what you are. The best. Knew it the first time I saw your work. Wouldn’t have spent all these years on you if it wasn’t so.”
Jed raised his head. “I know, Silas. I owe you. Big time.”
A hand waved Jed’s words away. “Not the point, boy. It’s not what you owe me.” Pale blue eyes met brown and bored deep. “It’s what you owe yourself. You’ve got talent, E J. Don’t let it go to waste because of an unfortunate accident.”
Unfortunate.
Ken was dead, and that was … unfortunate?
No. Madness, maybe. Unacceptable and wrong, definitely.But unfortunate? That word didn’t even
begin
to encompass what had happened. A flood of emotion crowded Jed’s throat. Sorrow. Anger. Loss.
And shame.
He had spent the couple of weeks telling himself he had nothing to be ashamed of. He hadn’t done anything wrong. And last week, as he and Andy did the final edit on the show, the shame practically burned a hole in Jed’s gut. A man had died. A good man. And there they were, watching it happen over and over, acting like it was just another show.
Yes, Jed had made the episode a tribute to Ken—and firefighters in general. Yes, he showed the episode to Ken’s widow before agreeing to use it. And yes, when the segment finished playing, she had put her arms around Jed and hugged him, tears streaming down her face as she gave permission to use the footage. But for all that, it seemed wrong. Wrong to benefit from the loss of such a good man.
Jed had mentioned his reservations to Andy on the drive back to the office from Ken’s house. Andy stared ahead, silent, for a full two minutes. A response Jed knew well. When there was a lot at stake, Andy thought things through. Finally he spoke.
“I think Ken’s story is worth telling.”
Jed couldn’t argue with that. And so they let it play. And as Silas said, it was a hit. The response even more so. More than any of them had dreamed. Phone calls. Letters. E-mails. More poured in every day. Along with donations. For Ken’s family For the fire station. For a newly established “Ken Hall Fund for Firefighters and Their Families.” All of which showed that what he and Andy had hoped for when they’d started out was happening.
Everyday Heroes
was capturing hearts.
Jed had known from the start that the concept was good. So much on the networks wallowed in the ugly side of life, Jed was convinced that people were ready for something different. Something that celebrated goodness. Then he and Andy hit on the idea of
Everyday Heroes
—follow people who help others, whoput themselves on the line every day. Watch them, listen to them, give them the chance to open up and remind us what is good and noble about not only them, but ourselves as well.
The first episodes featured a policeman, an inner-city teacher, a doctor who worked with children with AIDS, among others. With each episode, the stories deepened—and audience share grew. When the fire station had agreed to let them come in, Jed warned Andy that this episode would be intense. More than any of the others. Odds were good there’d be a fire, which meant they would follow the men into hell—or the closest thing to it on earth. So when it happened, Jed wasn’t surprised. Nor was he surprised by the danger and risk.
But the men themselves? They were a surprise. When fighting fires, they were as skillful and courageous as it got. But at the station, they were more like crazy frat brothers. One minute they tormented each other, playing practical jokes and throwing verbal insults like a bunch of kids hyped on turbocharged Kool-Aid. The next minute they sat and talked, late into the night, about anything and everything.
They were a family.
Jed knew after one day with these guys that this episode was going to be the best yet. And he’d been right.
But at what cost?
The emotions he’d almost quashed flamed to life again with the new influx of guilt, and Jed gritted his teeth against the pain. But some of it must have
Jed raised his head. “I know, Silas. I owe you. Big time.”
A hand waved Jed’s words away. “Not the point, boy. It’s not what you owe me.” Pale blue eyes met brown and bored deep. “It’s what you owe yourself. You’ve got talent, E J. Don’t let it go to waste because of an unfortunate accident.”
Unfortunate.
Ken was dead, and that was … unfortunate?
No. Madness, maybe. Unacceptable and wrong, definitely.But unfortunate? That word didn’t even
begin
to encompass what had happened. A flood of emotion crowded Jed’s throat. Sorrow. Anger. Loss.
And shame.
He had spent the couple of weeks telling himself he had nothing to be ashamed of. He hadn’t done anything wrong. And last week, as he and Andy did the final edit on the show, the shame practically burned a hole in Jed’s gut. A man had died. A good man. And there they were, watching it happen over and over, acting like it was just another show.
Yes, Jed had made the episode a tribute to Ken—and firefighters in general. Yes, he showed the episode to Ken’s widow before agreeing to use it. And yes, when the segment finished playing, she had put her arms around Jed and hugged him, tears streaming down her face as she gave permission to use the footage. But for all that, it seemed wrong. Wrong to benefit from the loss of such a good man.
Jed had mentioned his reservations to Andy on the drive back to the office from Ken’s house. Andy stared ahead, silent, for a full two minutes. A response Jed knew well. When there was a lot at stake, Andy thought things through. Finally he spoke.
“I think Ken’s story is worth telling.”
Jed couldn’t argue with that. And so they let it play. And as Silas said, it was a hit. The response even more so. More than any of them had dreamed. Phone calls. Letters. E-mails. More poured in every day. Along with donations. For Ken’s family For the fire station. For a newly established “Ken Hall Fund for Firefighters and Their Families.” All of which showed that what he and Andy had hoped for when they’d started out was happening.
Everyday Heroes
was capturing hearts.
Jed had known from the start that the concept was good. So much on the networks wallowed in the ugly side of life, Jed was convinced that people were ready for something different. Something that celebrated goodness. Then he and Andy hit on the idea of
Everyday Heroes
—follow people who help others, whoput themselves on the line every day. Watch them, listen to them, give them the chance to open up and remind us what is good and noble about not only them, but ourselves as well.
The first episodes featured a policeman, an inner-city teacher, a doctor who worked with children with AIDS, among others. With each episode, the stories deepened—and audience share grew. When the fire station had agreed to let them come in, Jed warned Andy that this episode would be intense. More than any of the others. Odds were good there’d be a fire, which meant they would follow the men into hell—or the closest thing to it on earth. So when it happened, Jed wasn’t surprised. Nor was he surprised by the danger and risk.
But the men themselves? They were a surprise. When fighting fires, they were as skillful and courageous as it got. But at the station, they were more like crazy frat brothers. One minute they tormented each other, playing practical jokes and throwing verbal insults like a bunch of kids hyped on turbocharged Kool-Aid. The next minute they sat and talked, late into the night, about anything and everything.
They were a family.
Jed knew after one day with these guys that this episode was going to be the best yet. And he’d been right.
But at what cost?
The emotions he’d almost quashed flamed to life again with the new influx of guilt, and Jed gritted his teeth against the pain. But some of it must have
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