Stumbling Into A Scene of Raw Humanity
My Serendipitous Experience in Idaho Today
Today, I stumbled onto a scene of community-wide grief, mourning, sorrow, and solidarity like I have seldom ever experienced. The scene was an accident of circumstance on my part. I had no idea what I was walking into.
It was sort of like a scene from “Forrest Gump” where Forrest constantly shows up unknowingly at major historical events. I was like Forrest Gump today.
First, here is the background to the story.
Last week, twenty-year-old Wes Roley intentionally set a fire blazing in Northern Idaho just north of the city of Coeur d’Alene. Roley had just recently moved to that area from Arizona. He was working for his father's tree-cutting company. In an update shared in October 2024, his mother wrote on Facebook that he (Wes) was "doing great living in Idaho."
The fire Roley set was a trap. It was designed to draw firefighters within range of his gun. Authorities said, "We do believe that the suspect started the fire, and we do believe that it was an ambush, and it was intentional. These firefighters did not have a chance."
Fire crews responded to the blaze on Canfield Mountain just north of Coeur d'Alene around 1:30 p.m., and gunshots were reported about a half hour later. The gunfire continued over several hours. Roley was evidently on a rampage.
Two firefighters were killed. Shot unarmed. They were Battalion Chief Frank Harwood, 42, and Battalion Chief John Morrison, 52. The third victim, Engineer Dave Tysdal, was critically injured and underwent two successful surgeries on Monday, fire officials said. He will recover.
The reason I am relaying this story, which was all over the national news, is that I found myself in the middle of an event today in Coeur d’Alene (Tuesday, July 1) and want to share my impressions. My experience was related to this ambush, or at least the impact of it.
My column today isn’t so much focused on Roley and his motivations and politics. That could be an interesting follow-up story. I need to focus this column today on the community and how this event has impacted them.
I am staying in Spokane, Washington, during July. Spokane is just down the road from Coeur d’Alene, about 15 miles. I arrived here about a week ago.
There is a bike trail that connects the two cities called the Centennial Trail. As an avid bicyclist, I’ve been out on the trail just about every day to get my daily 15-mile ride completed.
Since the trail is extensive, I pick a different section to ride each day. The trail parallels the Spokane River. With the majestic Ponderosa Pine trees lining the trail, the views of the river along the way, and mountains rising in the distance, the cycling adventure is a wonderful experience.
Today, I rode a section at the east end of the trail where it transitions from Washington state across the state line into Idaho. About that time, I saw from the trail a line of police and fire trucks rushing down the highway west toward Spokane. I wondered what was going on, but resumed my zen bicycle ride, oblivious to the world.
I rode about two miles into the Idaho side, and at around 10:00 am, I began to notice groupings of people beginning to gather. Some were carrying American flags.
I didn’t think much of it at the time since it was July 1, and I thought perhaps some folks were getting a head start on their July 4th celebrations. So I stopped at a convenience store, bought some water and a breakfast sandwich, and started my return trip to the Washington side of the trail.
Making it back to my car, I decided at that point to drive over to Lake Coeur d’Alene to scope out some possible bike trails in that area. My son and I have been wanting to do a ride in that area.
As I drove onto I-90 East, I noticed that a large group of people were gathered on the first overpass as I entered Idaho again. There was a large police presence and firefighters, too. I pondered what could be going on.
I first thought it was a political protest of some sort, and I looked for the usual signs or flags. Idaho is a strongly conservative red state, so I immediately looked for Trump flags in the crowd.
Again, the only flag I saw was the American flag. There were no Trump flags or protest signs in the group. The people gathered were very respectful and almost solemn. There wasn’t a celebration or jubilation that one might expect from a roudy sort of protest.
I drove under the overpass full of people and eventually got off the interstate and took some backroads to find some good cycling trails. I wasn’t having much luck, and I had forgotten about the groups of people I saw earlier on the interstate overpass.
Deciding to go to Coeur d’Alene and find a bike store with trail maps, I headed that direction. As I entered the city of about 44,000 people, it seemed all of a sudden that every one of them was lining the streets…again only with American flags in their hands.
