Run Sheet
99/10/22
No Calls worth note
Sometimes I wonder if those things that I hold close and believe with all my heart are really true or just comforting dreams.
I tell my kids about how magical it is to be a Firefighter. I’ve told them that the two of them and their mother are our family, and that their granny and their uncles, aunts and cousins are our family. But I’ve also told them that there is a family that spans the world that I belong to. Firefighters everywhere make up a family, and that no matter where I go, any country in the world, I find myself in, if I can find a firehall I will be welcome there, and that any Firefighter who finds his way to my hall is welcome. This isn’t theory, it happens all the time. At least once a week someone comes into my hall and introduces himself, or is introduced by an interpreter as a FF from somewhere or other. They always get a tour of the rigs, pictures are taken, hands are shaken, there is always a cup of coffee and stories are told (some are even true). There is always a trading of shoulder patches, or pins, or t-shirts or whatever. It’s a beautiful thing, it truly is.
I also tell my kids that there is a lot of love between us, and that we will go to great lengths to help one another. Someone that you would, and have, trusted with your life is someone you’ll do most anything for.
Like anything though, a belief like that dims a bit if you don’t see it glaringly in practice every once in awhile. And unless you’re reminded of it, sometimes you begin to forget.
Then, if you’re really, really lucky, good people remind you.
This week I was teaching a course for another fire department. The class was for highly experienced FFs who are moving up into officer positions. In the class was a FF who had had an accident a number of years ago. He is now visually handicapped, and can no longer fight fires in the same way he once did. He now is a 911 operator, he dispatches, he tests the ladders and breathing apparatus, he does “Station duties”. The things that no FD can survive without.
He was taking the course along with the rest of them so that he can get promoted in rank, and move along like anyone else. He still has years of useful and valuable contributions he can make; all he needs to do is realize it. Unfortunately his confidence has suffered, it’s been five years since he rode the rigs, he doesn’t see himself as a Firefighter anymore.
He’s the only one in his hall that doesn’t.
All the rest see a brother and a colleague that keeps the equipment that they need to live working, maintained and checked, they see a guy who takes panicked calls from terrified people and calmly dispatches the big red rollers. His is a level voice on the radio sending them to the right place, with the right information. A good dispatcher is worth his weight in gold. He’s a good dispatcher. He’s as much a firefighter as any one of us, and more than some.
He ended up being in the group of students that I was assessing. At different times each of the members of his group came to me and said something like “Hey Cap, it’s about John…” I’d tell them that I knew about John, and that his physical ability wouldn’t be a problem. They were concerned that I would ask more of him than he could physically give. They had nothing to worry about, it isn’t a very physical course, and he had easily enough brains to do it, all he needed was to find a bit of the confidence he once had.
After the course was over and I was interviewing the students to give out the marks I told each of John’s crew how good it was to see what they were doing. They were looking out for their brother. Even though he could no longer ride the rigs, he wasn’t forgotten. They knew that in his heart every time the doors went up and the trucks rolled, he was rolling with them. He was keeping the faith the best way that he could, and by god they were keeping the faith with him too.
It was an emotional time for me. I am enormously grateful for it.
I told the guys about what I tell my kids.
I thanked them for not making it
a lie.