Tag: Fire Department

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Deadlines

If you’ve spent any amount of time here, specifically over the last ten months or so, you are likely well aware of what’s been happening with my family. I’m speaking, in general about my son Ryan’s struggles with PTSD, but in particular, I’m speaking about Run For Our Lives and the effort Ryan and Danielle are making to call attention to, and raise money for, Illinois Firefighter Peer Support (ILFFPS) which is the resource they turned to when he was in a crisis state and almost added to the 130 firefighters that died last year by suicide.

One of the few ways Ryan has almost always been able to find solace, especially when he was deep in the throes of his PTSD, was through running. He’s been a runner for pretty much his entire adult life. The joy he’s found on the road or trail as he runs has helped him find some peace, even at times when that felt like the last thing he would ever achieve. So running was a natural way for him to try to raise funds to pay forward on behalf of firefighters that may be dealing with demons similar to those he’s fighting.

When Ryan and Danielle explained to me what they were doing; that he would run one kilometer for every firefighter that died in 2019 by suicide, and how it would work; that they would have people sign up to run “alongside” him in a virtual 130 km run, the skeptical part of my mind kicked in. Fortunately, I kept my big mouth shut. The last thing either of them needed from me at the time was doubt. But as they told me their goal was to get 50 people to sign up for their virtual run, which would take place from February 1st to May 30th, I thought that might be pretty tough to reach.

Let me just say, HAH!

I have rarely, if ever, been more glad to be wrong about something in my life. As of last night the registration total stood at 90. Which is incredible, to say the least.

But really, to be thisclose to DOUBLING their initial goal? I stand even more amazed at the fortitude those two have shown in the face of incredible adversity. I’m always, always, always proud of all of my kids. My bonus kids too. So the very least I can do is put this out there for any of you that have been thinking about signing up to be a part of this. Today is your last day to sign up.

As a reminder, $100 of the $130 registration fee will go to ILFFPS to help them provide essential service to firefighters, and their families, that find themselves teetering on the brink. You’ll be sent a Google Doc to track your mileage (in case you’re wondering, 130 km translates to 80.7 miles), you’ll be invited to a private Facebook group for encouragement, you’ll get, upon completion, some cool race swag in the form of a t-shirt and a medal. And, maybe best of all, you’ll be playing a role in helping to save someone’s life.

Think about that for a minute. Does it sound hyperbolic? Maybe. But it’s the truth. The $100 sent in from your registration will help save lives. What better feeling is there than that?

I’m keeping this one short today. A.) I don’t think I can top that last point and B.) I want to get this up on the interwebz as soon as I can. So I’mma end with this. If you’ve signed up already, thank you. If you’ve contemplated signing up, please do so, today. If my tired, old, ass can do this, your’s certainly can. It’s super simple to register, just follow this link to the form and don’t forget to submit your payment info at the bottom (I almost did when I registered. Don’t be me). Piece of cake.

And, of course,

Peace.

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The Neverending Story

I’ve had a few people asking me why I haven’t written anything lately and when I would. I’ve had some ideas bounce around my head, and was thinking I was ready to do something, maybe something light-hearted to get me back into the swing of things.

With apologies to the book/movie, the universe again provided. I wish it hadn’t.

But this really is how it feels some days.

Like today.

Mixed in amongst all the well wishes (thanks for those btw) I found out one of my son’s friends/mentors from his time at the IAFF Behavioral Heath Center took his own life last night. And so, I found myself sitting in my carport this morning, tears streaming down my face. For a man I never met.

I can’t begin to imagine how this blow struck my son. But it is a stark reminder of just how fragile the human psyche is. And how difficult it is to find, and keep, your balance.

For those of you that aren’t aware, my son is back in a counseling program, an outpatient program about 35 minutes from home. The last few times we’ve spoken, he has seemed to be in better spirits, but in all honesty, when we chat, it is such a small snapshot of his day, I’m not sure how he feels. And even if I was back in Illinois, I’m not sure I’d know. But, in all honesty, this is one of the times where the miles between us feels even farther than it really is.

My son and daughter-in-law continue working on Run For Our Lives and if you haven’t already “liked” their page, I urge you to do so to keep current on their progress. As a reminder, he’ll be running one kilometer for every firefighter suicide in 2019. As of October 31st, that number was 101 and quite frankly, that boggles my mind. The money they raise will go to Illinois Fire Fighter Peer Support, (855-90-SUPPORT) a wonderful organization that has done, and continues to do, so much to help men and women in our chosen profession cope with the often overwhelming nature of the job. Even my simple math skills tell me that we’re looking at roughly 120 Fire Fighter suicides by the end of the year.

