their father gave them as children and a dream they refused to give up on. Guess who won?

  Every day, they knew they’d fail.

  Every time they’d go out to fly—every time—they brought extra materials because they knew their fledgling design would crash.

  Crash and rebuild. Crash and rebuild.

  But never ever, ever give up. *

  If we worked on the assumption that what is accepted as true really is true, then there would be little hope for advance.

  —Orville Wright

  —UNSTOPPABLE—

  team hoyt

  Father and son. Long-distance runners.

  Although Rick Hoyt is profoundly disabled, he has competed with his father Dick in over one thousand marathons, triathlons, ironman competitions, and other long-distance events.

  When Dick and Judy Hoyt’s son was born with cerebral palsy, unable to walk or talk, the doctors told them to just “put him away.”

  No, they decided.

  They’d push him, pull him, they’d carry him along.

  But he’d never be left behind.

  When the public schools said there was no place for Rick, his parents found a computer that would write his thoughts from the few head movements he could make.

  At ten, he spoke his first sentence. “Go Bruins!”

  In high school, Rick learned of a five-mile charity run for a newly paralyzed teenager.

  Rick told his father they had to do something to send a message that life goes on.

  Even though he wasn’t a runner, Dick never hesitated.

  He’d run the race, pushing Rick’s wheelchair the whole way.

  They finished next to last. It was a victory.

  That night, Rick typed out these words: “Dad, when I’m running, it feels like my disability disappears.”

  Dick’s mission was clear.

  He kept running, Rick always out in front.

  234 triathlons, 67 marathons, 6 ironmans.

  Rick Hoyt still can’t walk.

  But with his father, they both fly. *

  Team Hoyt’s motto: Yes you can.

  —FANTASISTS—

  joe shuster and jerry siegel

  Inventors of the first superhero.

  The creators of Superman—and Clark Kent—showed the world that the most ordinary of us can turn out to be the most heroic.

  They weren’t good-looking.

  They weren’t popular.

  And they were so poor that they used to draw on the back of butcher’s paper.

  But they were two best friends.

  With one dream.

  At the brink of World War II, in the midst of the Great Depression, two kids from Cleveland didn’t just give us the world’s first superhero.

  They gave us something to believe in. *

  The trouble with this, kid, is that it’s too sensational. Nobody would believe it.

  —One of the first rejection letters for Superman

  —NEIGHBOR—

  mr. rogers

  Television host of Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood.

  With little more than a cardigan and a friendly smile, Fred Rogers spent nearly forty years using public television to teach kindness—just kindness—to children. Did it work? After thieves stole Mr. Rogers’s car, the story was broadcast on TV and in newspapers. The car was returned in two days.

  The note in the car read: “If we’d known it was yours, we never would have taken it.”

  His parents were so worried about his hay fever, they kept him inside for an entire summer.

  He had nothing to play with except for a toy piano and some homemade hand puppets.

  Freddie made the best of it. He had his imagination.

  He didn’t need anything else. *

  Knowing that we can be loved exactly as we are gives us all the best opportunity for growing into the healthiest of people.

  —Fred Rogers

  When a bubble’s gone, you don’t see it anymore with your eyes. And when an opera is over, you don’t hear it anymore with your ears. But you can remember it. You can remember what bubbles look like and what operas sound like and what friends feel like. And you’ll always have them with you in your memory.

  —Fred Rogers

  —LAWBREAKER—

  miep gies

  Found and preserved Anne Frank’s diary.

  Risking her life for those of her friends, Miep Gies protected eight people in a cramped annex—Otto Frank and his family of four, the Van Pels and their son, and an elderly dentist—from the Nazi death machine during World War II. After Anne and her family were discovered by the Germans and sent to Auschwitz, Miep, hoping that Anne would return, held on to the world’s most important diary.

  In the spring of 1942, Otto Frank asked his assistant the most important question of her life: “Are you prepared to help us?”

  Miep Gies never hesitated. “Yes, of course,” she said.

  For two years, Miep broke the law—hiding and feeding eight people, including Otto’s daughter, Anne.

  When the Nazis burst in, Miep didn’t deny helping the family.

  She didn’t apologize.

  Instead, she tried to bribe Nazi officials into letting the eight innocent people go.

  It didn’t work.

  And when the Nazis warned her not to return, Miep snuck back into the hiding spot.

  Among the scattered papers and clothing, she noticed one thing the Nazis had dismissed—Anne’s red-checked diary.

  Never opening it, she placed it in a desk drawer.

  When Anne’s father returned after the war, Miep once again took him in.

  When she heard that Anne was dead, Miep relinquished her duty as caretaker.

  “Here,” Miep told Otto, “is your daughter Anne’s legacy to you.” *

  I myself am just an ordinary woman. I simply had no choice.

  —Miep Gies

  —PHILANTHROPIST—

  roberto clemente

  Baseball legend. Hometown hero.

  Being one of the best baseball players in the world would satisfy most people. Roberto Clemente got better every year. As a right fielder with the Pittsburgh Pirates, he won twelve Gold Glove Awards and had the best batting average in four different seasons.

  Being a baseball player made him famous.

  Being a twelve-time Golden Glove winner made him rich.

  So when an earthquake struck Nicaragua, he could have just written a check and gotten his name in the paper.

  Instead, he got
involved personally.

  He funded three emergency relief flights.

  All three were diverted by corrupt officials—which is why Clemente decided to fly on the fourth plane himself.

  It was packed with as much food and medicine as he could possibly bring.

  The plane crashed in the ocean, killing everyone on the flight.