Gibraltar

Most people react noticeably to the Pillars of Hercules that stand tall at the division of Europe and Africa, so full of Western history and lore. Also to Niagara Falls and Mt. Everest, because great landmarks both stand out and inspire. And so it was with Glenn McPhee, nicknamed after the great formation dividing the Mediterranean and the Atlantic.

His friends called him Rock because of his phenomenal stability, dependability, and endurance. That was in Junior High. But Rock wasn't enough. Some of the boys called him GG or GiGi, but they learned that it was not to the best interests of their health if they weren't fleet of foot.

Perhaps it is unfortunate that one is remembered for a single act of bravery or cowardliness. Not fair, some say, because during one's life he does so much more. He was a father, husband, he pitched horseshoes, gave money and food to the poor, shoveled others' walks. Perhaps it is easier to remember the one act than the many. That is how it was with Glenn. However, the friends he grew up with knew him for so much more than the few seconds it took to save the President.

Stating the act would take seconds, maybe a single sentence. If the reader learned of it that way it would come and go so fast he might well wonder why take a whole story. But if we lead up to the incident by pointing out how it came about, then it warramts a story instead of a simple, declarative statement. So bear with us while we develop the reason behind the Head of State granting Glenn McPhee the Presidential Bravery Award.

Those who simplify human reactions to the pair, fight and flight, miss a definite third possibility, STAND. A dog will fight, a sheep will flee, but a billy goat will just stand solid. Like a bull before it decides whether it will charge or go retreat. And standing solid was one of the traits the famous Glenn McP displayed as young as two.

A neighborhood Bull Dog terrorized every yard on Grant Street. His chief target was the inordinate number of stray cats that congregated one block from the fishery. It seems the single block put enough distance

between the docks and freedom to act as a buffer zone. But Bozo was smart. Why go to the docks where the cats would be on the alert? Better to go one block away where the fish-scrounging felinesrested. So Bozo raced from house to house running every cat he didn't grab by the tail up his family tree.

One day Bozo had a bad day. Whether it was because his owner had dewormed him and he was feeling gurgly or because the cats had sensed his approach and made themselves scarce we don't know. But this we do know: that the only thing on any Grant Street lawn that day was a small boy, a toddler, playing cars by himself. If Bozo had been able to reason and talk, he might very well have said, "This has been such a rotten cat-chasing day, why not go for that harmless human and show him who's boss!" Maybe in Canine reasoning he did. But whatever did or did not transpire within or without the animal, he did rush toward the boy.

Mrs. McPhee was dusting quietly as she looked out the window at her resourceful son. He was pretending a stick was a semi. How proud Mother was. And then, like a Tiger attacking a steak or a lion a roast, Bozo raced from the next-door yard hell-bent for Glenn.

Some kids fold in such circumstances. Some mothers scream. But neither happened as Bozo bore down. Instead, Glenn turned directly toward the charging beast almost daring him to come one paw closer.

Now, animals have built-in instinct. They can sense almost immediately whether they can get away with something or not. And Bozo obviously and instantly knew he'd met his match in this car-playing boy. And so the muscular canine changed his course and -- in the human way of thinking -- pretended to see a cat, veered, and chased thin air.

It happened so fast that Mother didn't have time to scream nor dash through the door to save her son. As to showering the toddler with hugs and kiss or weep hysterically, she recognized the situation quickly too. So she just stood at the window, tall and proud.

This was only the beginning of Glenn's so-called heroic exploits. So-called because to him they were neither heroic nor exploits. When he jumped off the peer and saved Sam London from drowning, Glenn said simply, "He needed help and I was close." Or when Martha Steel was about to be run over by the car and Glenn pulled her out almost being hit himself, he calmly said, "Hey, wouldn't you have done the same?"

Glenn was not Superman. Nor did he always win the day. Sometimes his attempts backfired like the time he tried to put out the brush fire with a

blanket. The swirling of the frayed cover only sent the flames farther afield so, instead of extinguishing the conflagration, he spread it. And once, aboard his uncle's trawler, he fell into the drink instead of pulling the victim out. Still, if anyone kept score, Glenn McPhee had a very high percentage of saves. All mostly accountable to his ability to stand solid during emergencies.

When he was in high school he was the only one who stood up to Bobby Lemark, the two hundred-twenty pound fullback who later won All-American in college and became a three-hundred pound human tank in the Pros. Although only five-ten and a hundred-eighty, Glenn held his own, fearlessly diving at Certain Death. Only once in four years of All-Conference ball was 84-McPhee rendered unconscious. And that wasn't from Lamark but the result of three linemen from Central who ganged up on him from as many sides.