That’s too many.

Too many people that can’t find the answers. Too many people that feel they have nowhere else to turn. Too many people that can’t find peace. Too many people that feel taking their own life is the best, maybe only, possible choice.

As a parent, we’re programmed to provide for our children. And, when we are unable to provide the thing they need, the burden weighs heavy. This is not something that goes away when your child reaches a certain age. When it happens, we dig in and do whatever we can to try and help. But it rarely feels like enough, especially when crap keep coming at them in waves. A week or so ago I was able to offer up an analogy that resonated with him during a rough stretch. It felt great to know that I was able to contribute in some small way. But it never feels like enough. So I’ll do what I can, and in this case, what I do best, and write about our experiences so that hopefully sharing our pain will help open a door for someone, somewhere, in need.

This image, taken by my daughter-in-law, is one that sums up his struggle brilliantly. I hope that our story helps eliminate what it so perfectly illustrates.

Elliott, I hope you find the peace you sought but couldn’t find here in this plane.

Rest In Peace.

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Roadside Markers

One of the things I miss most about being at the firehouse is the steady stream of material for this humble, little blog.  I mean, with minimal effort I was provided with multiple posts; whether it was the misadventures of new guys, unusual calls, or efforts on behalf of the union.  Mostly goofy new guys, but still.  On occasion I’ll get a text message from one of the guys, either from DG or one of the other places I wrote about here.  For example, I got a copy of a text exchange the other day wherein I learned our former new guy Mike still has his “you’re so pretty” moments.  I literally lol’d three or four different times as I kept reading and rereading the text.  Btw, I love you Mike, don’t ever change.  And congrats on the little one!

Another example is a phone conversation I had yesterday with a friend of mine that was recently promoted to Battalion Chief at his FD.  Today is his first shift and he joked that he’d probably mark the day by burning down a historic building in his town.  I, of course, asked him to wait until his second shift to destroy a city block, since I would then be in Illinois and able to harass him in person while also gaining first-hand information for a future blog post.  Of course, I really hope he doesn’t burn down a city block (mostly) but I’m not even lying when I say it would give me ample material to write.

And so I don’t get accused of burying the lede there, yes, I’m heading back to Illinois on Wednesday.  My dance card is mostly open, although Thursday afternoon/evening and Saturday are pretty booked.  If you’ve got availability and feel like chatting up a retiree, hit me up and we’ll see if we can make something happen.  Also, I’m looking for a little info on a phenomenon that seems to be a regular thing down here but not something I really recall seeing back home.

Now, I’ll grant you that vehicles sometimes break down along the interstate.  But I don’t remember them staying there for every long.  I don’t know if that’s due to people getting them towed home or to the zealousness of the ISP at keeping the highways clearish, but either way the sense of urgency to remove a vehicle from the side of the interstate down here is not remotely the same.  Another thing, and this is more what I’m wondering about, I notice people down here will stick something out one of the windows of the abandoned vehicle.  Sometimes a towel, rag, or t-shirt, but more often a plastic shopping bag.  I’ve been told that is done to alert the coppers the vehicle is broken down and not, in fact, abandoned.  Don’t ask, cause I don’t know.  I mean, I don’t know what one has to do with the other, but that’s what I’ve been told.  Just to kind of frost this cake, I noticed a tractor-trailer sitting on the side of the highway on my way up to Greensboro late last week.  When I returned home, the tractor was gone, but the trailer was still parked on the side of the road.  I think there were a couple of people by it still, looking at something on the back of the load.  Building materials, btw.  You know, 2×4’s etc..

You’ll never guess what I saw on the back of the load this morning on my way back up to Greensboro…  Because yes, of course, the trailer was still sitting there unattended.  Go on, guess.  I’ll wait…

Did you guess a plastic shopping bag?

YOU WIN!!!

***Disclaimer- there is no prize for correct guesses other than your very own smug satisfaction for correctly peering into the mindset of people down here via my very own twisted little perception of said people.***

Ok, I just heard from the vet, Lilly is doing great and will be ready to be picked up in a couple of hours.  I dropped her off pre-dawn today to get her spayed and microchipped.  I should probably wrap this up and move on to my next group of errands before I go get her and bring her home.

Keep your eyes open for stuff sticking out of windows of any broken down vehicles and report back, aight?

Peace

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The Return of Fables From the Firehouse

I make no excuses for the way my brain works (or doesn’t, depending on your perspective) and this is a fine example of the maelstrom in my head bouncing from thought to thought to thought…

I was listening to a playlist the other morning, and a song came up that always takes me back to when the Oldest One was about six or seven years old.  The song “I Know What Boys Like” by The Waitresses has always made me chuckle and I still remember the first time I heard her singing along to the chorus.  The mixed emotions of her carrying the tune pretty faithfully (Hey!  Maybe she’ll grow up to be a singer and make millions!) blending against my precious little daughter singing “I know what boys like, I know what guys want.”

