The hidden cost of heroism

Damned if Andrew Carnegie knew. Carnegie was the Darwin of the urban jungle, a street savant who discovered enough about the inner workings of the human psyche to command the loyalty of armies of workers and outthink the sharpest hustlers in the world, including the theretofore unbeatable J.P. Morgan.

Carnegie was so obsessed with patterns of human behavior that he devoted a sizable amount of his life and fortune to studying under the top minds of his time. But when it came to deciphering heroism, even the best-financed investigator in the world came up short. The mechanics of self-sacrifice are so unpredictable, Carnegie found, you can't even jimmy them with greed: A man won't plunge into danger for money, but he'll do it for free.

"I do not expect to stimulate or create heroism by this fund, knowing well that heroic action is impulsive," Carnegie said in 1904 when he established the Carnegie Hero Fund, which gives cash awards to civilians who save others' lives.

But while he couldn't create heroes-for-hire, Carnegie accidentally found a way to make them more comprehensible. Because only pure, spontaneous do-gooders are eligible for the Carnegie Medal (not professional lifesavers or protective parents), the Carnegie archives are now a historical record of people who really shouldn't be heroes.

And so, after sifting through more than a century's worth of Carnegie case studies, three intriguing factors snap into focus.

1. Lots of guys are risking their lives: Since 1904 the Carnegie Commission has seen over 80,000 cases of extreme heroism.

2. "Guys" is exactly the right word; nine out of every 10 Carnegie heroes have been men. That means about 800 men are hurtling themselves into danger every year. And there's no telling how many other men are risking their lives with no recognition at all.

3. If you want a Carnegie Medal, prepare to die trying. Heroism is a lethal business; during a typical 5-year stretch, nearly one in four Carnegie Medals was bestowed upon a corpse. When it comes to saving lives, you have a better chance of surviving a game of Russian roulette.

Why, then, do so many of us gamble against such rotten odds? Few men knew better than Chub, who had plenty of time to change his mind but still tempted those odds not once, but three times in a row.

Countdown to catastrophe
Chub was antsy that day. He'd suddenly found himself in a tug-of-war between his heart and a national calamity.

He'd flown to D.C. to brief his bosses on a Florida bank that was so screwed up, Chub was recommending that it be shut down. He'd planned to speak his piece on Monday and hit the road the same afternoon, but it wasn't that easy: By 1982, Chub was a veteran bank examiner at a time when banking was a disaster. The savings-and-loan industry had erupted into what economist John Kenneth Galbraith would call "the largest and costliest venture in public misfeasance, malfeasance, and larceny of all time."

Bank examiners rarely stay on the job for more than a few years. The travel is rough, and there's a ton more money to be made in the private sector. Chub was one of the very rare breed who settled in for life. That's why, when the S and L fiasco exploded all around him, every trip to D.C. ended up taking a lot longer than he expected.

"We really relied on a seasoned hand like Arland to make sure we handled things right," says Jack Guynn, a colleague who went on to become president of the Federal Reserve Bank of Atlanta. "It sounds like an innocuous job, but you'd be amazed at what you come across -- all the gory financial stuff about kingpins and important people. You see their credit histories, their loan defaults, stuff they were doing that maybe they shouldn't have been doing."

Once the snowstorm hit on Wednesday, Guynn and some colleagues decided to stay overnight, but Chub had snapped his briefcase shut and headed to the airport. No way was he staying. He'd just begun a surprising new romance and, Chub being Chub, had to knock out his responsibilities before seeing his heartthrob again. First, he'd wrap the job in Florida; then he'd catch up with his kids in Georgia; and then, finally, he'd be free to scoot back to Mattoon for a few blissful days with none other than his old flame, Peggy Fuesting.

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