Like most of you, I never knew U.S. Army Sgt. Alex Jimenez of Lawrence. Never even heard his name until more than a year ago, when he was reported missing in Iraq.
Like most of you, I held out little hope that he would be found alive. He was in the hands of terrorists who have little respect for their own lives, and far less for those they view as infidels in the service of the Great Satan.
So I grieved for his fate even before I knew it for certain. I grieved especially for his parents. I'm now at the point where my own sons are young adults, and understand better than I ever did before the depth of such a loss.
And, like most of you (with a few pathetic exceptions), I thought of him as a hero, which he clearly was, just as all those who serve honorably to bring peace and stability to such a fractured nation are heroes.
But all of that, powerful as it was, didn't create the kind of connection that the pictures did. We've all seen the one of him in uniform, wearing his Army beret. It ran just about every time The Eagle-Tribune did a story about him, and was the biggest one on the front of last Sunday's paper. But above it were several I hadn't seen before — a series of four small photos showing Alex first as a toddler, then a preschooler, then a grade schooler, and then sometime during high school.
They brought back a conversation I had long ago with a school superintendent in another tough, urban center, who had been in the system long enough to have known several generations of students. He was desperate to find a way to save these kids before they were lost to gangs. The window of opportunity, he said, pretty much ended with grade school.
He could tell, he said, by tracking their yearly school photos. In preschool and for most of grade school, virtually all of them would face the camera with wide-eyed, innocent, eager smiles. They looked happy, curious, friendly — everything a kid should be. But by middle school, for many of them, the smile had faded. The eyes were uncertain, the expression guarded. The unspoken invitation to friendship was gone, along with the curiosity.
And by high school, if the kid hadn't already dropped out, the smile had been replaced with a malignant sneer, the eyes narrow, the face tight with hostility.
"They'd just as soon knife you as talk to you," he said.
I remembered all this while looking at the photos of Alex Jimenez, and wished that superintendent could see them. This was a kid whose eyes never narrowed, whose face never turned hostile.
Sure, the innocent smile from early childhood gave way to a more mature sobriety in high school, and then to visible determination as an American soldier. But on the journey from infancy to adulthood, there is no degeneration from friendship into a mask of hatred. The invitation of friendship remains — just look at the pictures.
And that is what makes it even more painful to witness the wrenching grief of a father and mother whose hopes for a beloved member of their own next generation are dashed. This was someone who went from child to man, surrounded by the same risks and temptations of urban life that ruin so many others, and who not only survived but thrived. That kind of inner strength is rare.
I read and hear the stories about him from those who knew him — one of them carrying almost biblical overtones — and I am moved but not surprised. While still a teenager and living in the Dominican Republic, he practically re-enacted the story of the Good Samaritan when he saw an older man run down by a motorcycle. He took him to a hospital, stayed with him until he was discharged, and then took him home.
It's easy to believe Alex would do that. Just look at the pictures. It is easy to believe that is the way he conducted himself as a soldier, which means his family, the city of Lawrence and a nation has lost one of its best.
But, if there is any comfort amid profound loss, it is that Alex Jimenez lived a life of purpose. He was no aimless teen who just got scooped up by the military because he couldn't think of anything else to do. As has been said of other leaders and heroes, it is better to live well than to live long.
Or, as Ralph Waldo Emerson observed, "Those are a success who have lived well, laughed often and loved much; who have gained the respect of intelligent people and the love of children, who have filled their niche and accomplished their task, who leave the world better than they found it ... who looked for the best in others and gave the best they had."
I didn't know Alex Jimenez, but I know that's what he did. I can tell just by looking at the pictures.
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Taylor Armerding is associate editorial page editor of The Eagle-Tribune. He may be reached at 978-946-2213 or at tarmerding@eagletribune.com.
