Bruce Harrolle was a true hometown hero

BY EILEEN BRADY
THE NEWS JOURNAL OF WILMINGTON, OHIO ​

I met Bruce Harrolle almost 30 years ago. Our parents were friends in Wilmington, so we were thrown together as kids before, thankfully, such things were called “playdates.” 
I hadn’t seen Bruce in more than a dozen years, but was stunned when my mother called me with the news of his death, immediately thinking of his beautiful family photo from a Christmas card. His young children, ages 2 and 4, would be without their father, who so obviously adored them. 
That he died saving lives is supposed to give comfort, but to me it makes his death feel even more unjust. This was one of the good guys. They’re supposed to ride (or fly, in his case) off into the sunset. 
I’ve spent time this past week reading all the entries on a memorial site for Bruce on www.legacy.com, where people who know him (and some who don’t) leave messages and memories. A week after his death, there were 45 pages full of comments, with more added all the time. 

​From those comments, you can tell that there was shock and sadness all over the world at the news of Bruce Harrolle’s death. There are comments from people who have worked with him, people who live in his neighborhood, people who went to Wilmington High School with him, and even people whose family members’ lives he saved.
People already miss his kindness, his humility, his bravery, his sense of humor and — most frequently mentioned — his smile.
“He always had a smile on his face.”
“… I was struck by his infectious smile and laugh.”
“Bruce was always bigger than life with an incredible smile on his face.”
“We miss you, Bruce, especially your smile.”
“His smile lit up our neighborhood.”
“Always that charismatic smile that could turn any bad day into a good one.”
“I will remember Bruce with the smile he always carried with him.”
I, too, can easily conjure Bruce’s smile in my memory, but have since studied it in photos online and now see it as the wry smile of gentleness, not the big, toothy smile of celebrity. His smile obviously put people at ease, and in the rescue business, that seems to be an added bonus. 
In the photos of him smiling, I also remember his sense of humor and have marveled at the obvious immense stature he achieved as a man. That thought made me laugh, though, because as I’m sure Bruce would tell you, using the word “stature” to describe him is in itself amusing. He was kind of, um, short in high school, apparently saving his height and strength for later, when he needed them in the real world. 
Roger Vanderpool, Arizona Department of Public Safety director, spoke at Bruce’s funeral about how reassuring it must’ve been to see Bruce coming to the rescue.
“That image must be something like a Boy Scout, Superman, Dudley Do-Right and Ponch from ‘CHiPs’ all kind of rolled into one Super Good Guy coming to the rescue,” Vanderpool said.
After high school, I only saw Bruce once, when my husband and I hung out with him one night when he visited San Diego. I kept up with his career moves and personal life through his family, though, and when he found me listed on classmates.com in 2000, he e-mailed me out of the blue. I kept his e-mail so I’d have his address, although after that we just corresponded with Christmas cards. 
In that e-mail from eight years ago, he was telling me how proud his was of his younger brother, Brad, who at the time was living in Hollywood, Calif. “He is always running into someone famous — Jim Carrey, Jennifer Love Hewitt and, my personal favorite, Erik Estrada from ‘CHiPs.’”
And regarding his new job with the highway patrol’s rescue helicopter, Bruce told me, “I pretty much hit the lottery.”
As if it had anything to do with luck.