A HERO IS … someone who runs into a burning building when everyone else runs out.

Presented by Caterpillar

Robert Harris remembers the day he was summoned to save not one but two young lives.

He also remembers the smoke.

“It was tremendous, dark smoke. Toxic smoke,” he says. It singed his lungs. It smelled like smoldering tar. For hours after the fire it clung to his clothes.

On November 9, 2008, Harris and his friend, Dennis Washington, were waiting for a ride to work at Harris’ Peoria home. “It was just a regular morning,” he says. Except that, for some reason, he happened to get up a little earlier. Except for the smoke.

When Harris and Washington saw it surging skyward, they rushed to investigate the source. “We broke into a sprint,” he says.

Down the street, 511 E. Ravine Ave. was on fire, the top of the home engulfed in flames. The scene was chaotic. A young woman, Brooklyn Irby, was crying about someone – someones – trapped inside. Her children … how many? Robert didn’t know.
It didn’t matter. There wasn’t time. Harris approached the door, finding it locked. He gathered his strength and kicked it open.

The rest, he says, is a bit of blur. Adrenaline surging, Harris plucked a tiny body from a couch. He handed the bundle to Washington: a little boy. Was anyone else inside? Yes: a little girl. Harris rushed in again, finding her amid the haze and heat. Again Washington was waiting to shepherd her to safety.

Incredibly, Harris ran in a third time, just as burning boards and debris began to drop around him. In that moment the former Marine wasn’t merely a man, he says, but God’s instrument: “a force of readiness.”

“I wanted to make sure they were all out.”

They were. With mother and children reunited, firefighters on the way and the American Red Cross ready to assist the family, Harris and his friend quietly departed and went on to work.

Irby didn’t know their identity until a few days later, when the newspaper tracked them down. “I really didn’t want recognition,” Harris says. He still doesn’t … though he’s willing to humor those who keep telling him he’s a hero. To him it’s not personal glory that matters, it’s those kids.

After the fire Irby’s children presented him with cards and stuffed animals, which he proudly displays in a curio cabinet. He’ll always cherish their gifts. And he’ll always remember their hugs during that emotional reunion. How the little ones clung to his clothes.

A HERO IS … someone who lifts her voice to inspire others

Presented by Illinois Mutual

Seated at her dining room table, a young woman is planning her labor of love. For weeks she’s been “burning the midnight oil,” coordinating with community partners, assembling a thousand puzzle pieces as the big day approaches. She wants a good turnout.

Date: May 10, 1986.

Place: Peoria’s Metro Centre.

It will be called Race for the Cure.

Nearly 25 years later, the woman is again at a table, this time recounting the high hopes she had for that first race, the one which she was determined to make happen in the hometown of her “dearest and best friend,” Susan G. Komen. “Suzy” passed away in 1980 after a struggle with breast cancer. Linda Washkuhn was with the 36-year-old as she drew her last breath.

After her death it became Washkuhn’s mission to start a breast cancer fundraiser here, just as Komen’s sister, Nancy Brinker, had done down in Dallas. Washkuhn participated in the nation’s first Race for the Cure, held in 1983 in Texas. She was awestruck by the camaraderie and “totally taken by the fact that everyone knew the name Susan G. Komen.”
Back at home, Washkuhn enlisted help from the Junior League and the Illinois Valley Striders to plan a Peoria race. Some 1,200 participants turned out that first Mother’s Day weekend, raising more than $20,000 for breast cancer research and awareness. Assessing the early success, Washkuhn thought then that “this could be something big.”

She was right.

In fact it’s hard to remember a time when North University Street didn’t fill each year with Race for the Cure runners, walkers and fans. When media didn’t spend weeks promoting not only the event and but also awareness. When breast cancer was a difficult subject, even among friends. When pink was only a color, not a cause.

That it’s impossible to think of Peoria without thinking of Komen for the Cure foundation – or to think of the disease without considering its emotional toll -- is a testament to Washkuhn’s tenacity. Having created an iconic local event, and having spawned more than 100 races elsewhere in the U.S., she and Brinker are exporting their message: In 2007 the two visited the United Arab Emirates to promote breast cancer research abroad. Washkuhn is a veritable ambassador for the cure.

But in her heart she’s just a friend, quietly carrying on the memory of her beloved Suzy. Seated now at the table, asked to define her enduring legacy, Washkuhn pauses. “I think it would be just, she tried.”

A HERO IS … someone whose greatness is exceeded only by his humility.

What’s the proper way to refer to a retired brigadier general, a former head of the 182nd Airlift Wing, a former commander of the Illinois Air National Guard, and a former member of the Board of Directors of the National Guard Association of the United States?

“Frank Rezac is fine.”

That response encapsulates the airman’s low-key demeanor. A lifelong servant to community, church and country, a man heralded by so many others as a true Heartland Hero, Frank Rezac prefers to be just Frank … though he’ll indulge us if we call him Brig. Gen. Rezac.

Spend a moment with him, and his passion, patriotism and principles simply command one’s respect.

In central Illinois, Brig. Gen. Rezac may be best known for helping to preserve the outstanding 182nd Airlift Wing at Peoria’s airport. In 2005, the federal Base Closure and Realignment Commission was eyeing nationwide scale-backs. A representative from the Peoria Area Chamber of Commerce hails Rezac as “instrumental in the effort” to retain the Illinois Air National Guard wing. His guidance retained hundreds of jobs in our community. The American Red Cross Central Illinois Chapter is pleased to be able to continue providing these local Guard members and their families with emergency communications and other support.

