A hero’s spirit is extinguished

I defined a hero once as someone who doesn’t act like one.

It probably wasn’t an accurate description, but it fit into my own experience of seeing people rise to unexpected heights of bravery not because they were naturally heroic but because it was the honorable thing to do.

In one instance, a man who’d been a bartender in civilian life, a quiet, almost timid kind of guy, ran into a wall of machine gun fire in Korea to save a platoon.

In another, an unemployed delivery truck driver, who at 5 feet 6 and 130 pounds, looked less a hero than anyone could imagine, dashed into a burning house in his Newbury Park neighborhood to save two children trapped by flames.

He came to mind the other day when I read in our community newspaper, the Topanga Messenger, that Allen Emerson was leaving the canyon because he couldn’t find a place to live that he could afford. A letter of appreciation followed the article, but that was it. No drums or bugles. No standing ovation.

For a man who had devoted 24 years to the welfare of the canyon as a leader of its Arson Watch program, it was a lonely departure from an environment he loved.

At 81, living on Social Security and a small SAG pension, he was seeking a single room within the $800 range and even put a notice in the paper, but no one responded. What used to be a hippie haven, a laid-back Eden of open doors and makeshift cabins, is fast becoming the home of the privileged. You can’t even rent a toilet for $800.

What makes this ironic is that Topanga’s biggest fear is fire, and Emerson, a skinny, craggy, unassuming kind of guy, was our guardian angel.

We stand on rooftops sniffing the air for signs of smoke when the Santa Anas howl and the humidity drops like a dying bird. At such times, an arson-watcher is not only desirable but necessary, and Emerson was dedicated to the job. He had moved to the canyon 37 years ago and had fallen in love with the rolling hills, the oak forests and the quiet retreats.

Protecting them had become his passion.

Emerson had been an actor once on television shows like “Kung Fu,” “The Streets of San Francisco” and “Ironside,” among others, but showbiz is a fickle employer, and jobs were rare. He eventually gave it up. A restaurant he opened in Topanga failed when a flood wiped out a good part of the main highway for six months, leaving him without patrons.

He was a member of the Town Council when the question of an arson watch came up. They needed someone to create and organize a group of volunteers to patrol the canyon when red flag warnings were flying. It was a nonpaying job with long fire-season hours. There was one volunteer. It was Emerson.

“I loved the canyon and wanted to do something to protect it,” he said to me the other day. I reached him by phone in Soquel, near Santa Cruz, where he’s staying temporarily with a stepdaughter. “It also might be in my genes.”

As an arson-watcher, Emerson started out using his old Dodge van to patrol during critical fire times, eventually bringing in others to help watch for small outbursts that could quickly blow into infernos when the Santa Anas came screaming down from the Northeast. Now there are 54 volunteers in Topanga alone. The job he’s leaving has grown from patrolling to coordinating the work of five teams working 185 square miles in Topanga, Malibu, Agoura and Calabasas. Now equipped with a new van, scanners and radio equipment, others will take over the job that Emerson created.

“It’s funny,” he said as our conversation came to a close. “When I put an ad in the paper a couple of years ago that I needed a place to stay, not one person came forward. Now some are saying, don’t go. Where were they when I needed them?”

His eventual destination is Selma, Ala., where he’ll be “taken care of” by an ex-wife and a mutual friend. “I’m heartbroken about leaving Topanga,” he said, a quaver in his voice. “I’d return in a New York second if I could.” Pause. “That’s a New York second, not a New York minute.”

There are rarely statues created for guys like Emerson. They do what they feel is right, gaining satisfaction from the accomplishment, and then move on out of sight. Sometimes even local history books forget to mention them. I’m not saying we’ve all got to break down and cry over his departure. Just that we should have shown him a little respect when he walked away.

We should’ve at least said goodbye.

Al Martinez’s column appears Mondays and Fridays. He can be reached at al.martinez@ latimes.com.