by Kevin Johnson on Wednesday, January 4, 2012 at 2:12pm
As I get older, I find that I appreciate certain things more and more. I view the world differently; situations, issues and relationships. Things that would have never caused me to pause when I was younger, now often times profoundly affect me as a person. I seem to appreciate the past more. Mementos left by a loved one who has passed away, old family photos and memories, listening to an “old-timer” tell stories of the way things were. All good stuff. I also find that I have an ever-growing respect for tradition, and good, honorable people and institutions… like our volunteer fire service.
When I was a kid, the fire whistle would blow and I would run to the window or curb to watch the trucks go flying past. The flashing lights, screaming sirens and blaring horns all fascinated me. At the age of 18, I joined my local volunteer rescue squad as a driver. I eventually went on to become an EMT and then a paramedic, launching a career in public safety. Some years later, I moved from the ambulance to a dispatch job with County 911. But it wasn’t until I joined my local fire department, as an EMS first responder, that I began to understand and appreciate the brotherhood that exists in the fire service.
Today, when I see a fire truck go screaming by, I don’t notice the lights and sirens as much. I tend to look through the steel and chrome and into the passenger compartment. Into the tradition, history and brotherhood that occupies the seats inside. The guys and gals that answer the calls just as, in many cases, the generations of family members before them did. Each truck that screams by is filled with family members… some blood family, but all fire family. It really truly is a family. This was reinforced for me recently, when a longtime member and pillar of my local fire department suddenly and unexpectedly passed away.
On New Year’s Day, 2012, I was at work at the 911 Center. It was about 10:30 am, a routine day so far. A 911 line rang and I answered it, “911, what’s the address of the emergency”. I immediately recognized the name and address on my computer screen. It was the name and address of a much beloved member of the A. B. Shaw Fire Company. The female on the other end of the phone was obviously very shaken… it was clear to me right from the start that this was going to be a “real” emergency. I said “okay, tell me exactly what happened”, to which she replied “we need an ambulance… he’s not breathing”. I remember thinking to myself for a split second, “my God, I hope this isn’t him”. I called up the cardiac arrest protocol on the computer and began giving instructions for CPR. I instructed the caller to get the phone as close as she could to the patient. As she did this, I asked her the patient’s name. She confirmed my suspicion. The bigger than life member of my local fire department now lay pulseless, waiting for his brothers from the firehouse to come render aid. The Assistant Chief was on the scene in literally just a minute or two. Through the telephone, I could hear him enter the room. I told the caller to go ahead and speak with the responders and I disconnected the call. As I hung up, I remember wondering what the Assistant Chief must be seeing; his friend of many years and fellow firefighter lying in front of him. It was only a couple minutes before the phone rang again. This time, it was the Assistant Chief calling from the house with an update. This time, it was the Assistant Chief whose voice was shaking as he said “He’s gone Kevin… there’s nothing we can do… make the notifications”.
As you’d expect, friends and loved ones soon began arriving at the home to offer condolences and care for the family. At the same time, members of the fire department began arriving at the firehouse… some returning from the call, others just hearing the news and coming to be with their brothers. Divisions and fractures, which exist in every family, were now invisible. The sense of brotherhood, which is always there but at times stressed or not as evident, now enveloped the firehouse. Firefighters consoled each other by talking, telling stories of the lost member, and by participating in a group stress-debriefing meeting later in the evening.
A couple of hours later, I spoke with one of the members to get a sense of how everyone was doing. He indicated that emotions were running high, but that everyone was keeping busy planning the fire department’s “farewell” to the member. He asked if I could reach out to the Ancram Fire Chief… as he thought Ancram had black fabric bunting that A. B. Shaw might be able to borrow to drape on the front of their firehouse. I reached the Ancram chief at, of all places, his own firehouse. He, and his brother firefighters, were there enjoying a football game and some snacks. When I explained what had happened and made the request for the loan of the black bunting, the Ancram Chief replied without any hesitation at all “of course, anything they need… if they need us to bring it to them we will”. As I hung up the phone, it struck me that this bond, this brotherhood that exists in each fire department goes beyond the walls of each respective station. The brotherhood is universal. If you’re a firefighter, you’re a brother… regardless of what department you belong to. The firefighters in Ancram were willing to drop what they were doing, put their party on hold, to aid their brothers at A. B. Shaw. In the days to come, the Ghent Fire Company provided standby coverage to Claverack, as the A. B. Shaw members went in body to the funeral home to pay last respects. The Mellenville and Greenport fire departments covered the Claverack fire district the next day as firefighters brought their deceased brother to his final resting place. Other agencies reached out and offered anything that was needed.
I’ve always had a great deal of respect for firefighters and the job they do. But as I get older, I find an ever-growing respect for the brotherhood and solidarity that exists among them. It’s not cliché, it’s real. It’s honorable, it’s tradition and it’s eternal.
-KJ