Then, as now, Rezac praises the men and women who serve our country here and elsewhere. “In the military, there’s a common decency that’s enormous,” he says. That devotion to basic decency has driven him to work on behalf of veterans, too.
Rezac’s service isn’t confined to military matters. A Spalding Institute graduate steeped in a strong Catholic education, he sees congruity in his devotion to faith and flag: it’s all about ethics, about doing the right thing. In that regard Rezac sits on St. Philomena’s Parish Council and volunteers as a Eucharistic minister, delivering Communion to residents unable to attend Mass. A strong St. Phil’s and a strong surrounding neighborhood are very important to him -- which is why he’s known for secretly loading up his neighbors’ tree limbs onto his truck.

“I like to do things quietly and get it done,” he muses. Indeed, Rezac’s pet peeve is litter, which he often sweeps from the roadside, garbage can in hand. “I’d rather be in the back than in the front row.”

A man’s character consists of far more than any mere title can convey. But tonight we’re pleased to call Brig. Gen. Frank Rezac a hero, and to welcome him to the front of the room.

Austin Graham, Reece Johnson, Tracy Spitz, Ryan Treanor and Ryan Zachman

A HERO IS … someone who puts the needs of another first.

Presented by the Oak River Foundation

It was rough going the night of December 3, 2008. Freezing precipitation had turned Interstate 39 into an ice rink. The Peoria Charter Coach was shuttling precious cargo: some four dozen Dunlap High School students and their chaperones, headed home from a photography field trip to Chicago.

As the bus crept southward, students saw vehicles littering the roadside. “Every two miles there were cars in the ditch,” remembers Ryan Treanor.
Without warning, a semitractor-trailer rig jack-knifed in front of the coach. There was precious little time for the driver to react. The impact hit hard. Glass shattered. Frigid air leaked through the broken windshield. The driver absorbed the force of the impact, suffering deep lacerations. He was pinned.

That’s when Treanor and classmate Ryan Zachman sprang into action. Treanor grabbed a flashlight and rushed to the front of the bus. The two repositioned the driver and swaddled him in warm blankets. ‘I was really concerned,” Zachman recalls.
Reece Johnson and Austin Graham saw their peers and stepped forth to help. Johnson, a lifeguard, is certified in first aid by the American Red Cross. Graham is an Eagle Scout and also knows first aid. Johnson shed his shirt and used it to apply pressure to the driver’s wounds; Graham fashioned a wrap from his belt to stop the bleeding. “I went up there and did what I was trained to do,” Graham says.

Meanwhile, toward the middle of the bus, Tracy Spitz had recovered from the initial shock and set about helping. A camp counselor with Red Cross first aid training, Spitz mustered a bright smile to “calm others while keeping the mood light,” as she gathered information to report later. The students assisted a girl who had fainted. Zachman gave up his coat to a teacher.

Their impromptu triage lasted nearly an hour as they awaited emergency personnel. When rescuers arrived, they were amazed at how orderly the scene was. The students behaved like true pros. Only later did Johnson discover that he’d broken his thumb during the initial collision with the semi. “I braced myself, and then we just hit it,” he recalls. But he’d been too busy helping to notice.

In all, “we got off very lucky,” Graham says. Lucky, indeed. Lucky that these five outstanding students knew what to do. Luckier still to have them with us.

A HERO IS … someone who rises to the occasion and quietly slips away.

Dan Heath delights in helping people. A custodial technician at Irving Primary School, he’s the go-to guy for conversation and candy. But doggoned if Dan Heath likes to lay low … way low.

Three years ago, on an otherwise unremarkable Sunday morning, Heath had driven his brother-in-law to work at Pottstown Meats. He was headed back on Sterling Avenue. Then he saw them: One man, slumped on the side of the road, wincing in pain. Another man, face down in the gutter, a crumpled heap of clothing. Something was horribly wrong.

Without hesitation Heath stopped his vehicle. He flagged down a passing motorist and told her to call 911. He rushed over to the first man, who called out, “I’m hurt – go find Tom!”
Heath hurried to the other man and found him unconscious. So he grabbed a towel from his vehicle to place under the wounded stranger’s head. He patted the man’s hand, telling him to hold on – help was on the way, everything would be OK. Heath hung by his side until paramedics arrived. “I felt so sorry for them,” he says. He watched to make sure the two injured men were taken safely to the hospital.

Then Dan Heath continued on his way. Back to school, back to the kids, back to laying low.
For three years, Peoria County Sheriff Mike McCoy and former Elmwood Schools superintendent Tom Kahn have wondered about their mystery man. Avid runners, the lifelong friends were jogging a five-mile loop on January 15, 2006, when they were hit from behind by a pickup truck. The impact literally knocked the sheriff out of his shoes and caused severe damage to his pelvis. Kahn, meanwhile, suffered a life-threatening head injury.

Had a Samaritan not stopped to help, both men say they might have died. Indeed, the educator and the law enforcer -- Kahn serves on the Peoria-based American Red Cross Heart of America Blood Services Region Board; McCoy is an ex-officio member -- became blood recipients that day.

Their road to recovery has been well documented. But only recently, through a chance run-in between Kahn and Heath’s wife, was their hero’s identity discovered.
In recounting their tale the two runners write: “Dan was not motivated by anything other than basic human kindness and decency. … He has never sought the spotlight, but we firmly believe he deserves recognition for preserving our lives.”

So do we.