The Glendale Bank and Trust had survived by a thread, as had Glendale itself. The residents knew they were living on borrowed time as the town evaporated before their eyes. Harold Archer tried his best to maintain a spirit of hope, and the residents all admired his staying power. He rallied the citizens to save the bank 5 years prior and had since become the vice president of that bank. He was a stalwart in the community, and a great friend to his employees and neighbors.
It is no secret that Harold instinctively protected his workers. Since he had become Vice President, none had lost their jobs. He was kind and empathetic. He never missed a day of work.
As he made his rounds to check the money drawers, he noticed an unfamiliar car parked outside. He watched as a man he had never seen walked to the back of the car with a piece of paper. He glanced at the paper, then at the bank. Harold was concerned and walked to the window. As he did, he noticed the man opening the trunk. He lifted out a black duffle bag, then looked at his watch. Harold’s heart dropped and his pulse kicked into overdrive. The man grabbed what appeared to be a gun and shoved into the bag.
Harold quickly ran over to Mike and Jill. “Jill, get in the back, NOW! Hit the police call button. Mike, stand by the door with me and help me subdue a man getting ready to come inside.” They both looked for a brief moment as if they were falling for a prank, then seeing the sweat on Harold’s brow, did exactly as he asked.
The early morning customers stood in lines at the three counters, and Harold yelled at them to get back. A few screamed, others rushed to push people to the far side of the bank. Within a few moments the silent bank alarm was sounded, and Ed got in his patrol car to intervene. But it would be at least 10 minutes for him to arrive.
Harold and Mike Stood on either side of the door, and as the large man entered the doorway, Harold dove headlong into him and knocked him to the floor. As he did, Mike grabbed the duffle bag and slid it from his grasp. Harold grabbed the man’s hands, and in a heightened frenzy of adrenaline, pulled the man’s arms tight behind him.
“There’s been a mistake.” The man said with his face in the tile floor. Mike unzipped the bag and lifted a gun carefully out of the bag. Everyone looked at Harold, and he, once again, was a hero to everyone. The small group began to applaud.
The man spoke again “Are you Harold? Harold Archer?”
“Why do you ask?” Harold asked without answering the man.
“I’m Kevin, Kevin Purvis. I’m your new security guard from Eaglecrest.” The man looked at the group of people, several women with hands lifted in disbelief. It was then that Mike pulled the security vest from Kevin’s bag.
“Yes, Kevin.” Harold stood and wiped the dust from his pants. “Welcome, welcome to Glendale.”
The five seconds Harold Archer was a hero had faded by noon. What replaced it was the gratitude of the townspeople who knew Harold too well to ever laugh or say an unkind word behind his back. Kevin would best sum it up at the end of the day. “You made a mistake, but it’s a mistake only brave men are able to make. I’m honored to be working for you Mr. Archer.”
Ten years, almost to the day, Kevin Purvis was a pallbearer for Harold’s funeral. He would recall in laughter and tears that story, and countless others that had happened since. They were reminded that, in a world of five second heroes, the true heroes are the ones who sacrifice every day so that others may live and have dignity.