Tenacity vs Trauma
When giving up apparently is not an option
Southwest Airlines First Officer Ingo had a dream.
Upon his 44 acres of bucolic paradise, overlooking a wooded lake, he would
build his castle. And I don't mean have it built, I mean build it
himself, or at least as much as his time and abilities would allow.
So, for three years he toiled away, spilling sweat and a
little blood, through many long days into realizing the dream. His 16 year old son
discovered emerging talents, too, including tiling and other building
tasks. He wants to be an architect so this was great
experience. And, according to his dad, he was good at it.
Such talents will serve him well.
When the house became lockable,
Ingo moved his personal effects and furniture from storage. No sense in paying for
that any more.
On at least one occasion, when the end was close and friends wanted
to help him celebrate a birthday they asked what they could get him.
"one day of labor" he said, "would be the best birthday present
you could offer." And so they did.
Ingo was the general contractor and did lots of work himself. Besides
minding over the various trades, cleaning up between jobs, helping
whenever it was needed, and mothering over the process, he installed
cabinets, tiled, put in counters and finished countless other building chores.
All the while he lived in a single-wide trailer behind the house
while working his full-time airline job.
At two weeks prior to moving in, the house was essentially done.
Friends and family planned a party around move-in day. The fruits
of his labor were about to be picked.
One night, Ingo pulled his
year-old Ford truck into the garage, locked up and went to bed in the
trailer—just as he'd done so many nights prior. It would be the last time for
The next sound he heard was a neighbor banging on his door with the
dreadful words. "Your house is on fire!"
He ran out in disbelief. Smoke poured from the ends, flames licked
at the windows and popping sounds erupted from within. As he walked by a
vehicle parked outside, a tire exploded, somehow
showering him with glass shards.
The fire department was on the way but it was
too late—the house was gone. Through the
raucous of a consuming conflagration he could hear smoke alarms blaring.
Soon even those went silent as their wires melted.
It's amazing how fire inspectors can make sense of what little
charred remains were left. The garage-parked truck was sitting on its
rims, in a now-hardened puddle of aluminum that used to be wheels. That
truck, a nearly brand new Ford pickup, turns out to have been the cause.
Sometime after he parked it, a wire from the hot side of the battery
shorted out prior to its fuse. With no protection, a huge
current flowed turning the wire into a filament and lighting nearby
materials. The fire
never looked back.
It burned so intensely that, for 5 days afterwards, he had to
call the fire department back several times to extinguish flare-ups.
What few parts were initially standing, soon succumbed to the intense
residual heat from the smoldering mass of remains.
There was nothing left that could be recovered. All his personal
possessions, family memorabilia, pictures from 20 years of military
flying and furniture—gone.
The story of tenacity that built this house is one of many but, what
makes this unique is what came next.
Ingo's next purchase was a large, used dump truck that he would use
to haul it all to a dump. What a daunting task, driving three years of your labor,
a house never occupied, away in a dump truck. A process that would take several
weeks on its own.
Ingo tells this story in such a matter-of-fact way that
it surprised me. "I'm
rebuilding my house" he said as
we prepared the cockpit. Rebuilding? "It burned down
and I'm back at it again,
we'll be framing when I get back." Wow!
He filled in the details during our trip, acknowledging
that it must be viewed as a process, a "one
foot in front of other" kind of affair where you don't look too hard at the destination--it's
too distant. No, he looks at each task and digs in, simply making sure
its done properly. The next task will worry itself, for now he'll
concentrate on this one.
And so the steps begin anew.
He swears he'll never put a car in the garage again. I don't blame
him. It had to scorch his psyche given how new cars aren't supposed to just
catch fire and burn down your home.
He's thankful to still have his family--nobody was hurt--but the
thought of being in the house when that happened would be traumatic
although they would have been alerted early on.
I'm sure he spent some time in disbelief but that was apparently
short lived. At this writing, a new example of human tenacity is rising over the
foundation. It will be an even more powerful testament to our ability to push through incredible circumstances
in pursuit of our dreams. Ingo is an example of what can be done,
even when the chips get charred beyond recognition. I'll
look forward to another picture.