Mine was Bobby Orr, defenseman for the Boston Bruins in the late 60’s/early 70’s.
He was electrifying. I used to get goosebumps watching him skate with the puck. Even now, if I hear the name or run across it in print, my ears perk up and, for a minute, I’m a kid again.
So, who was yours? Sports, music, science (nerd!), whatever.
mmm
Bruce Lee
Pop
Patrick Moore
Harriet Tubman. I read a book about her in elementary school, which inspired me to seek out other books from the school library. I was a tomboy as a kid, and I thought she was so cool; she was a physically strong woman, and very brave.
Steve Perry. I wanted to sing that well so badly.
Huck Finn
The Durango Kid. Charles Starrett was by far my favorite B Western guy. I made the classic error of watching about ten minutes of an old Durango clip on YouTube not long ago and learned with strong reinforcement that “you can’t go home again.”
BONANZA TOWN - 1951 may be the very clip I saw. Pathetic.
Scott Hamilton, because he was the topic of my very first “research” paper in third grade or so. I was so inspired by the story of this little sick kid who, in his words at the time, “skated my way out of it!” I still remember that quote from my paper, although I don’t remember what interview it came from.
As a young kid, Thomas Edison. But later (after I started working in radio) I much admired Paul Harvey. Not for his political opinions, but for his way with words.
Anne Frank. Her abiding hope in the face of adversity really spoke to me.
John Wayne. My mother took me to see every John Wayne movie at the theater as soon as it came out, usually at a matinee. One of the most traumatic experiences of my childhood was when she took me to see Rio Lobo. I would have been about 5 years old at the time. There, on the screen, was my idol. My hero. In yankee blue. Shock. Horror. Dismay.
I lost it. Had to be carried sobbing from the theater, utterly inconsolable. Mom had to let me stay up to catch some other John Wayne movie on the late late show, so I could see that John Wayne wasn’t really a yankee.
Roger Maris, I guess. I was at the stadium when he hit #61.
Nadia Comanici (sp?): I was about 7 when this tiny, adorable girl blew everyone away at the ‘76 summer Olympics. I watched at my grandparents’ house, and spent the summer tumbling and flipping and dreaming that I could be Nadia. Of course, then I realized that, at 7, I was already too tall to be an Olympic gymnast… but I still love gymnastics.
A guy in my hometown who later became my chief mentor in guy school. He was a man’s man, if you know what that means. When he said he would do something, he did it. He taught me to fish; he taught me to handle and fire guns and he taught me how to drive. He taught me to stand up for myself and how to handle myself in difficult circumstances. He had a little trouble teaching me to dance, though, and he found it impossible to teach me how to sing; those were two talents he had in abundance but couldn’t impart to me. He was my hero as if you can’t tell.
John Glenn. Or any of the Mercury 7 astronauts.
Jaques Cousteau
A woman on our softball team named Debbie, who was a spectacular ball player. She just seemed so with it… had a long-time job, her own place and her life generally in order without need of anyone else. But as I became an adult, that didn’t quite turn out to be true. I still adore her and she’s been my friend all these years, but she wasn’t truly hero material.
Historical: Theodore Roosevelt. What a man! What a president! It’s shameful how politics is so degraded now, with such poor specimens making blatting fools of themselves.
Personal: There are two. 1) My grandmother. The woman was kindness personified, bright, adventurous (drove alone to California every year and took me on countless road trips, everywhere), talented (she used to sew costumes for Broadway actors, among other things), a doll collector whose collection would be worth well over a million bucks today had anyone thought to store the dolls away instead of unloading them for a song, after her death. My grandmother emanated Sheer Love, she was the finest person I’ve ever known, and I think about her even today. 2) My childless aunt who lived across the street. I’d go over and hang with her, to get out of the neurotic madness in my own house, and she’d buy me comic books. She was also a librarian and turned me on to “the good stuff”, the gift that keeps on giving.
I didn’t have one. These “Write about your hero” assignments came up every now and then, and it was a serious source of anxiety for me to have to come up with one. I BSed for the most part.