Insert wide-eyed emoji >here<

That got me thinking about other things from “back in the day” and how things have changed, for the better, around the firehouse.  No, not by my leaving, smartass, I’m talking about the difference in how we protected ourselves then versus now.

*Salt Alert*  When I started in the fire service, the soot on your gear was viewed as almost a badge of honor.  The nastier it looked, the more you had seen/done/accomplished.  And it was the same way to some extent with air packs (SCBA’s) in that we never wore them at, for example, car fires.  Why would we need one for a car fire, we’re outside for crying out loud.  And there was no small amount of new guy shaming to try to impress upon them just how much machismo we had because of these beliefs and how they needed to be “just as manly” as we were.

I vividly (well, as vividly as my memory will allow) recall a garage fire from late summer or early fall of 2002.  I know it was the summer of 2002 because we had a “new guy” with us and I checked with him to see when he started.  The call came in late in the evening; a garage on fire about two blocks from the firehouse.  Vin and I on the ambulance, John, Andy and Zig on the engine.  We got there and sure enough, the garage was on fire.  It hadn’t gotten through the roof or the overhead door yet, but I think it had taken out a window before we got there and was blowing pretty good.  Not too much, mind you , but what you would call a nice little fire.  If it’s not your stuff that’s burning.  Andy got the water supply squared away, John checked on the hazards, and Vin and I took the handline, and Zig, to the garage to put out the fire.  As they got the line and themselves ready to go in at the side door, I walked around to the back to see what all we had.  I found a second, smaller overhead door on the back wall and tried it to see if it was locked.  It wasn’t, and since I figured the line was on the verge of going in, I opened it to lift the smoke for Vin and Zig.  I stuck my head in and could see the fire towards the front of the garage but didn’t see those two inside yet.  I came around to the side and saw them kneeling at the door, Zig trying to get his mask right and Vinnie berating him for not being ready to go.  Berating may be too strong a word, but he was definitely giving him shit for it.  I, of course, joined right in.  Because, new guy, you know?  I don’t remember the exact words but it was something to the effect of “you don’t even need your mask, it’s only a garage fire and the smoke lifted when I opened the door, Nancy.”  Or maybe Sally.  I don’t remember which, but I’m pretty sure I used a woman’s name when I yelled at him for not being in yet.  To his credit, Zig held his ground and went “on air” before he went inside.  I wanted to make sure and put that in there, cause I know his Mom reads this from time-to-time.  Despite our “best efforts” your oldest made sure he was protected.  We made quick work of the fire, quicker than I realized, because as we were walking back up the driveway toward the fire engine we were met by the guys from the ladder truck bemoaning the fact that we put the fire out before they got there.  That’s always the goal btw, for engine guys at least, so we were pretty pleased with ourselves.  Still, looking back, it was pretty dumb on our part to go into a fire without the safety of the air packs on our backs.  That was kind of the culture back then though.  You’d come out of a fire, blow the accumulated crap out of your nose, and if the fire was out, light up a cigarette, because why not?

Fortunately, times change.  And I have to tip my hat to the DGFD and the progressive way they got back-up gear for everyone on the department along with extractors so we could wash our gear when we got back from a fire instead of wearing that shit for weeks after.  I’m not sure, but I think we were one of the first departments in our area to have those.  And I have to believe they made a difference.  Without getting all scientific on you, studies have found that a number of different bad things (medical term) leach into our skin through the gear that protects us and the sooner you get those bad things (medical term) off the gear and off your skin, the better off you’ll be.  I know a lot of places are now carrying softcloth wipes to clean your skin as soon as you get back to the engine, to further reduce the risk of down-the-road cancer.  Whatever it takes.  I’m all in favor of these guys making the workplace safer for themselves and their loved ones.  Without going too far off on a tangent, I think about things like this when I hear someone talk about how much “better” it was before, well, fill in the blank, you know?  The reality is, we’re almost always better off now.

As I said, almost.  This photo just came in courtesy of Dan T. showing a new guy and his attempt at chopping an onion.  And maybe his finger.  Also, note the onion skin still in place on said onion

Sigh.  New guys.  At least they’re entertaining.

 

Peace.

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Wendy The Walker

What do say when you’re discussing a legend?  And I’m not even joking.  Around the firehouse (specifically in the high-rise district, but her fame has spread) everyone knows who Wendy the Walker is.  Most of the town does too, at least that part of town that exists along and/or near Main Street.

