A little nudge, That's what it took to save a life. One bump in the right direction and tragedy was cut in half.
Seth Buhr had been lifting weights for several weeks under the supervision of his friend, Joe Freed, but by all accounts it was reflexes and not brute strength that saved the day for Jeannette Smith a week ago Wednesday at Doughnut Falls.
Seth, Joe, Jeannette and another friend, Dara Jacobberger, were at the falls, a popular hiking destination halfway up Big Cottonwood Canyon, when a 10,000-pound rock inexplicably started to fall from its perch. Who knows why it happened? Who knows what forces were at work to cause a rock the size of a refrigerator that had been stationary for who knows how long to crash to the ground at the very moment Seth and Jeannette were standing directly below?
Whatever the reason, once gravity took over there wasn't much to do but get out of the way. The entire Bulgarian Olympic weight-lifting team couldn't have stopped that rock's course.
That's when Seth Buhr, halfway between his 22nd and 23rd birthdays, reached out and instead of trying to shove the rock, shoved Jeannette, sending her out of harm's way. If he couldn't save his life, he could save hers.
"She was crouched down and he reached out and nudged her out of the way," said Joe Freed, who watched in horror a short distance away. "I'm convinced he did it on purpose."
I went to the hero's funeral this past Wednesday. I sat in the back of the Eagle Gate LDS Stake Center in Salt Lake City behind more than 500 people gathered to pay tribute to the life of Seth Buhr. Joe Freed spoke, so did Seth's brother Sam and his sister Sarah and his parents, Ann and Robert. They talked of a young man without guile who never caused their family, or the world, any trouble. They told stories about Seth's legendary good humor and deeply religious nature. He'd only recently fulfilled his life's goal to serve a two-year LDS mission, an ambition so abiding, Seth's mother confided, that he was willing to go anywhere, "even Idaho." But he was sent to Chile instead.
He liked to play guitar and hike in the mountains and speak Spanish and try to figure out girls. And he was on his way to becoming a business tycoon, taking classes at LDS Business College that would eventually lead to a degree at BYU. That was the plan.
Very little was said at the services of Seth's final physical act on this earth. There was no detailed accounting of the life he saved while losing his own. There were no medals awarded.
The closest anyone came to the subject was the bishop of Seth's parents' LDS ward, Stanley Benfell, who noted that Seth's "Last act was characteristically selfless. As a result, he died a hero's death."
Between the lines, though, Seth's uncommon courage was the topic on everyone's lips. The stories at the funeral that spelled out Seth's life subtly but undeniably revealed that he'd spent his entire 22 1/2 years preparing himself for the moment that rock would fall and he would take the blow on his own shoulders so someone else wouldn't have to. In effect, he had been in training for such a response in everything he did. When the moment of truth arrived, it was all instinct as a lifetime of conditioning to do the right thing and look out for others took over.
"There's no doubt in my mind that Seth's death was kind and very sweet," said his mother.
Her boy went out the same way he came in.
Lee Benson's column runs Sunday, Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Please send e-mail to benson@desnews.com and faxes to 801-237-2527.