by Joshua Figueira

STAFF WRITER

My front window at the Transcript-Bulletin overlooks a small section of Tooele's Main Street between 200 North and Vine. Thanks to a large tree that obstructs most of the view, the only things I can really see clearly are a cement bench, a telephone booth and the crosswalk that leads to the post office steps.

Every once in a while, as I'm working, something outside the window will catch my attention. Usually it's nothing much -- a novice skateboarder using the cement bench to perfect his frontside grab, or a small child struggling to replace one of those orange crosswalk safety flags. Fairly innocuous stuff.

Tuesday morning it was one of those seemingly insignificant things -- a blue baseball cap -- that captured my attention.

Prominently featured on the gently faded hat was a large rectangular patch surrounded by smaller pins. Even from a distance, the insignia on the hat was unmistakable, and the words embroidered on the patch were clear: "American Legion: for God and Country."

Immediately, my mind was transported back to my sophomore year at BYU, and my chance encounter with a nearly identical hat.

It was a cold November morning, and I was making my way to the bookstore to pick up some supplies for my first class of the day. I glanced down at my watch. I was in a race against the clock. "Seven forty-two," I thought. "I can still make it."

Every morning at 7:45 sharp the national anthem plays over the outside PA system on the BYU campus. I knew if I could reach the student center by 7:44, I wouldn't have to stop in the freezing cold and stand at attention as the flag was raised by the university ROTC.

It's wasn't that I wasn't grateful to be living in America, it was just that I would have been more grateful to be living in America without frostbite.

Nearing the steps of the Wilkinson Center, I glanced down at my watch again. Seven forty-four, I made it. As I reached for the door, it swung open before me and out rushed the building custodian, a portly gentleman with graying hair, bowed legs, a subtle limp -- and a blue ball cap.

In his hurry to exit the building, his foot caught on the door frame, and he grabbed my arm to steady himself. Then he looked up at me appreciatively, smiled, and said in a voice full of gravity and reverence, "Seven forty-four, I made it."

I then watched, guilt stricken, as this humble janitor stood erect, brushed the dust from his apron, adjusted his hat, and saluted motionlessly until the last strain of the "Star-Spangled Banner" faded into the morning air. Then he spun about silently, winked at me, and went back to his work.

I didn't make it to class that day. I had too much to think about. Most of it centered around what that old man and his hat stood for. Sacrifice, struggle, faith, dedication, freedom, justice, hope -- and America. I went home and re-read the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. I pondered on well-known phrases like "all men are created equal" and "inalienable rights." That night, as I wrote in my journal, I promised myself I'd never forget that old man, or the lesson he'd taught me that day.

Tuesday morning as I looked out the window from the second story of the Transcript-Bulletin offices and saw that lost blue cap, I was reminded of that promise. The reminder couldn't have come in a more poignant season.

At a time when we are celebrating the rich traditions of our American heritage, we would do well to remember there is more to our country than low approval ratings and gross partisanship in the halls of Congress. There is more to our country than a controversial war or the latest political scandal. There is another America, one that walks the streets of Tooele County in blue ball caps adorned with patches and pins. It's the country that gives me gratitude for the past, and the ideal that gives me hope for the future.

joshua@tooeletranscript.com