So how does one become legendary?  Let me tell you…

I don’t remember exactly when the first time was that I met her.  But I remember I was working on another shift; trade or overtime I don’t recall, but I remember I was working with a guy that lives in town.  And I walked out on to the bay floor this particular day and saw Dick standing in the back of the station, talking to a woman.  This was not uncommon, btw, Dick was almost as much of a “chick magnet” as the Great Vincenzo.  Almost.  At any rate, I walked back to see who she was.  I’m pretty sure she was introduced as “Wendy the Walker” since everyone knows her as the woman that walks four miles down Main Street every. single. day.

Thus began a friendship that I value as highly as any I’ve ever had.

Flash forward a couple years.  I remember coming back to work after Diane died.  I had been off for a month, thanks to the efforts of a bunch of guys I worked with back then, and Wendy stopped to chat when she saw me.  I think she asked where I had been since she hadn’t seen me in so long.  And, since Wendy is the kind of person that is truly interested in people, I told her the whole story of Diane’s passing.  She listened intently the whole time and from the look on her face, I knew she heard, and felt, every word I told her.

Now, often times, people will tell you “call me if you need anything” and, it’s not that they don’t mean it; many, if not most, do.  But for some it’s just platitudes and you learn to take those words with a grain of salt.  That’s never the case with this woman.  She said, knowing about our Walk 5k for Caitlin, and knowing how much work Diane did for it, “I’ll handle the publicity for the walk”

And she did.  For the remainder of the time we did W5kfC, Wendy handled it.  She wrote more articles and got them in more publications than I ever imagined possible.  And that was just the start.  Every hare-brained scheme I came up with over the years, she was all in on.  Without question.  And, also without question and, as if I ever had a choice, she became my Jewish mother.  Which worked out well since she’s, you know, Jewish.  And a mother.

She’s had a profound impact on so many of the things I do (i.e. anytime you see a “PS” on here, it’s an homage to Wendy) but not just me.  Pretty much everyone that works or has worked at good ol’ #3 has become part of Wendy’s personal domain.  And if they’re no longer there I’ll hear from her “how is my Mike?” or “how is my Rob?”  She is our chocolate fairy as evidenced by the many random deliveries from her, of something made in large part from the seed of the cacao.  Even “Bagel Saturday” a long standing tradition from a few years back included chocolate bagels.

Wendy knows many of our birthdays and makes a special trip to drop off something because “birthdays are a big deal.”  And, while that may not be a direct quote, I feel it’s close enough to deserve the quotation marks.

Which brings me to today.

Wendy, my very dear friend, you have meant so much to me, and to so many of the guys at “your” fire station, I wish there was some way to let you know just how much I cherish our friendship.  Even though you continue to try and talk me out of moving south.  You mean the world to me and I promise I’ll always keep in touch with you.  And yes, I realize that putting that in here kind of locks me in to it.  And yes, I realize that you will remind me (not so subtly) should I falter in the frequency of our chats.  You win.  Besides, I’m kinda scared of you. And I mean that in the nicest possible way.

So, while I know you’re celebrating with your favorite cellist and this all but assures happiness, I’m still going to wish you the happiest of birthdays on this very special day and I hope the rest of your birthday week (because birthdays are a big deal) is every bit as awesome as I know today is.

Happy 29th!!!

It is 29th, right?

Peace

Gi #m L

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The Penultimate Shift

I’ve got so many things spinning around my brain, each one a thing I want to try and dive into before I dodder off into retirement.

But then, the weekend happened, and plans, as they often do, changed.

And before I go any further, I need to offer my heartfelt thanks to everyone that reached out to me, whether by text, phone call, or comments; made either on social media, IRL, or in the comments here, for the kind words and thoughts.  There were more than a few that brought tears to my eyes and I’m so truly grateful for each of you.

I was also fortunate that my friend, the internationally known podcaster, Seth Rainwater and his Dad, Rick, drove up from south Arkansas to hang out with me for a few days before I get out of here.  The timing was random, but couldn’t have been more fortuitous, given Sophie’s demise.  We had many laughs the last couple days and Seth rode with us for the first half of the shift yesterday.

Typically, when we have a rider with us, we suffer what is commonly referred to as the “curse of the rider” which means, in a nutshell, we get shut out.  As in, no calls for the day.  Seth, however, shattered that curse.  Two calls back to back right out of the chute at 7:00 AM, were followed by ten more before dinner.  Twelve calls, in the first twelve hours, plus EMS training made for a very busy day, but the timing was really quite good since neither lunch nor dinner was terribly affected.  We finished the shift off by running two after Seth left and two more after midnight, so for my next-to-last shift, sixteen was the not-so-sweet total.  For a little reference, on average, as a department, we run sixteen calls per day.  Yesterday, we busted the curve.  Not that I mind, as I’ve said, I take great pride in working out of the busiest house in town so in my mind, this was a pretty good way to start sliding into home plate.

