The greatest job on earth

So I'm asking myself, "Why did I sign on for this?"

It's hot and I'm already tired. I can't see all that well, and frankly at this time of the night I want nothing more than to be fast asleep at home in my nice warm bed. At least there I'm in a familiar environment among my loved ones. And about the only hostile situation that I could find myself in is if my wife finally loses her patience with my snoring. But instead, I'm in a strange place not knowing exactly where I'm going most of the time or if what I'm looking for is even there. You just rely on your training and a whole lot of luck in getting the job done safely for everyone involved.

Goin' in

It's dark! Unlike what you've seen on TV there's usually no light, not even much of a glow until you're practically on top of what you're looking for. So for the most part you conduct business on your hands and knees not knowing if the floor you're crawling on even exists where you're headed. And that heat I talked about, well it's now getting so high that even though you're encased in seventy five pounds of protective equipment you start to feel the tips of your ears burning. Then in an instant the room lights up and your objective is right there before you. You wonder how the hell it could have been hiding on you like that but before you give it any more thought your man on the nozzle opens the bale and a few moments later you're returned to darkness. When the smoke and steam subside all that's left is about two hours of overhaul and one more hour back at the station to clean up. Not a bad night, and all in the day of the life of a Firefighter. What I still consider today and for over twenty-five years to be the best job on earth.

An old beauty in Brooklyn



I actually became hooked back when I was around ten years old. I had an uncle on the department who was stationed a few miles away from where I grew up and I tried to visit him and his crew whenever I could. We also had a station situated a half mile from our house and conveniently located right next door to the public library. Plenty of sidewalks assured my mom that I could bike there safely by myself so convincing her to let me venture out on my own was not an issue. And on most occasions I would go there with my good friends Greg, Mike, and Danny. All kids who grew up on the same block as me and all of whom are firefighters to this day.

I can't speak for those old friends of mine but I changed my dream occupation about three hundred times since then. First it was a truck driver, then a pilot, pro race car driver, the San Diego Chicken, and the list goes on. I even thought at one point in my life that I wanted to be one of those pressed suit types. I'd sell junk bonds, telecommunications services, whatever it took to make my first million. But even though the money was good the work wasn't gratifying at all. Not even the thrill of landing that big deal would do it for me. I always found myself coming back to fire fighting.

In my life I've done an awful lot of different things since I began working back in high school but nothing brings as much satisfaction to me as this job. And what I once thought was an unnecessary necessity in the fire service - EMS, is actually some of the most gratifying work we do. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing that gets the heart beating like a fully involved structure fire but EMS on the other hand offers you situations where a job well done pays much larger dividends. Kids who will run and walk again after an accident, and grandparents who get a new lease on life to watch them grow. This was something I reluctantly bought into when I first began but something I now take more seriously.

But everything isn't always bright and cheery, and both sides of the business have their downsides as well. If you can't catch a fire early enough in it's stages then you've done nothing more than save the basement for the homeowner. Not a good situation to be in and one you'll most likely be reminded of for some time by the homeowner, the media, and neighboring departments alike. All it takes is one botched job and your reputation is bruised for years. On the EMS side of the house, if you can't catch a patient early enough in their stages of illness or injury then they die. And if you sift through all of the people who fell out of bed and can't get back up, or your unresponsive intoxicated individuals, you'll find the number one reason we respond is for cardiac related incidents, a very low percentage of which have happy endings. That kind of stress is responsible for many people I'm sure who have found themselves at a crossroads in their career wondering if it's all really worth it. Those who answer yes realize that it's something you have to learn to live with since there are so many variables involved, some of which are beyond our control and in the hands of a higher power. Some people learn quicker than others of how to deal with this and some never seem to get a handle on it. I'm not going to go as far as saying I'm calloused to it now, but I've learned to accept the outcome better than when I first started. I still think of one guy who we couldn't save in the early morning hours of Father's Day a few years back. We had worked him for over an hour and when the time had finally come to call it I really didn't feel comfortable or even ready to stop CPR. All I could think of was what that telephone call was going to feel like for that family on that particular day. I remember thinking that there had to be something else we could do, but I've relived that moment a hundred times over in my head and realized nothing more could have been done. Some one else was calling the shots that day and there wasn't anything we were going to do to change it.


