01/05/28

Today I saw a hell of a thing.

This is not the first course I’ve taught at the 200 Mile House Fire Department. Two years ago I came here and taught a different course. I got to know some of the members and learned to really admire the way they serve their community. These guys are volunteers. They serve as Firefighters because their community needs them. Their Fire Department is both an emergency service organization and a social gathering place, it’s both a place where they work as unpaid professionals and a place where they gather to wash their cars and sit around bullshitting. It’s a place where they find friends and ready help whenever it’s needed. Walking into their firehall is like walking into mine 20 years ago before paid-call Firefighting in my town became a second job to most members and was more something done out of caring and love. Don’t get me wrong, the members of my department still love their craft, but these guys in the small town have a different kind of love for each other.

Let me give you an example:

Two years ago, when we were here to teach the other course I met “Bill”. Bill was one of those guys you meet in small towns quite often, he’s between three and four hundred years old and lives by himself. He’s of uncertain background but he has lived in this small town for as long as anyone can remember, probably since just after the earth cooled. Bill was everyone’s friend and since retiring from a mill job he made the daily rounds of the local coffee shop and the firehall. He kept track of everything that went on in town. If you were building a fence he’d stop his truck and offer advice, if you needed to know how to fix anything from a light switch to a  steam locomotive, he’d be the guy to call when you hit a snag. He’d know what to do, and have a story to tell you about how it had been done in the old days.

Bill was a very special guy, but the most special thing about him to me was that he was a plankowner.

“Plankowner” is an old naval term. When you are a member the first crew of a newly commissioned ship, you’re referred to as a “plankowner” You are said to own one of the planks on the deck. Bill was one of the original members of the 200 Mile House Fire Department when it was first commissioned back in the mid fifties. He served for more years than anyone can remember until he had to retire in the eighties due to his health.

When I met Bill he was a soft-spoken old guy who shuffled around with his cane and his little brown mongrel dog. He wore a baseball cap and spat chewing tobacco everywhere. As a single old-timer personal hygiene wasn’t uppermost on his list of priorities. He was always partially shaven, always dressed in the same plaid shirt, baggy jeans and suspenders. His rheumy eyes still held steel though, they would measure and gauge, they never lacked a hard edge like a good chisel. He was a hell of a nice guy though, and never lacked a wheezy laugh.

Bill had retired as an active Firefighter long ago, but I was told that sirens would still wake him at any time of the day or night. He’d be waiting at the hall when they returned. Coffee would be on and other treats would be provided. He'd come by and dry the turnout gear while they were at work, he’d make sandwiches for the guys and truck them out to the really long fires, he’d do whatever he could for the men that he called “My boys”

Two years ago I met Bill, we talked at length and came to know each other as well as we could in a couple of days. I liked him and admired him. I also learned that the 200 Mile Fire Department, while being a small department without a hell of a lot of experience did not lack a shred of heart.

This year, we spent the first two days teaching. The courses we presented were fast-paced and intense, so it wasn’t until the after-course Barbecue on the last night  (Put on by the “200 Mile Fire Department lady’s auxiliary”…Yes, even in the 21st century there are still organizations called “Lady’s auxiliaries” in Fire Departments. Chicken, coleslaw and mashed potatoes, with cake for afters, god it was ambrosia… Jeez, it’s like a time warp) that I asked where the hell Bill was, I hadn’t seen him on either day.

Yes, you guessed it, I was told that Bill had died in December. I was saddened by this, and we discussed him and the things we all admired about him. I was confused though, about the smiles I saw on the faces of the members I was talking to, it was kinda like there was a secret that they all shared that I wasn’t privy to.

I called them on it, I told them I was born at night, but not last night ferchrissakes, so what’s with the giggles?

The Chief of the 200 Mile FD is a hell of a good guy, and he smiled in a lazy way, took a pull on his beer and said “Here, lemme show you”

We walked downstairs from the social area on the top floor of the firehall and as we headed for the apparatus bay where the rigs are parked Sam the Chief explained to me that when Bill died it was discovered that he had no family. He had never had a wife or kids that anyone could discover. There was simply no one.

Except “His Boys”

Sam opened the passenger door of the lead pumper and pointed out a polished steel canister bolted to the dashboard. It was ten inches tall, and about six in diameter. I knew exactly what it was, having seen the one offered by the crematorium for my father’s ashes. It was nestled between the radio, light switches and siren control. It was proof for all time how much these guys had really loved that man, and how much he loved them.
 

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