Public safety divers are human, believe it or not, just like the rest of us. They come in various sizes and shapes and speak with as many accents and languages as there are lakes and rivers.

Public safety divers are found everywhere. In large cities, rural communities and at most departmental budget meetings.

Public safety divers deliver lectures, as well as bad news. They're expected to have the wisdom of Solomon, the abilities of Superman and the generosity of Santa Claus.

In the movies, public safety divers/dive rescue specialists are easy to spot. You see them hanging from helicopters and cliffs over treacherous waterfall or rescue scenes. In real life, they're found hanging around the telephone - even on Sundays, "cause that's when it usually rings - just after company has arrived and the barbecue has been lit."

Public safety divers are a lot of things. When they make a rescue, they're heroes. When they complete a body recovery, they're too late. When they're paid for their work, "they're doing it for the money - anybody can see that!" and when they're volunteers, they're crazy "cause what person in their right mind would volunteer to do a job like that anyway?"

Public safety divers are happy family people - many of them raising children - until that fateful Sunday afternoon when the child they rais is from a lake 50 foot deep. Then, they are filled with grief and sadness.

Public safety divers see more sunrises, sunsets, lakes, rivers, swamps, cesspools, and misery than anyone else. Like the mailman, they must be out in all kinds of weather. Their rubber suits change color and materials with the seasons, but their outlook on life remains mostly the same... "trying our best and hoping for the day we can make a difference."

Public safety divers like hot coffee on cold missions. They also like friendship, laughter, and a hearty handshake. They dislike liquor in boats, children without personal flotation devices and drunks who driver their cars in the water.

Public safety divers get medals for saving lives, recovering children from icy waters and diving in hazardous conditions. Sometimes their widow gets the medal. But, after all the sunrised and sunsets, the lakes and the cesspools, the training and the 4 a.m. callouts, once in a while the most rewarding moment comes when the mission is over and out of the crowd a stranger walks up, embraces the diver and whispers a heart-felt: "God bless you," and "thank you, you helped".