Glenn's youthful acts were almost at random, but the older he got the more his reputation as The Immovable, The Rock, and finally Gibraltar veered toward encounters with true danger. When he was in college a militant, rabble-rousing extremist group decided that to establish a name for itself it had to face a group favoring the opposition and do some damage. And so they staged an attack on a pacifistic protest group called Doves for Peace. The pacifists were all coeds, or as the fraternity boys called them, "lovey dovies," the kind you wouldn't mind flirting with but who youknowcouldn't hold up in bed. The girls were quietly protesting the death penalty for human-attacking dogs. The Razors saw this as their opportunity to say to the world, "Death should come to those who can't fight." So the black-leathered bullies started tearing down Dove banners.

Some say it was by pure chance that Glenn walked by. Others contest that one step behind a problem is a solution. Whatever force brought Glenn McPhee to that place at that time, he was there and he, alone, faced the would-be terrorists. Not from his size nor voice nor any show of threatening activity. Simply by being himself and not backing away. Glenn McPhee stopped the movement in its tracks.

Some say Glenn was lucky because he came of age between wars: Korea and Nam. They figured if he'd been in combat he just might have faced the enemy as he did every other scene and been blown away. Bullets, mortars, recoilless rifle and howitzer shells, they can't be intimidated.

"Either he would have come home in a body bag or with a Congressional Medal of Honor," they contended.

But overseas during war was not the only place and time that bravery is needed. Any stranger foolish or brave enough to walk the evening streets of New York or Los Angeles or other choice U.S. spots knows that the domestic front is as well equipped with personnel weapons and strategy as any foreign field of battle. And that's where the act that warranted the Presidential Award enters.

In the movie, "I, Claudius", the assassins timed perfectly their death-causing act. The assassins slammed down the gate before the heretofore invincible Praetorian Guard could get through, then did their dirty work. That's the way it was at the city of brotherly love on May 5 at the Convention Center. The President, well guarded by an army of Secret Service bodyguards, as well as sharpshooters from all vantage points, had not taken into consideration the single spot where the Head of State would be vulnerable: from the lift that took laundry and supplies from the main corridor to the lower level. The plan was to slide a thick, bullet-proof mirror behind the President the instant he reached the proper distance from the down-lift. Accomplices were ready to turn two million candlepower lights at the mirror and blind not only the modern Praetorians, but everyone else unfortunate enough to be standing in the fated corridor. Then the fatal flaw.

Or from another point of view, the supreme coincidence. The right person was at the right place at the right time.

The President stepped on the magic millimeter, the mirror thrust forth, the lift rose, black-clothed kidnappers leaped. It would be the grandest body snatching of the modern era and it started perfectly. And all before the staring eyes of Congressmen, Senators, Governors, the Philadelphia rich and famous, and world-wide media.

But the President and the perfectly timed, perfectly equipped, perfectly trained kidnappers were not alone. On the left side was Glenn McPhee, the Rock of Gibraltar personified.

Everything happened so fast that the terrorists didn't realize they'd grabbed the wrong man. Instead of the President who, unprepared, would easily have toppled noiselessly onto the lift, there stood a SOLID WALL.

So when the nabbers tried to move McPhee and he didn't budge, black-suited bodies ricocheted off each other like so many Keystone Cops. Like a centipede whose one foot falters, they became a row of dominoes.

When Glenn realized what was being attempted, he quit standing and went into action. He bounced a couple of assailants against the corridor-

wide glass shattering it instantly. And with the many-million candle powered lights, the black suits looked like ants on a white sheet.

As that was happening, Glenn had the foresight to wedge a body between the lift and the floor so no one could lower the platform. And at the same time, with typical composure when under fire, Mr. McPhee eased the President to the side thereby protecting him completely. In seconds the entire operation was over: the assailants were swarmed, the mirror-holders were absconded, the building sealed off, escape team was apprehended, and as the media showed clearly, not a Secret Service man was needed to save the President. It was all Glenn McPhee, Mr. Granite, who stood guard.

Other than becoming the recipient of the high award, Glenn became an icon of protection. Everyone agreed that he was so worthy of receiving the award that they placed his likeness on a U.S. stamp, bronzed in front of the Body Guard Academy, made into a movie, the subject of umpteen novels, schools named after him, how many streets, avenues, boulevards, roads, and expressways carried his name, and though it hasn't passed the Senate yet, a national holiday to commemorate Brave Acts.

Some skeptics have suggested that anyone could have saved the President. That every American would have reacted the same. That heroism is not a chance thing, it's almost premeditated. Others contend that when an average citizen gets caught off guard and spontaneously performs courageously, he's a hero through and through because of his very nature. Certainly the argument will continue. But no one can argue the fact the President of the United States is alive today because of Glenn McPhee's immovability and quick thinking.

And so stands Gibraltar, a veritable landmark. That is, the grown-up boy who once faced that snarling, bully bulldog who was determined to rid Grant Street of its innumerable lollygagging cats.