Of course, if the powers that be decide to pitch a shutout at us on Friday, I’m perfectly fine with that too.

Just sayin’

I have many more things I want to say, and a person or two that I want to say some things about, but today, instead, I think I’d like to focus on my guys.

I’ve been blessed throughout my career, to have worked with some incredibly skilled firefighters and paramedics.  I listed some of those guys a post or two back, and I meant everything I said, but I didn’t mention my current crew, because I knew I wanted to tip my proverbial hat to them here.  In order of seniority- Rob my brand new Lieutenant, is off to a fine start (except for questioning my judgement on whether I can fit the engine through a tight spot, or know the best way to get around MY STILL DISTRICT) fitting in quite nicely to our little family on the fly and that’s not an easy task.  He’s very bright, reads a room well, uses each of our strengths well and gives us enough leash to have a little fun, while keeping us reined in enough to keep out of trouble.  I have no doubt he’ll continue to cultivate these guys to become the best they can be.  Wink is our wounded warrior, he’s been off for several months after a work-related injury.  One of his light-duty assignments was working the reception desk at Village Hall.  He’s quite popular with the ladies that work there.  As we’re fond of telling him, it’s taken him 24 years, but he’s finally found his niche.  TJ is one of the smartest guys I’ve worked with and he’s got a huge heart.  He and his wife do advocacy work for disadvantaged kids and I can’t think of a better way to sing his praises than that.  Bob has a twisted ish sense of humor that helps keep things loose around the firehouse, but to classify him as a joker diminishes his abilities on the job.  Mike is our new guy.  He’s often the butt of our jokes, as a new guy should be, and he accepts our slings and arrows with great humor.  Plus, as I like to tell him when he says something a little odd, he’s so pretty.  To his credit though, he no longer thinks everyone’s first name is Kevin, so learning has occurred.  Collectively we’re a high functioning group, and we’ve established a great bond in our time together.  I don’t, for one second, believe they’ll skip a single beat after the festival to me has finished and I’ve moved on and I’m more than a little disappointed in myself for not having a picture of these guys to post up in here.

I think I’ve mentioned it before, while there will be many things I won’t miss around here, hanging out with my guys is something I’m going to miss greatly for a very long time.  We shared many laughs and many unforgettable moments and those will carry me through for a long time as well.  I truly cherish each and every one of you and I’ll carry the five of you with me for rest of my days.

Mi casa su casa.

And, speaking of casa, it’s time for me to make my way to mine.  Empty, for the first time.  Sigh.

Peace

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“Jake” We Hardly Knew Ye

Since my days here at the DGFD are dwindling down to a precious few (shameless lyric plagiarism alert) I figured I’d better take full advantage while stuff is fresh(ish) in my mind.

We caught two back-to-back this morning, fairly quickly out of the chute.  After we returned to the firehouse, while wandering around the apparatus bay floor mid-project, I noticed a pigeon sitting out behind the station.  In and of itself this is a little out of the ordinary, we don’t seem to have very many pigeons hanging around here.  I’m not sure why, we just don’t.  So I noticed him (truth be told, I didn’t check the gender. Furthermore, I’m not sure how to check even if I had) I also noticed (Hey, pigeon A&P wasn’t part of my paramedic training, so what can I say?) he seemed to be sitting in an awkward position.  I finished my project and decided to walk out and see if there was something wrong with the pigeon.

He let me get fairly close to him, maybe four or five feet away, without any response on his part.  His right wing seemed to be out of whack (medical term).  I figured he got clipped by a car since Highland Avenue was about fifty feet from where he sat and it’s four lanes of people basically ignoring the 35 mph speed limit.  I asked TJ, our resident quinoa expert, if quinoa was a grain.  He said he thought it was.  I knew we didn’t have any bird seed here but I was reasonably sure we had quinoa.  Don’t ask.  Young guys.  Any way, I grabbed a handful and it looked enough like bird seed to satisfy me.  I took it out to the bird and dropped it down in front of him.  As I did, he (the bird, not TJ btw) staggered a couple of feet away.

By this time, TJ and Rob both came out to see what I was doing.  As we talked about the pigeon, TJ asked about the name of the crow from Shawshank Redemption and thus, a firehouse name was born. Jake the pigeon seemed indifferent towards my choice of food for him.  I figured something needed to be done and since we have no pigeon specific protocols to follow, I started making the rounds telephonically to see what could be done.

