Another great article by Steve in todays paper. IN PRAISE OF DUTY STEVE STRAESSLE SPECIAL TO THE DEMOCRAT-GAZETTE Sunday, October 12, 2014 The gaunt figure must have appeared ghost-like when he emerged from the jungle. He was obviously a military man, as his ramrod-straight back and confident gait sang out in contrast to the patchwork uniform he was wearing. He was clear-eyed despite almost three decades of living on coconuts and bananas. Doctors proclaimed him in remarkably good health. Hiroo Onoda was a Japanese soldier who was sent to defend a small island off the coast of the Philippines in 1945. As the bombs of World War II were becoming silent and Japan was becoming desperate, Onoda was commanded to hold the island outpost at all costs. He was told that his countrymen would come for him, but it might take a while. Stay the course. Dont lose faith. Persevere. Twenty-nine years later, in 1974, Lt. Onoda emerged from the jungle he had defended for almost three decades. Suspicious of Allied leaflets declaring the wars end, Onoda had evaded capture and exploited his guerrilla training to honor the last command given to him. Finally, a Japanese student located him in the jungle. With help from Onodas brother and his former commanding officer, Onoda was convinced the war had ended. Throughout the 29 years he spent in that jungle, Lt. Onoda fulfilled his duty. He stayed the course. Last January, the New York Times reported that Hiroo Onoda had died at the age of 91. Revered for his sense of duty, this diminutive soldiers story was retold by the media of the world, and a new generation shook their heads in awe of the dedication and self-sacrifice for which he stood. Onodas cause was doomed to failure as it was weighted down by evil ambition, but still, this soldier pushed the limits of human perseverance. Onoda was a symbol for duty. While those who wear their countrys uniforms preach duty like gospel, the word is a shepherds pie of so much more. Duty can lead one into battle or hold a post for decades after the conclusion of war. But, more often, duty is that whisper that tells us when and how to do the right thing. Its that breeze that cools the soul and toughens the skin. Its that mantra that says persevere. While Onodas story is remarkable, its just a reminder of the many times we witness the call of duty every day. On a recent morning, I walked past a new obelisk of brick hanging on to the side of my school building. It rises more than 30 feet and is impressive to see. Inside the building, there is a new cavern burrowing into the tower, and construction is evident all around. With renovation to our half-century-old building, we noted the need for a handicap-accessible elevator and got to work. Now, when I pass by it, I think of one young man and the duty that enveloped his days here. Stephen Oswald was a member of the Catholic High class of 1985. Stricken with a degenerative disease, Stephen knew that his life would be shortened and his days would be relegated to the places his wheelchair could go. Though Catholic High had never had a wheelchair-bound student before, Stephen would not be left out. A wooden ramp was built at the front of the school, and most of his classes were scheduled on the first floor. The only complexity was how to get him to the second floor when his schedule demanded it. Fr. George Tribou, ever the problem solver, determined that football players could carry Stephen and his wheelchair. I was a freshman then and remembered waiting quietly and patiently with my classmates as the senior players lifted Oswald up and down. Stephens friend Mike carried his books and helped organize. Nobody complained, nobody pushed by. We just waited. I recall thinking that those players were committed. They never forgot to show up and never made Stephen feel like he was a burden. Duty, I thought. Those boys bearing their classmate up and down the stairs several times a day. They get it, I thought. Once I watched as one of the players missed a step, and the chain reaction caused all of the others to tumble down the stairs. Stephen was flung to the ground and came to a skidding halt on the terrazzo first floor. Time froze. The players untangled themselves and dove for their classmate. Only one sound permeated the lobby. Laughter. Stephen Oswald was laughing. I watched one of the players wipe tears from his eyes while Stephen laughed. Uninjured, he was lifted back into his chair and wheeled to his next class. Those boys carrying Stephen Oswald wanted more than anything to avoid failure. The day they fell is the day they re-committed themselves to the task at hand. They didnt quit. They didnt ask for a break. They kept carrying their classmate. Though he knew it was likely he would not outlive his teenage years, Stephen Oswald persevered. He embraced his education and the atmosphere that enveloped him. A regular on the football sidelines, he cheered his classmates whose legs moved him when his own would not. On one Friday night a play spilled over the sideline and Stephen was knocked from his wheelchair. Several players broke ranks, lifted him up and brushed him off. Brother Richard Sanker, the schools guidance counselor, was nearby, and Stephen called out to him, Hey Brother! Did you see my tackle? He was joyous. Stephen Oswald graduated from Catholic High and earned a degree from UALR. Shortly after, his disease caught up to him, and even the strength of his high school classmates couldnt push him out of deaths reach. However, soon after Stephens graduation, another young man bound to a wheelchair traveled the path blazed by the class of 85, and Catholic High boys once again shouldered their classmate. Now, as I walk by the elevator shaft being built almost 25 years after Stephens death, I cant help but think about Stephen Oswald and his classmates carrying him up those stairs. Today, those same classmates are attempting to raise funds to help defray the cost of the elevator and name it in Stephens honor. Lt. Onoda honored his last command for decades because duty called for it. Those boys who carried their classmate up and down stairs so he could join them in class understood duty, though their young minds probably prevented them from using that terminology. As I grow older and revisit those scenes from my freshman year, I am more and more aware that only one thing was stronger than the arms bearing that wheelchair, stronger than the drive that propelled that wheelchair up and down the hallways. Only one thing was needed to allow that boy to receive spiritual, emotional, and academic sustenance while he was in high school: Stephen Oswalds own sense of duty. Steve Straessle is the principal of Little Rock Catholic High School for Boys. He can be emailed at [email protected].
Posted on: Sun, 12 Oct 2014 15:02:32 +0000
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