MERIDIAN — Just when my faith in mankind was starting to falter, something happened to make me see – and feel –differently.

    Last week, while shopping at the Wal-mart Supercenter located near Bonita Lakes Mall, my brother, Irea, became ill. What followed touched both of us.

    Irea was sweating profusely, appeared weak and told me that he was going to sit down across from the check-out area. I watched him as the cashier continued to ring up our groceries and he seemed okay, but suddenly he started to sink in the chair and appeared to be headed for the floor.

    When I rushed over to him and asked if he was okay, of course he said, "Yes," but I knew better. I walked over to a sales associate who had a line of customers in front of her and I said, "Excuse me ... " Since I work part-time as a cashier, I know how customers will sometimes ask you questions while you're waiting on someone else or talking on the phone. As she should have, the sales associate – her name is Regina Brown – continued to focus on the person she was already waiting on.

    But when I said, "Ma'am, please call 911, my brother is not feeling well," Brown immediately looked over at Irea, picked up the phone and dialed 911.

    As I walked back to my brother, five sales associates and managers – Patrick Hooks, Barbara Brignac, Patsy Smith, Ron Hale and Lance Robinson – were at his side. One was asking Irea questions and filling out a form (store policy, I'm sure). The others were fanning him with whatever was close at hand – papers, a notebook, a torn off piece of cardboard. One associate brought paper towels rinsed in cold water for us to wipe Irea's face and press against his neck. They talked to him, joked with him and calmed him – and his baby sister.

    When personnel from Metro Ambulance arrived with all their gear and a stretcher, I expected them to just start poking and prodding Irea and then, if necessary, load him up and transport him to the hospital. Paramedic Roger Williamson sat beside him and started a friendly conversation, asking Irea about what had happened, how he felt at the moment and what he had done that day. Next, he checked his vitals; all of them were good.

    Williamson stopped and looked at Irea – who was noticeably overdressed for the day's 98-degree temperature with a 105 heat index – and said, "Man, why are you wearing a wool cap? This is the South, it's hot and that hat is drawing the heat in even more." We all could not help but burst out laughing.

    In addition to the wool cap, Irea was wearing an undershirt under his polo top, shiny black exercise pants and thick black socks. Yes, he's from Mississippi, but he lived up North for more than three decades before returning to his hometown of Meridian. Since his return, he spends most of his summer inside an air conditioned home, not out in the hot, humid weather.

    Because Irea seemed to feel better and his vitals were good, Williamson said he could either go home and see his doctor the following day, or they would transport him to the hospital. Just to play it safe, we decided to go to the hospital.

    While we were with the Metro personnel, one of the Wal-mart associates had taken our groceries, transferred them to a shopping cart and brought them to where we were. I went to put them in my car while the paramedics prepared to transport Irea to the hospital. As I walked back in the store, the ambulance was still parked outside. But when I returned to the area where my brother was supposedly waiting, he wasn't there. I ran back to my car and saw the ambulance driving away. As I rushed to get behind them, driver Jon Hagwood beeped the ambulance's horn to let me know they saw me.

    We arrived at Riley Hospital and as they were taking Irea out of the ambulance, I could see he was feeling much better. I was told to sit in the waiting area and the receptionist, whose name I failed to get, informed me that she would let me know when I could go to the emergency room area. After 30 minutes, I asked if I could go back there and she calmly told me that she would let me know. After another 30 minutes passed, I asked her again and she said they would let her know when it was okay. Trying to remain calm – and not work this young woman's nerves – I then asked, "Can't you at least tell me if he's okay?" Again, she calmly said, "They will let me know and I will tell you." As I walked back to my seat, the door opened and they told me I could go back and sit with Irea.

    Because he was stable, we had to wait while the doctor and nurses tended to patients who needed more immediate attention. We took the time to talk and watch a movie. At one point Irea commented, "They were really nice at Wal-mart." I agreed. "And the guys from Metro were also nice," he said. Again, I agreed. It wasn't long before Riley's staff was added to the list for not only being professional, but attentive.

    After blood work and other tests, it was determined that Irea had experienced heat exhaustion: In other words, he got hot from wearing all those clothes AND a wool cap in the dead heat of summer.

    While I have used quite a few words here, I cannot say enough how appreciative I am to all of these people. Some would say they were merely doing their jobs, and they were. But they also went above and beyond the call of duty.

    The Wal-mart associate could have just called 911 and the manager taken down the information. No one had to fan Irea, provide wet paper towels or friendly conversation. And they could have just left the bagged groceries in the cart and left them in an area for me to go get them.

    The Metro paramedic could have just walked in, asked general questions while testing Irea's vitals, told us the results and gave us our options. And the driver could have just kept driving while I was trying to catch up to them and not let me know he saw me behind them.

    The receptionist at Riley's could have easily become annoyed with me asking her several times, "Can I go back there?" Even though I asked nicely, I'm sure hearing the same sentence several times – from me and countless others waiting – wore thin. Also, the nurses and other staff who checked Irea's vitals, ran tests and other procedures could have just walked into the room and started performing their tasks. Instead, they smiled and even engaged in friendly conversation.

    Each year, The Star recognizes individuals in our community as Unsung Heroes for "going the extra mile," "doing the unexpected," "being Good Samaritans." And while we don't have plaques for the aforementioned individuals who did just that during our recent "heated" crisis, my brother and I would like to say to them, "Thank You." You may not think you did anything out of the ordinary, but to us what you did was extraordinary. Each of you is truly an Unsung Hero.