Dear Santa Fed; Where's my bailout plan?

How did that old song go? All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth? Well at the rate that this economy is going I'm going to need that as well as a Federal bailout plan for myself.

It sounds kind of silly doesn't it? A bailout plan for little ol' me. But why should I be any different? Just like these mega-corporations today who are going under, I've made some bad financial decisions in my life too. The fact of the matter is that compared to the thieves who run these companies I don't posses half the business know-how that they do. I would think they could have seen this coming a long time ago and done something about it. But instead of doing something for the greater good of the client or the company, they all did what was best for themselves and their pocket books.

I once worked for a large company that practiced this way in their sales department and let me tell you it made me sick. Oh I was paid handsomely if I played by their rules, but at the end of the day I felt terrible about myself. Needless to say I ended up quitting when the first opportunity outside of the company arose. There was just no way that I could make my living that way. Paint it any color you like ladies and gentlemen but in my mind and many others like me if you're not totally honest with your customers then it's simply called stealing.

And here's where the line in the sand is drawn between Main Street and Wall Street. If I steal from my company and it goes under because of my actions I'll be told to clean out my desk just like you did. I'll hand in my credentials and get escorted out of the building just like you were. And I'll leave with my million dollar severance... wait, wait, wait, what the hell am I saying! Unlike your tight knit little network of cronies who'll bounce back as Chairmen on some other board, I'll have nothing. No job, no money, and probably no prospects either.

I've known high ranking officials of large companies who left their posts in shame only to fly under the radar and resurface elsewhere. I wish I knew how they do that, I'm still trying to check out a book in a library after not bringing back a magazine in 1973. And when their past is brought up, the most widely used statement I've heard by the accused or their lawyers is that it was a "victimless crime". It may help them sleep at night but my guess is it doesn't do anything for the families who lost every cent of their pensions.

No sir, unlike you there are consequences to be paid in my world. When I get into financial trouble I'm chalked up as another failure who didn't manage his checkbook properly. My demise would probably start with the utilities getting turned off and my credit cards being cancelled. Next comes the repo man to take my car, and it climaxes with a bank rep showing up to inform me that they're foreclosing on my home. Just like that, I'm out on the street with nothing. I heard that when the average Joe like me falls behind we can lose just about everything in 60 days. I'm honest, I work hard, and if I fall on hard times I can end up destitute in no time at all but others in this world seem to have nine lives.

So before I ever reach that point of total financial degradation here's what I'm proposing: I'm going to need the Federal Government to help me with a few things since I am a contributing factor to this economy as well and I'm in need of help just like the next guy. And since it really wasn't totally my fault that I'm in this situation, (just like Wachovia and Washington Mutual weren't) I'm asking for a little bailout plan of my own. One that has a few less zeros on it than the current fiasco you're dealing with.

1.) I'm going to need you to first help me with my credit card debt. God knows I've been a bit frivolous with my spending in the past and I've fallen a bit behind in keeping this balance down like I once did. Forgive me for this since I've found it increasingly hard to buy fuel for my vehicle anymore. Once you cut your paycheck up and pay the bills you don't really have that kind of cash laying around for a couple of tanks of gas a week. And those health care visits and co-pays really do add up for a growing family nowadays. After all I gotta stay healthy to make all that money to put right back in my fuel tank! I don't think I'm being unreasonable in asking for about $10,000 to cover this.

2.) Seeing that I had nothing to do with this entire financial debacle, Translation: I did my homework and realized what type of mortgage I could commit to and which ones that I could not, I'm asking you to make a check out to my wife and I in the amount of $50,000. This is the amount that we lost in the past three weeks on our 401K and I want it back. We have this crazy idea that someday we'd like to retire and I want to have some sort of confidence in the fact that we can do just that. I plan on working for another 25 years but don't misunderstand this as an invititation to take your time. I could use the interest.

3.) My last and most important request is that you start a college fund for my two children. Stick about $300,000 in a safe money market fund or a CD so I can be assured that they'll get the education that they deserve. Just like the sleazy banks who knew that the loans they were selling were probably never going to be paid back, I knew that there was no way that I could put enough money away on the side for my child's education. (I guess that makes us even) And since we don't live in a deprived part of town, nor did we have a philanthropist show up at our school and empty a boat load of money on our kids for a four year free ride, I'm gonna really need your help on this one.

I do feel bad to a certain degree for asking this of you. I've always had a hard time stomaching people in this world who are never accountable for their own actions and are always holding their hand out for something. You know those people? The ones who claim that because of their race, creed, color, age, or handicap they're owed something. And the louder they are the more they usually get. Well lately I've grown tired of seeing this happen with others so I guess I'm going to jump in feet first too. After all I belong to a forgotten part of your political agenda myself. I'm a middle class American who like my big corporate brother has made mistakes. And what's good for them should do just fine for me.

Contact me at your soonest convenience and I'll provide you with all bank routing information that you'll need.

I eagerly await your reply.

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!