Take a guess how many phone calls it took to find a pigeon person.  Go ahead, I’ll wait…

If you said seven, you win.

Now, in the time it took me to make these seven phone calls we ran to the Jewels for the days groceries, in fact I made five of the calls while Rob and TJ knocked out the shopping.  As we were paying for our groceries, we caught a call, followed immediately by another.  So by the time we got back to the house maybe 45 minutes had passed.  As we pulled up to the back door I looked for Jake but couldn’t see him.

Until Rob pointed out a small, feathered, lump laying right next to the garage door.  Poor Jake had met his maker.  Of course Rob quickly pointed out that it was probably due to dehydration, since I’d neglected to put any water out for Jake.  Or the possibility that quinoa is not, in fact, bird seed and that it exploded in Jake’s gullet hastening his shuffle off this mortal coil.

Sigh.

Lastly, I just want to give a shout to my first Captain from here.  The doorbell rang this afternoon and in walked Paul.  I haven’t seen him in quite some time and I told him I was honored he stopped by to wish me well.  I meant it too.  He was a good dude to work for and I learned a lot from him in our short time together.  We chatted for a little bit, talked about the old days as well as more recent events and then it was time for him to go.

I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again, the people around here are what will be missed.  Well, most of them.  When I thought about what I was going to do with this today it was going to go off in a completely different direction.  Kind of a “Bob, why do you hate me?” turn.

Until Jake started me off on this track.

Maybe next time.

Peace.

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Step By Step

So, if you’ve come by here (or the other place) you’re probably aware that I’m retiring from the FD.  This place has been many things for me, and to me for that matter.  Not the least of which is as fodder for my writing.  I’ve gleaned multiple posts from the adventures, and misadventures of the guys I work with.  Myself included.

But, the end is getting closer, as ends are inclined to do.

To wit; I’ve turned in my paper.

As I told the kids when I sent them a group text- it’s officially official.  September 15th will be the last day I spend in a firehouse.  That feels weird to say btw.  Not bad mind you, just… weird.  I’ve tried really hard to maintain some type of normal identity.  It’s so easy to let this job become all-encompassing and I don’t know that that is entirely healthy.  I love my job, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve never been “that” guy that has to, for example, drive to and from work in uniform.  I don’t ask if there’s a “government employee” discount anymore.  Although if I should happen to get pulled over for speeding I won’t hesitate to offer that info up to the police officer that pulls me over.

If that should happen, that is.  And it hasn’t happened for a really long time fwiw.  I still remember that event too, lol.  Diane and I were driving one of the Quiet Child’s friends home after a sleepover or something, three teenage girls in the back seat chatting away about god knows what.  I saw the cop pull out behind me in my mirror, looked at my speed and saw him flip his lights on.  Hopefully I didn’t use too bad of a word to express my feelings, what with the girls in the back seat.  But I pulled right over and rolled down my window.  When the officer came up to me and asked if I knew how fast I was going (as I recall it was 10 or so over the limit, in town) I told him I did, I apologized, and I asked if it mattered that I was a firefighter.  He asked where, I told him, he rolled his eyes, handed back my license and told me to slow down.

Anyway, the Oldest One asked me if I was excited.  This is apparently a theme, since almost every step along the way someone asks me if I’m excited about what looms ahead.  My answer to her, and it’s become my standard response, is this…

Have you ever known the word “excited” to describe me?

To which the family photojournalist replied “You are the most excited I’ve ever seen you around baked goods and I’m sure there will be plenty”  Just another example of what a smart woman she is.

Now, mind you, I’m not actively soliciting baked goods for my last day.  But if you feel the need, well, who am I to deny you?

But I actually did request something for my last day.  I asked that, instead of having a big reception at our headquarters station, if we could just do an open house type thing at Station 3 I would prefer that.  The FD administration graciously agreed.  The guys I work with have done a great job of looking out for the old guy for the last couple years, and they all supported my idea and I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to the amount of amazing food that will be put out for the day.  If you’re in the are on the 15th, stop by and say “Hi”.

There are many, many things I won’t miss about “the job”.  Getting up in the middle of the night for an abuse of the 9-1-1 system, standing at the pump panel in mid January, in three inches of ice and slush at a house fire, wrestling with drunks or psych calls that went south, I could go on and on.

But what I will miss, and what I could not (even if I wanted to) replace is the friendships, the esprit de corps, the feeling of being a part of something bigger than oneself that this job foists upon you.  I owe so much to so many for making me, not only a better firefighter/paramedic, but for making me a better human being.

