Marie Hershberger, for so long, has been a mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. She worked as a secretary, too, in Binghamton, N.Y., before coming to Rock Hill a few years ago to be nearer her son.
She traveled when she was younger, as far as the Grand Canyon. She cooked a million meals.
She's now a widow at 74 and lives at Spring Arbor Assisted Living. And, for no other reason than that "it always seemed so adventurous and exciting," Hershberger always wanted to do one thing: "I want to ride in a fire truck."
Tomika Madison from Spring Arbor heard about the wish as part of the Ageless Dreams campaign at the residence on Rock Hill's India Hook Road. Madison has helped a guy who wanted to learn ballroom dance. She helped a woman who wanted to learn to paint. Other dreams, too, but this one was a whopper.
"First request for a fire truck," Madison admitted.
Madison asked around to people she knew, and this fire rescue came from the good guys at Bethesda Volunteer Fire Department.
"Part of community service," said David Pennell, secretary at Bethesda.
The York County Fire Marshal's Office and others approved the idea, and on Thursday afternoon, Hershberger's wish came true.
Pennell and Capt. David Ayers showed up at Spring Arbor with the big red fire truck. Hershberger waited in the lobby, surrounded by people who sure wished their wish was riding in a fire truck -- because now here was Marie putting on her brand-new "Bethesda" fireman's hat and getting ready to jump in a real, red fire truck.
Hershberger is some character. Because she had never ridden in a fire truck, I asked if she had ever been in a police car.
"Not in the back seat," she fired right back.
The only problem was that the fire truck door is high up. Hershberger's legs are way down. Madison found a stool, Hershberger stepped up with a hand from Pennell, and the next thing you know, the crew was headed down the street.
Out near the airport, on a secluded road chosen by firefighters to be out of traffic, the real fun happened.
The red lights went on. The siren wailed.
With eyes big as saucers, Marie Hershberger in the cab with her face pressed right up near the front windshield, sped down the road in a loud, lit-up, shiny red fire truck.
