And suddenly none of the costumes matter.
Only character.
The police report later estimated the bus had shifted nearly three feet before the trees finally gave out. One state trooper said if the rescue had started even two minutes later, the angle of the bus would have made entry impossible.
Two minutes.
That was the distance between twenty-three funerals and twenty-three children eating dinner at home that night.
I learned the names of all five men later.
Dale “Wrench” Buckner.
Luis Ortega.
Mitch Halpern.
DeShawn Pike.
Ronnie Velez.
None of them considered themselves heroes.
Luis missed work the next day because he needed twelve stitches in his shoulder from broken glass. When his boss asked what happened, he reportedly shrugged and said, “Busy afternoon.”
Mitch owned a repair garage outside Knoxville. DeShawn had done two tours in Afghanistan. Ronnie was fifty-eight years old and had arthritis in both knees bad enough that climbing down that embankment should’ve been impossible.