When telling stories like this the next question on most minds is usually why and how can you do this if for the most part you're always seeing someone in their worst situations imaginable. And it's strange but after all this time I still fully can't answer that question. I once thought that it's because if I don't help, no one will. We all know that not to be true since we see and hear about acts of heroism all of the time by ordinary citizens. Giving back to the community? Maybe, but I can think of many other ways to do that without risking my neck and possibly leaving my wife a widow and our children without a father. And how about the excitement, and the fact that no two days are ever the same? Getting closer, but it's still not an honest reason I'd feel comfortable giving. A lot of men and women in this line of work have often described it as a calling, not just a job you choose, and I strongly agree with them. It has to be, when no other job you've had can compare to the honesty and integrity that you feel when doing this type of work then what else could it be? Hard to explain but easy to do.


In this industry we all have available to us at any moment, an internal support system which helps us get through the trying times. There are professional counseling groups of which we can call on, but it's usually your brothers at the house who are always pulling pranks and playing practical jokes on one another that helps lighten a situation and keeps you from going insane. This type of banter also helps in deciding what quality of an individual you have for personnel, especially new recruits. These are the times when questions regarding how the new candidate will handle the stress of the job are usually answered. If they can't handle a little ribbing around the station then how are they going to react when the shit hits the fan?

To mitigate these situations we train. And we do train a lot compared to some departments. There are times when we concentrate more on some subjects than others, take air bags for instance. We had an individual who was responsible for our company trainings a few years back who would set off automotive air bags on many occasions in the course of a year. Granted we all needed to know just how powerful these devices are and how we can keep ourselves in the safe zone when working around them. But I for one don't need to be told twice about something like this. Every door I open starts off with a quick scan of what I might have ready to blow up in my face, most of the time before ever touching the occupant(s). I've had the responsibility of working as the training officer for my department for close to two years now and I can say that I probably roll a few eyes back when I announce another Mayday training or self preservation course. Where air bags were the concern of my predecessor, getting out alive is my focus. After all, we are the best tool we have at our disposal and we need to assure our safety before ever going in to any hostile environment. And should any of us find ourselves in a precarious situation I want to make absolutely certain that all of the men know how to handle any adversary thrown at them. We try and mix it up by visiting the basics like hose streams and ventilation practices, but it always finds a way to come full circle and touch on safety. Like we say day in and day out "We all go home." I'm just trying to do my part to ensure this for all of us.

Josh, Big Jim, and I

I don't know any profession (other than organized crime, and is that even a profession?) where no one is known by their birth name. Visit any department and ask any crew and you'll find the men are known by some derivation of their last name or a nickname they were blessed with by their peers when they were most likely rookies. "Gus" was given to me because at the time when I came on board there were five guys named Mike on the department and a sixth was not in the plan. In my part time job with a rescue service I'm known affectionately as "Jelly" because no one could pronounce my last name. "It sounds a lot like Marmalade" someone told me, "But that's too long so we shortened it to Jelly!" I don't see myself as a Jelly but it could have been worse. Any way, official nickname etiquette strictly forbids you from naming yourself. Just like George Castanza couldn't pick T-Bone for himself, the name has to be given to you. Today we have Rozy, Wags, Cheeks, Big Jim, Bluto, and an Igor on my department. And good friends of mine from other cities include Scooter, Case, One Nut, and Cheeto. Almost sounds like the cast of West Side Story.

And those pranks and practical jokes are a common staple in the fire service and they can run rampant from time to time. Everyone and everything is open for attack and all men young and old are targets. We make it a point to never mess with any one's equipment but outside of that (and any unethical practices) everything is free game. I get an occasional stool placed beside my door of my truck since I'm deemed one of the more vertically challenged guys in the group. And some of us face a barrage of air soft gun fire just around bed time. We have a couple of guys on the rescue service that I moonlight with who refuse to just let it go at Good Night. Once everyone decides to retire for the evening you can expect a door to break open with you and your comrades being peppered with ninety mile an hour plastic shot. It's all in good fun and something we all do to break the monotony but I still think I've suffered some permanent nerve damage in my hands though.


Speaking of my hands, they're frozen stiff now. I mean literally hard! My crew and I have been sitting in this position for about five hours, each taking twenty minute shifts dumping thousands of gallons of water on a bowling alley that's gone up in flames. It's early February, in the middle of the night, and it's about five degrees outside. Everything is covered in a thick layer of ice and when it comes your turn to grab the nozzle you have to crack your gear free to gain some mobility. If it wasn't for the bowling balls rolling out the front door and down the street you wouldn't only be frozen stiff but bored stiff as well. Twelve hours later it's all under control and we finally get to go back home, clean up, and thaw out. It doesn't even cross my mind that if I was still one of those office types I'd be warm and dry right now, and probably better rested.

None of that matters to me though. I wouldn't have it any other way!