I typically don’t like to try to list people, out of fear I’ll forget someone but without John, Bill, Mike, Norm, Jeff, Cal, Jim, Vin, Tommy, Kevin, Jerry and all the rest I wouldn’t be near the man I am (or think I am) today.  I’ve worked with some amazing crews and witnessed cohesion you can’t imagine and I’m grateful for that too.

A lot of times there is talk of Brotherhood in this job and I have no better example of that bond than this.  When Diane died, while meeting with the funeral director to make her arrangements we got to the part about who her pallbearers would be.  The director suggested that perhaps we could use her nephews and fill in with her brothers.  I didn’t want that, I felt their time should be spent mourning.  I called Vin.  We were partners at the time, and he had told me a day or two earlier that the guys from Local 3234 wanted to do something to help.  So I asked him to get some pallbearers.  And I promptly forgot about it because I knew the guys I worked with would take care of me.  So now, as I look back on the brothers I served with, I want to thank John, Joe, Phil, Jim, Tom and Vin for what you guys did for my family that day.  I know I thanked you all back then, but I don’t believe it’s humanly possible to thank you enough.  

I love you guys.

From the bottom of my heart.

Peace

Posted on

Along For The Ride

I think I’ve been on record, here and in other places, that I’m genuinely fond of the guys I work with.  Mostly.  There are, however, exceptions.

Occasionally, they can be jerks.

Case in point…

I got a phone call yesterday from my new Lieutenant, to give me a heads up about a rider we had for the first half of our shift today.  This btw is not the jerk part.  Quite the opposite, I really appreciated it.  The jerk part comes in when he said the other three guys wanted our rider to be a surprise for me.

Allow me to explain.

Today’s guest was a fifteen year-old, home-schooled, kid from Kansas.  Now, don’t get me wrong, I have no intention of painting with a broad brush anyone who is either A.) home schooled or B.) from Kansas.  I don’t doubt there are many fine human beings that have been home schooled and I know Kansas has produced many wonderful people.  But this kid?  Let me just say if you look up socially awkward in the dictionary I’m pretty sure you’ll see his face.  He just seemed to have, oh, let’s call it a naiveté about him.  I think that puts it politely.

And I’m nothing if not polite, right?  I mean after all, while we were standing by on a gas leak this morning, noting his fair (I mean ridiculously fair) complexion (like, Holy Christ kid, have you ever been out in the sun before?) I told Thurman (that’s not his real name btw, but it just fit him so well that I kept calling him that all day) he should get in the shade so he didn’t get a sunburn.

See?  I am one caring, compassionate individual.

Another way to describe him might be to refer you to that cinematic masterpiece “Bad Santa” which, not coincidentally, is how we gave our rider his name.  If you know the movie I need not say any more.  If you don’t know it, well I’m not going to suggest you make a point to watch it, but if you do watch it, try and visualize Thurman in a firehouse full of smart alecky, Type “A”, alpha males.

Also, despite the festive, holiday sounding name of the movie, don’t let your kids watch it.  Just sayin’

Insert wide eyed emoji >here<.

The day was, thankfully, pretty uneventful save for our two hour long gas leak, so we didn’t need to babysit this kid all too much.

And don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against riders.  They are almost always (note I said “almost”) a lot of fun to have.  Usually it’s a paramedic student or someone otherwise interested in becoming one of us, but sometimes it’s some other friend of the program that genuinely…

Ok, I take that back.  Here’s what I have against riders.  It’s known as “The Curse of the Riders” and in essence it means that, when we have a rider, we don’t run calls.  Until after the rider goes home.  Then the wheels fall off.  I started this missive last night, after Thurman left.  I made it as far as the last paragraph, at which point we went out on a crash, due in no small part to the driver taking a somewhat more than therapeutic level of heroin; followed immediately by two plus hours of stand by at an alleged armed standoff.  And the centerpiece on our night came at 4:00 am for an activated alarm at a nursing home.   But, when we got back into quarters this morning around 5:30 (finally) the guys from the ambulance had the coffee made and waiting for us already.

So, yeah sometimes these guys are jerks, especially when they try and get the kid to call me Santa.

But the simple, little, act of having coffee ready for us when we got back goes a long way towards buying…

Peace

Posted on

Still More Fables From The Firehouse

Ok, a couple of things here before I go on.  You may have noticed a completely different look here.  I’m trying a different site to publish.  I’m not sure how this is going to go, so… I guess we’ll see what happens.  If you’d like to leave some feedback about how things look and work from the readers end, please do, I’d love to find out.  If not, well, I got nuthin’

To the post.

Friday, on shift, I got a FaceTime call from a couple friends of mine from up by where I live.  They were working up at their firehouse and felt the strong urge to share something we had previously discussed.