My first thought was, it must be a July 4th parade coming soon…but it was Tuesday morning, three days before July 4th. What were all these people doing on the streets? My mind raced again to try and figure it out.
I knew about the firefighters who were ambushed because I heard it on the news. I knew it took place in Northern Idaho, but I hadn’t looked into the details yet. Putting that event together with the crowds on the street still hadn’t connected in my mind.
Finding a bike shop on the main drag through the town, I pulled into the parking lot. People were still standing around, lining the streets as if in anticipation of something that was about to happen.
The bike store clerk told me they didn’t have any trail maps for sale. That was disappointing, but I quickly forgot my disappointment and asked about what was happening out on the streets.
The young lady began to tell the story of what had happened to the ambushed firefighters. All of a sudden, a bell started ringing in my head. All these people were out on the street to pay honor, respect, and share their grief and sorrow over the tragic loss. It wasn’t a protest or anything political.
What I was witnessing was a community sharing their sorrow and grief. In a town of 44,000, many people would personally know these men who were killed in the line of duty, trying to protect their fellow residents. In the Pacific Northwest, an out-of-control wildfire is perhaps one of the most fearful things a community can experience. It might mean evacuation, burning homes and businesses, or even death for those who couldn’t get out of the way in time.
Firefighters are not just public servants…they are heroes, protectors, and they are held in high esteem and respect by their respective communities. This deep respect for firefighters makes the senseless murder of them even more evil and loathsome. Setting a fire deliberately to lure your victims into an ambush is despicable and cowardly. This community felt it personally. I witnessed their grief.
I could see the painful expression on the young lady’s face as she explained the situation to me. I told her that I was from out of town and wasn’t sure what was happening, and she assured me this was a communal expression of honor and respect for the fallen.
I thanked her and expressed my gratitude for being there to experience it with her and all of the city’s residents. I got in my car and headed north to catch the I-90 again. The streets were lined with people all the way to the freeway, and expressions of solemn solidarity were what I saw on their faces. Not anger or hatred…but sympathy and determination.
As I got back on the freeway about 12 miles from the Washington state border, every overpass was flooded with people. Cars were stopped along the freeway itself as people were getting out of their cars, as police and firefighter processions rode by in honor of these fallen heroes.
I had never seen an interstate turned into an arena for common human emotion, empathy, and compassion like I saw today. It was humbling and moving to creep slowly along the highway, looking at the mourners lining the freeway.
All of these photos were taken either from my car, or finally, I stopped and simply joined those along the road, and took a few more photos. One man was saluting the police and firefighter procession that was passing on the other side. Traffic was slowed down to a creeping convoy of onlookers who seemed to understand what was going on, and didn’t share anger or outrage at being detained. Amazingly, no one was hurt and there were no accidents.
Along I-90, I came across another young lady standing by her car. On the side of her car was written the company name. It was a home health care company of some sort. I asked her if I could speak with her and ask some questions about what was going on.
Explaining that I was “Dan from Iowa,” I explained that I understood the reason for this display of affection and honor for the firefighters. But I asked her how this event has affected the community. She lives in Coeur d’Alene. Her name was Alicia.
With a similar look of pain on her face as I saw from the clerk at the bike store, she said that there wasn’t a person in the community who hadn’t felt a sense of loss. Everyone knew someone who knew these firefighters. She continued, “The community is going through a period of grief and sorrow, but is coming together today to show solidarity and help each other heal.”
With that comment lingering in my mind, I thanked Alicia for her time. The police and firefighter procession had passed, and cars were beginning to pick up speed, so it was time to go.
I think what impacted me the most about what I experienced is how people came together regardless of any political differences or opinions. These folks of Northern Idaho were united in a common human emotion and experience, which allowed them to overcome any petty differences they might have.
It is good during times of strife and division to remember our common humanity, our connectedness to each other, and the real power that comes through sharing pain, joy, grief, and solidarity with each other.
Because in the end, we are all human…nothing more and nothing less. And nothing else matters.
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This was very moving, Dan. Thanks for sharing.