Meet me in St. Louie!

I moved to St. Louis in 1972 as a one year old when my dad was transferred from Chicago. I grew up in St. Louis, went away to school, and came back to raise my family. However, it isn’t until now that I really appreciate how great our town is. If you look on the Chamber of Commerce or the Visitor Commission’s website, you will see all of these great bullet points about our city. It showcases the low cost of housing or the growing job market in healthcare, sciences and technologies. They mention how great our Zoo is, the cultural diversity, rich history, and thriving restaurant scene. We have professional football, hockey, and baseball teams. It’s a great place to live. But as I get older, the things I appreciate about the Lou is less about the Arch, and more about something else.

The people.

It isn’t until I travel and spend time in other cities that I realize how blessed I am to live in St. Louis. As a Catholic, I sometimes forget that my faith is not the norm in other cities. Our Catholic tradition has always been a constant backdrop in our city since the foundation of our Archdiocese 188 years ago. Referred to as the “Rome of the West”, St. Louis is one of the top three Catholic cities in the country. Christian values permeate the culture in St. Louis as we uphold the importance of family, faith, and charity.

One moment of clarity came to me on my way home from work a few months ago. Driving east on highway 44, I see a van spin out of control and flip upside down. One of the worst accidents I’ve ever seen. The whole highway shuts down as a group of people go through the same internal dialogue I am going through. “Should I get out and help?” Slowly doors opened and about 20 people close in on the wreckage. It’s bad. The guy is unconscious and there is no way to get him out of the van which is upside down and in flames. I remember the smell of metal and electrical fire. Instinctively two teams were assembled. One team was working on getting him away from the burning vehicle, and the other team was trying to find a way to put out the fire. A older man runs to his truck and grabs a broom and starts to violently stab the windshield until it finally gives way. Another man starts peeling away the broken glass and plastic to make an opening. His hands are bleeding from the glass cutting his fingers. The lady to his left, takes off her sweat shirt and hands it to him so he can continue to claw away. Someone has a sleeping bag that they placed on the ground and I pulled this man’s bloody body through the windshield and carried him to safety. In the meantime an army of people were running through the parked cars asking for water bottles or any liquid they can gather to put out the fire. Like a miniature bucket brigade, the fire is splashed with coffee, gatorade, and diet Coke. I saw a mountain of empty bottles, cans and mugs as the team high fived each other as the flames turned to steam and smoke and finally subsided. The paramedics arrived and all of us go back to our cars, turn of our hazard lights, and went back to our normal commute to our homes and families.

It was an amazing witness of the selflessness that exists in our city. Total strangers coming together, putting their own comfort and safety at risk, because one of us needed help. It wasn’t the Rams winning the Superbowl. It wasn’t the grandeur of the World’s Fair. It was just a Wednesday during rush hour. When it counted most, we weren’t Protestant or Catholic, Democrat or Republican, black or white. We were just neighbors helping neighbors. As the world looks to St. Louis on the news today, they see anger, violence and divisiveness. I wish they could see my town for what it truly is...

a city on a hill.