New guys.

We’ve got them, they’ve got them, and since I’ve poked fun at ours here fairly regularly, Dan and Matt have shared some of the pitfalls their new guys have put out for their (Dan and Matt’s) entertainment.  Once I pointed out to Matt the error in the timing of his call, since it was 11:37 and we were just sitting down  (the goal is to be done with lunch by noon so as not to impede our safety nap) to lunch, I was entertained by a live feed of a new guy doing lunch prep (see what I did there?) in the form of slicing an onion.  It quickly became clear to me why we have “cut” gloves in our kitchen.  Yikes.  And, about five slices into the onion, sure enough, there’s blood on the onion.  Not much, Matt had to zoom in to show it, but much laughter and good-natured ridicule ensued.  Side note, no animals were harmed in the filming and the new guy needed only a small Band Aid to stem the flow.  Moments later, I got this…

The comment followed, as it often does when stupidish stuff happens at work, that I should write about the new guy’s lack of kitchen skills.  And I thought about it.  I mean, I set this site up last week and I’ve kind of been looking for an opportunity to try it out.  But I felt like I needed something more to flesh this out into a full post.  Sorry, couldn’t help myself.

The universe provides…

Early Saturday morning… wait, let me back up… Friday afternoon we got a call; a single engine response for an AFA (Activated Fire Alarm) for smoke in a building.  No fire but smoke from an unknown source.  We got there, the Lt. went in and soon came back out to request more resources, an upgrade to a Full Still.  In our FD that means one more engine, a ladder truck, a squad and the battalion chief.  It wasn’t a fire, we just needed more resources, so I walked back in with Lt. Cal, cause I was curious to see what we had.  Light smoke, no heat kind of thing.  We talked about what it probably was and, ultimately, found a bad HVAC unit on the roof was the cause of the smoke.  Problem solved.

Now, on to Saturday morning about 2:15, we get a call for a Full Still in a big box electronics store.  We pulled up to the store and went to the back of the building to access the fire alarm panel.  I waited in the engine while Cal and our new guy went in to check it out.  I noticed a hydrant about one hundred feet from me across the parking lot.  Cal came back out after a minute and asked for an upgrade to a General Alarm which increases the turn out significantly, including bringing in neighboring departments to man our stations while we’re working.  Typically, this means we’ve got an actual fire, but Cal reported they hadn’t found it yet due to significant smoke in the building.

Brief pause here for editorial notes- Boss if you’re reading this, you might want to skip down a couple paragraphs.  At least till next month.  Tom, I know you read this, you might want to skip down too.  Btw, you did a great job! Ok, that’s a blatantly shameless, suck uppy sounding comment, but nonetheless…

Moving on.

Of course, I couldn’t let this sit as it was.  I had to go in and see what we had.  Again.  As before, I followed Cal back in, to the electrical room and asked him what he had.  He and the new guy both described the smoke volume as “to the floor” as they headed back into the store itself from the back room.  I followed them as we finished talking, out onto the sales floor and immediately hit visibility that would’ve fit right in on “Werewolves of London”.  Light gray, down to the floor, maybe 10 feet of visibility.  As I stood there, just inside the sales area, I heard the very distinctive “click” of the door closing, and locking, behind me.

Ruh Roh.

Now, in case you missed the relevance here, my job at this particular point in time, is to make sure the guys that are inside looking for fire actually have water to put on said fire when they find it.  In oder to do that, I need to be at the fire engine.  Which is, as you may remember, outside the building.  You see my dilemma…  I knew the dock area was around the corner and down to my left so I started down that way, and found the gate was locked.  I went back to the original door, the one that caused my problem, and sure enough, it was still locked.  Hey sometimes you get lucky, so I took a shot.  Fortunately, I quickly saw an Emergency Exit about ten feet away from me.  I thought, yup, this qualifies, and exited the building right next to my engine in plenty of time to pull over to the hydrant before anyone else got back by us.

I made the hydrant hook up as the next-in crew was pulling the hose off the back of the engine and, until now, no one was the wiser.  As it turned out, the sprinkler system did a great job of holding the fire in check and our new guy was able to extinguish the fire with the pump can, less than three gallons.

There ended up being significant smoke and water damage to the store although  it certainly would have been much. much worse had there been no sprinkler.

There are many things I won’t miss when I’m no longer “on-the-job”, waking up in the middle of the night being foremost; but the actual work, the camaraderie, the feeling after a successful outcome, and the often non-stop joking, even at my own expense, is going to be hard to replace.

Peace

 

PS- let me know how theist works and feels for you.  Thanks.  And again…

Peace