MEMOIR and TRIBUTE
The Fireman’s Lunch
Fire Fighters are bonded in ways many people do not understand
It was a comfortable night in May 1980. My wife and I were snuggled in bed. We had no kids at the time.
It had been a busy day; it was nice to have some downtime. But things sometimes change quickly.
Little did I know that night would be the harbinger of an exciting and satisfying lifestyle change.
It was 11 pm. Nestled in a romantic embrace, we had dozed off. Without warning, the evening’s peace was broken by the harsh sounds of alarms, with a voice message calling out details and instructions.
Structure fire, 1267 Avenue X, map page 14. All available units respond. Repeat, structure fire, all units respond.
I envisioned the evening differently. But I was a volunteer firefighter, one of the forty men and women spread throughout the community. We were committed to life safety, protecting property, and serving the community.
The fire was my first significant emergency call.
My assignment that night was to report to the scene, assist with pump operations, and support a hose line, intending to attack the flames head-on.
