The Legacy of Heroes

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By David W. Shelton | July 1, 2006 |

A few weeks ago, I wrote of how my childhood was colored in the pages of comic books and how the best heroes I imagined were in those colored panels. I would imagine how those stories would be so cool if they were real.

But like any fantasy, I had to come to a realization that those heroes in colored tights and flashy capes would never materialize. Sure, they’d come close. Comic books have made some really great movies in the last thirty years. Some of the more notable successes of the panel-to-big-screen transfer are Superman: The Movie, Spider-Man, Spider-Man 2, Batman, Batman Begins, and this year’s Superman Returns.

I had the great pleasure of watching Superman Returns with my two best friends from childhood. We were once again those three crazy boys as we watched the opening credits fly past on the screen. It was a chance to be a child again. And we were children in awe of the hero as he saved the day and carried on his legacy. Not to spoil the movie for those who haven’t seen it, we see him save a Boeing 777, a space shuttle, a number of cars and falling signs, and the damsels in distress.

But like most heroes, Superman is alone. The character is remembered for his impact far more than his flashy blue tights. This is a character that is recognized across the world as a symbol for idealism.

But symbols are sometimes overshadowed by real people whose lives are reflected in those they have touched. These people—living, flesh and blood people—are examples of the best that humanity has to offer, warts and all. One such person was a soft-spoken person by the name of Juan Julian Vasquez.

I got to know him over the last year as we served on the Human Relations Commission. His soft voice and vision of hope was one that I quickly recognized as one of sincere passion. He was a businessman, a ballroom dance instructor, and most importantly, a father of four: Juan, Jr., twins Matthew and Thomas, and Eva. Their mother, Deborah, is very much involved in all of their lives.

Most of us in Clarksville will remember Juan as a freedom fighter for the Latin-American community in that area. A few years ago, he started an organization called HOPE, the Hispanic Organization for Progress and Education. Today, that organization is known for its many forums and its passionate leadership.

On June 23, just a week ago as I write this, the entire city was horrified as we learned that Juan and his son Thomas were both brutally murdered. Thomas, just two days away from being nineteen years old, was found near a local school. Police later found Juan’s body in his home more than ten miles away.

Their deaths were immediately felt like shockwaves throughout the state. It was no different than if a piece of my own heart was ripped out and shredded before my eyes. People from all walks of life paused to ask how large of a hole their deaths would leave. I’ve been repeatedly asked if it was a hate crime. No. It wasn’t. It was senseless and brutal. It was an act of violence that we’ll not fully understand until those responsible are brought to justice; maybe not even then.

In the shadow of this black cloud of death, we can take some solace in the fact that both men left a powerful legacy. Thomas had something that so many of us dismiss. He had a dream. He had a passion for life; a passion that was inspired by his father’s. He excelled as a drummer and his friends stood by him no matter what. I met some of those friends this week. They were people from all walks of life, from all races, from all cultures. In a very real sense, he lived as his father dreamed: color blind.

I recently met Thomas’ girlfriend. His mother introduced her as “his first true love.” I asked her to tell me about her boyfriend and she spoke without hesitation. She told me that he was the sweetest, kindest, and most sincere person she ever met. She told of how he’d often make her laugh by feigning a stumble or a fall in an attempt at slapstick comedy. What a powerful image of humility and grace. It’s one worth remembering.

Juan’s legacy was even more profound. No matter how soft-spoken, no matter how passionate he seemed, he was persistent in his work for equality. That legacy will continue long after the tears stop. It will continue long after the anger, the bitterness and the frustration gives way, leaving only the sense of deep loss that the entire city is feeling right now.

I loved his attitude. “Let’s get beyond all this B.S.,” Juan said once. “Let’s do something positive.” Sure, some people in Clarksville actually like “all the B.S.” but Juan saw through it. He saw it for what it was: a hindrance to equality.

He looked beyond what separated us, and searched for ways to unite. He was a bridge-builder, an advocate for real change. He once wrote that one man can make a difference. He said that a person should be a part of the solution.

Both Juan and Thomas were part of the solution; they made a difference. Whether it was through dancing lessons, the beat that led a band, or just those tender moments of intimacy that are never spoken, but never forgotten; they touched the lives of thousands.

Even to the end of their lives and beyond, they were true heroes. And they didn’t even need a cape.